February 23, 2015
12:07 a.m.

I am hopelessly addicted to reading, and I make no apologies for that. Reading is such a big part of my life that I want to share it with everyone. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't have a book in my hand, or close at hand.

I thank my mother. She began reading to me before I could even talk. I was reading to her long before I started school. I read to my siblings and my toy dog, Bandit. I had to learn to read by myself early, because otherwise my poor mom would never have gotten anything done, and she had plenty to do, because I had three younger siblings before I was six.

Although my family was never rich, I don't remember a time when there were no books in the house. There was no shortage of things to read, and I soaked it all up. My mother never denied me access to any books she had on hand.

When I was in first grade I discovered the public library and was pretty sure I'd found heaven. By the time I was in third grade my mother and the librarian agreed that I could check out books from the adult section, as long as it wasn't too racy. In other words, I wasn't allowed to check out Peyton Place. It was pretty popular at the time, but I don't think I missed much.

(It couldn't have been much racier than "Dark Shadows", could it? Oddly enough, I was allowed to watch that every afternoon. It fueled my love of a good scare and also led to a two year habit of sleeping with my neck well-covered and a crucifix on my blankets--you know, just in case.)

I developed a great love for all things spooky and weird, all things futuristic and fantastic, all things mysterious and suspenseful. During my teens and early twenties, I enjoyed romances, particularly the historical type. (Except Gone With the Wind. Sorry. I didn't get the popularity of the book, nor did I care for the movie. I tried. Sue me.) I can still deal with a romance, as long as something else is also going on--like a murder to solve, or a ghost to hunt. Otherwise, I guess I outgrew that genre.

I could never begin to make a list of all my favorite books, but recently I've discovered that I can now track down and purchase some old childhood favorites. That makes me pretty happy, because I lost so many books when my house burned in 1993, and many were those I had wanted to share with my children and grandchildren.

I mentioned mysteries as one of my loves, and while I did read The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, they didn't make the impression on me that Trixie Beldon Mysteries did. I don't know what it was about those books, which I first discovered while visiting my grandmother's house one summer, but Trixie, her brothers and her friends made me one happy little camper. The books were published in the 1940's and 50's and belonged to my aunt. My parents were able to track a few down and gave them to me as Christmas and birthday presents, but I never had a complete set. They were mostly out of print. And, as I said, those I had were lost in a fire.

So now, thanks to Amazon, I am tracking them down and starting to collect them. I always wanted the complete set. I hope I will be able to find them all. Can't do it all at once, of course, but one must have a goal, yes? And luckily, they are affordable.

Okay, I know you're thinking: "Aren't you a little old for that?" Sure, I am. But, so what? I just read the first two books again for the first time in decades, and you know what? I loved it. Yes, they're old fashioned and written for  twelve-year-olds, but it's kind of refreshing to relive old memories and marvel at all that's been lost in the last seventy years; things like polite teenagers and respect for parents and teachers. Amazing stuff.

I want to be able to pass this amazing stuff down to my granddaughters. Believe it or not, these characters are not so different than I was in Junior High School, nor are they much different than my granddaughters are now. They want to have good friends, they want to be accepted, they worry about their homework, they wish they didn't have to do their chores. While many things have changed over the years, there are also many that stay the same. I'd like for the girls to know that.

And they are miles better than Twilight.

I'm not forgetting the boys. I suppose I'd better look at The Hardy Boys again for my grandsons, if I'm going to pass books along to them. Actually, I've got plenty of science fiction and horror and comic books and detective stories to keep them happy, I'm sure. Not to mention all the Harry Potter they can get their hands on.

Anyway, old-fashioned and teenage girly though they may be, these books take less than a day to read, and in between I'm still sifting through crime scenes and graveyards and haunted houses, still trying to find the missing and wishing the latest protagonist wasn't a killer clown. I'm in New Orleans and London, and even in Wyoming.

That's the gift of books: there's always another story--another mystery to solve, another ghost to chase, another phony psychic to laugh at, another robber to catch. There are cops with canine partners to worry about, and time travelers trying to save the future by changing the past. Or not. Sometimes, there's even a good bodice-ripper to giggle over. Hardback, paperback, Kindle or Nook edition, it matters little to me.

Just give me that story.
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On the home front, it has been snowing for two days, it is ten degrees outside, and my days and nights are so mixed up that I may just start sleeping days!

Nope. It's now 1:36 a.m. and I am going to make an attempt to be asleep before six, which means it is time for me to say good-night for now.

Bundle up!