My love of books started with Nancy Drew. As a primary
school student I would head to the high school in the afternoon to wait for my
dad, who taught there. After visiting the cafeteria for a still-warm chocolate
chip cookie I would follow the strange maze of half-staircases and cavernous
hallways to end up at one of the most modern rooms in the old building: the
library.
There was plenty of natural light flowing into the library
because of all the windows but the books were kept in the centre of the room,
away from the light. If you stood in the centre of the bookcases you were
surrounded by a dusty, musty smell that has been filed in my memory among my
favourite perfumes and aromas. Dusty books are right up there with Guerlain
perfume from Paris and fresh baked bread.
Every day I would sit on the floor in between the bookcases,
facing a row of about 100 Nancy Drew books. I began at the beginning. Volume 1,
The Secret of the Old Clock. Carolyn Keene brought girl-detective Nancy Drew to
life, describing everything from what she ate to how she dressed, what she
thought and felt and saw. I was mesmerized. And I read my way through that
book, and another, and another, until I had finished the whole series.
When I didn’t understand a word, I went to the librarian,
Mrs. Scott. Her nickname was Dusty but she was anything else. Wavy red hair and
energy to spare, she bustled me over to the dictionary and had me look each mysterious
word up in turn. I still do that today when I meet a new word.
After finishing the final Nancy Drew book in that original
series of 100, I asked Mrs. Scott (her real name was Ramona) if there were any
other similar books she would recommend. Books with strong female characters I
could emulate in my imagination.
“You’ve finished all the Nancy Drew books.” She seemed a
little bewildered and doubtful.
“Well…yeah…unless you’ve got more somewhere,” I answered.
When my dad came to collect me that afternoon Mrs. Scott
notified him that I, at age ten, had read all the intermediate level Nancy Drew
books. The next thing I knew, I was sitting alone in a stuffy office in the
back of the library, taking a test to determine my I.Q. The librarian had
suggested I be enrolled in classes for ‘enriched’ students from now on, because
I was clearly brilliant. I failed the test miserably.
“I told you she isn’t enriched,” scoffed my dad. “She just
loves books.” And that was the end of that.
After working my way through the books in the high school
library, I got permission to walk to the town library after school. Sometimes I walked and read at the same time.
I knew the path between the public school and high school and college where my
mom worked so well, I never tripped. Sometimes I was late for piano lessons,
however, because I would walk right by the house with my nose in the book,
missing the address altogether and having to double back. I preferred the
afternoons I was free to head to the college campus where I would climb a tree
and sit there, reading, obscured from the view of the college students passing
on the pathway beneath by the thick tapestry of leaves.
Yes, I was a bookworm. I still am. It’s my guilty pleasure,
my stress relief and my escape as well as my inspiration and my challenge.
This weekend, North Grenville will once again host the
region’s largest book fair. It’s in a huge warehouse at the Ferguson Forest
Centre. Money raised at the fair goes to the Kemptville Youth Centre, to help
them pay their annual utilities bills.
The books are conveniently categorized so you can find your
favourite themes easily. I always head straight for the Canadian female
writers. Elizabeth Hay, Camilla Gibb, Alice Munro…but they have tens of
thousands of titles every year and they sell for a buck or two so you can afford
to venture off into unknown territory if you’re intrigued by something new.
So grab a big tote bag and head to the book fair this
weekend, fellow book lovers. You can indulge this guilty pleasure, at least,
knowing you are simultaneously doing something awesome for a very good cause in
the community. Dibs on the Nancy Drew.
1 comment:
A woman after my own heart!
I was priviledged to grow up in a family that cherished reading over all other pass times.
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