I grew up with my nose in a book. A lot of books. So many books that my grandmother would get mad at me for not playing with my brothers on weekend beach trips in the RV.
But my brothers had nothing on Jondalar and Ayla. The Clan of the Cave Bear series was infinitely more interesting than seaweed and sand dunes. And I saw my brothers all the time. There were five in all.
One memorable summer, David and I joined our grandparents on a drive through the Southwest. My mom had taken me to the used paperback store to fill a box for the trip. An escapist herself, she knew the value of a box of unread books. From that box, Marguerite Henry’s stories about horses got me from our doorstep to the edge of the Grand Canyon.
The metal RV stair squeaked as we each stepped out. We took in the view, restless after all that driving. I looked up the canyon, down the canyon, across the canyon.
“Is that it?” I asked.
My grandma about threw me into it.
The hole in the ground was nothing like Stormy, Misty’s Foal. That story had its fingers dug into me, gripping, alive, waiting for me to find out if Misty would live through her harrowing birth. I calculated how long I’d have to stand there till I turned on my heel and went back to my book.
I was driven to distraction.
This summer I’ll be driven to distraction again. But not by books. I’ll be road trippin’. And tweeting. Blogging and chatting real time with hundreds of new friends.
The news is just about out, where I’ll be headed. It’s so close to public, I can see its outline. And there’ll be so much good stuff going on, I promised my grandma I’d keep the books at home. So maybe, people, you’ll tell ME stories. Of what you’re reading, what you’re doing, and what’s driving you to distraction…? People, place, thing…road.
Got a favorite story from the road?
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
I. dig. you. That is all.