Ravings of a Bibliophile

You know what makes me sad?
When people (kids and teens in particular) tell me they don't like to read.
It makes me want to hide in the back of a dark, dark closet and mutter curses against our current society. Of course, I'd take a flashlight in the closet with me so I could read in between tears and anguished cries.

I mean, how sad would it be to not like to read?
How tragic is it that some consider reading to be something one is forced to do for school? (I am related to some of these people too! *shudders*)

Books mean the world to me. I cannot remember a time when reading was not something I enjoyed. This past year I have started taking trips twice a week to the library. Like one diseased, I search online for interesting and new-to-me books to read. (Which reminds me, got a recommendation? Leave it in the comments!)
This winter, especially, books have been invaluable. Books were my drug. When life got too stressful, too sad, too lonely, I lost myself in an inky world. According to goodreads.com I have read 175 books so far in 2011 (only a handful of which are re-reads since I don't usually log my re-reads.) Yes, I read a disgusting amount these days. It wasn't always like this, believe me. But I figure I probably won't have this kind of time later on in life so I am taking advantage of it now.

If you are reading this and don't like to read, I'm sorry. Sorry for for my vehement opinions or sorry for your incomplete existence, you may wonder. Well, I'm... not going to answer that. :P


Some of my favourite book quotes I have collected in my readings:

"I closed my eyes, put my right hand on top of the book, and passed it lightly across the cover. It was cool and smooth like a stone from the bottom of the brook, and it stilled me. A whole other world is inside there, I thought to myself, and that's where I want to be."
-From Ida B. by Katherine Hannigan


"Literature is a source of pleasure, he said, it is one of the rare inexhaustible joys in life, but it's not only that. It must not be disassociated from reality. Everything is there. That is why I never use the word fiction. Every subtlety in life is material for a book. He insisted on the fact. Have you noticed, he'd say, that I'm talking about novels? Novels don't contain only exceptional situations, life or death choices, or major ordeals; there are also everyday difficulties, temptations, ordinary disappointments; and, in response, every human attitude, every type of behavior, from the finest to the most wretched. There are books where, as you read, you wonder: What would I have done? It's a question you have to ask yourself. Listen carefully: it is a way to learn to live. There are grown-ups who would say no, that literature is not life, that novels teach you nothing. They are wrong. Literature performs, instructs, it prepares you for life."
-from A Novel Bookstore by Laurence Cossé


"As I stood outside in Cow Lane, it occurred to me that Heaven must be a place where the library is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

No ... eight days a week."
-From The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley


"When you sell a man a book you don't sell just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue - you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humour and ships at sea by night - there's all heaven and earth in a book, a real book."
-From The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley


"I feel, holding books, accommodating their weight and breathing their dust, an abiding love. I trust them, in a way that I can't trust my computer, though I couldn't do without it. Books are matter. My books matter. What would I have done through these years without the library and all its lovely books?"
-From The Girls by Lori Lansens

(A few of my very favourite books.)

{1st picture from the film "Les Parapluies de Cherbourg" and 2nd picture taken by me.}

the turning point.

~~[WARNING: confessional post ahead. :P]~~

I feel I have reached a real turning point.
As you may have noticed from my last post, I have been struggling. This is not a recent thing, though. I can't really go into everything because I don't have the space or the words. I will say this, though: the past few years have been extremely difficult for me spiritually and emotionally. I have been fluctuating between hope and utter despair. Turning away from and towards God over and over.

This past December was a happy time and I thought I was finally working things out and beginning to get better.
But January came with a vengeance and nearly did me in. These past weeks, especially last week, I reached new lows. Hateful things constantly bubbled up within me. I came to a level of self-loathing that is hard to return from. And I barely even cared. I was basically numb.

Then, a couple of days ago, I was reading some random girl's blog. I don't even know who she was or how I got there, really. But this girl's blog was the most depressing thing I have read in a long time. I saw a girl who was blind to the things that really matter. She hated when she should love and because of her anger and sadness she found vindication in turning to the blade of a knife.
I knew I was becoming this girl and suddenly I clearly realized, I don't want to be this girl.

I felt as if I had been ambivalently treading water, nearly drowning and had finally decided I was going to swim.
I felt light and joyous. I just wanted to stand on something and sing. (Which is often my response to happiness, haha.)

I needed to share this because nobody has any idea... I know my parents care about me so much and maybe because of that I am unable to fully confide in them. (Right now, at least.)
Pray for me, if you ever think of it. This healing process is going to be difficult, I know. Too many times I have fallen back in with temptations. But I have been slowly dying and I am ready to finally live. Trusting God and giving Him everything is hard for me, I admit. But I am looking upward and I can feel my wounded soul starting to heal.


"But I trust in Your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in Your salvation.
I will sing the Lord's praise,
for He has been good to me."
Psalm 13:5-6

running away, not going anywhere

let's not leave the house today…

shall we be rebellious for once?
you laugh at that – i'm serious!
say you'll stay in with me.
we could snuggle into the eiderdown's warm embrace,
open a recipe book at random and make the first thing we see.
proclaim our favourite poems to each other!
waltz to the melodies we sing, forgetting words and tripping over each other.
we could compose a song of love in a minor key
(for of course i love you!
i would not be willing to break the rules with just any old person, you know).
we'll be renegades together!
traitors to the mundane existence!
outcasts of society! i must say it sounds awfully fun…
so please, forget your job. forget your life.
forget everything except me and what we will do today.
we may never want to go back again…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this a couple months ago. But lately I've been wishing I really could run away from life. It's not that I am terribly unhappy it's just... life can just be a drag sometimes, you know?
Also, I've been wishing that I actually had someone that I'd want to "escape reality" with. That person is little more than an illusion I dreamed in the darkness to make loneliness seem less permanent.


{This is a minuscule playlist I made. These two songs reminded me of this post's concept so I thought, why not include them? Especially since they're by two of my most favourite artists. The first is 'Gold in the Air of Summer' by Kings of Convenience and the second is 'Our Day Trip' by Nina Nastasia. The lyrics can be found here and here.}

If you could run away, or rather, retreat from the real world where would you go? What would you do?

{Photo by me and made possible by my typewriter Donovan.}

Because the world needs more happy thoughts.

Here are a couple random things that have made my week happy:

I have been a part of a local, non-profit theatrical organization the past 8 years or so and this Spring they are putting on a production of Alice in Wonderland which I am going to be in!!
As in most versions, this play is a combination of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I'm very excited to be in this play because those are two of my most favourite books ever!!! (The adaptation doesn't always follow the books as much as I would like, but c'est la vie.)

Auditions were on Saturday and I got the role of the White Rabbit! I am rather pleased about that.
I went into auditions not wanting any specific character but during auditions I decided that was the part I wanted most. I try not to get too attached to roles, though, in case I don't get them. :P (I don't view myself as an actress, really. Drama is a pleasant past time but I have no desire to pursue it later in life. I am a much better actress then I used to be, though. And I do get such an exhilaration from being on stage. I really don't understand how reticent moi could enjoy it so much, but I do.)

On Monday, my sister took us (my brothers, mom, & I) to her favourite used bookstore. We started in the children's section which was located downstairs but then moved upstairs to the "adult" books.
As I stood in the corner where the "A's" started and surveyed the shelves brimming with books just waiting for me, I couldn't decided whether it was heaven or hell! I suspect the latter since I grew very warm with all the bending over and developed a headache. Though the headache might have had something to do with the cat wandering about. (I am horribly allergic but I love cats so I pet them anyway.) I think all used bookshops should have cats. It was so wonderful to have that lissome black and white creature rubbing against my ankles obligingly as I perused the numerous titles.
Slowly and surely, I made my way through the adult fiction section. My purchases of the day were The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield and The Waves by Virginia Woolf. (Two books I read last year and loved.) I could have bought so much more since there were many books there to tempt me... But I don't have steady income so I try to keep my expenditures low. The two books I got were only about 10 dollars total. (I don't even want to tell you how many books my sister bought...! O_o)
I do hope to go back someday. I didn't even get to the poetry section!

Then, the next day (yesterday) I was at the Library looking at the books they have for sale in the foyer (books that people have donated and such). And usually, I can't find much that I want but I got lucky and found Inkheart by Cornelia Funke and Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (which I haven't read yet but have been wanting to read). Got them both for $1.50! Oh yes.

Altogether it was a very good week for a bibliophile like me. But I have noticed the available spaces on my bookshelves are filling in rather rapidly......
What about you all? What has made you happy this week? :)



{Drawing of the White Rabbit is by Tenniel and other two pictures are mine.}

For the dreamers.

I am not a leader and I have never been much of a follower.
What does that make me then?

I am... a dreamer! Yes, I am a dreamer; I make my own world and demand no one join me there. A leader would want subjects; I am not a leader.
I am not a follower. True, I am unassuming but I will not languish in waiting for someone else to do something I may not even like. Quietly, I will disappear and travel to the beatings of my own thoughts.
I am not a rebel. Well, I am really. Dreamers are gentle, starry-eyed rebels. We care not for mundanitites and rules. Our rebellion is not loud or brazen, but filled with sounds of raindrops and rose-whispers. Our respectful defiance is misunderstood as rebellions must be.

Those who are not dreamers find us exasperating. They look in scorn at our flushed faces from dancing in the meadows. They regard our snowflake stained eyes with suspicion.
"Why??" they ask. They don't know how much it helps.
With annoyance, they survey our bare toes. Knowing we have been dabbling them in a pool of fairy tales, they are afraid we might drip on their spotless carpet.

But we try not to care what the ignorant people think. We are introspective but not self-centered. For we find the company of other dreamers to be invaluable... we need to be understood as well!

If you are reading this, I feel sure you must be a dreamer. This blogging world feels like a secret society of dreamers and I am so glad I stumbled upon it. I love you all. {Just so you know.}



{Photograph by Rodney Smith.}

December

{The Charlie Brown Christmas tree in our foyer. ♥ }

December
At first it was doubt. Feeling that there was something horribly wrong with me. Nearly having a breakdown, crying sobs that threatened to consume me. {I haven't had a cry this ravaging in so long...}
Baking my melancholy, my disappointments into batches of Christmas cookies and half-heartedly harmonizing in church to the familiar carols.
I was afraid my favourite season would finish before I could get out of my blue funk...

Then, one morning: an unforeseen coating of snow and the scent of cinnamon rolls.

{I love our back yard when it snows. The snow-covered branches turn it into a veritable winter wonderland.}

After that... somehow... December was beautiful.

~A party I was loath to attend turning out lovely in one of the most unexpected ways possible.

~Watching White Christmas for the first time with some of my very favourite people. {The weather forecast has informed us that we may experience a "white Christmas" of our own...!}

~Being swept away by the beauty of song in the annual concert of the girl's ensemble I sing in.
This was possibly one of the most wonderful things of all. Why?
Well, I love singing in the ensemble but lately I've been frustrated and unable to enjoy it because of the relatively small dissonances around me. We are undoubtedly amateurs and I could feel the discrepancies dragging me down. I couldn't appreciate the other parts around me nor the important story {of Jesus' birth} that our words were telling.
But at the concert it all seemed to come together. {It helps that we have the most amazing, loving director ever.}
So what if the girl on my left was off-key at times and singing the soprano part instead of the second soprano?
So what if the girl on my right doesn't know the meaning of the word "pianissimo"?
I was able to sing with absolute joy in my voice! With happiness tinging every note. There is something so thrilling about harmony and being a part of a choir. I'm glad I could be reminded.

Now I bake my content and my joy into Christmas cookies. I made the cookies pictured above last week. They were supposed to be gingersnaps but I did something wrong and they ended up being more like gingerbread. {We suspect I put in too much flour.} But they tasted incredible. That is one mistake I would not mind repeating.

So, yes. I am enjoying this season. Even though I am "grown-up" I still get twinges of the all-consuming, childish anticipation. This quote sum it up pretty well:

"Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart... filled it, too, with a melody that would last forever. Even though you grew up and found you could never quite bring back the magic feeling of this night, the melody would stay in your heart always - a song for all the years."
-Excerpt from Song of Years by Bess Streeter Aldrich


And with that, I just want to wish everyone the merriest of Christmases! I hope you all are having a lovely December and Christmas season?


{P.S. - I'm sorry I'm so longwinded all of the time! I try to restrain my train of thought but it goes chugging on, regardless.}

My Favourite Place

"This," she told her little brother, "is a treasure map!"
Her little brother eyed the tattered piece of paper doubtfully and complacently continued playing with his toy cars.
Unruffled by his disinterest, she continued. "At the end of this map you will find a door... a door that leads to all of my favourite places!
How would you like to go through a wardrobe to a beautiful land where animals talk! We could take Fritz with us and he could tell us what he is thinking!"
By now, her brother had abandoned his toys and was regarding the paper she held with curiosity.
"We could step through a looking glass, even! And be pieces on a giant game of chess! Or we could go to Dictionopolis and eat the very words we say. If we get too full we could go to Digitopolis and eat subtraction stew which makes you hungry instead of full!"
Her little brother's face broke into a smile that was parenthesised by two dimples.
"Oh! Wait," she gasped, "I know where we could go first! A place called Neverland! You get there by flying and you can never get older there, never ever. They have pirates there and indians and fairies and everything! Oh, yes! Let's go there first!" She almost shrieked, hopping up and down with exuberance. "Do you want to?" She asked earnestly peering into the little boy's widened eyes. He nodded vigorously.
"Well, then, off we go!!" She slipped her hand in his and swinging their arms they set off together down that well-worn path... the path that leads to the library.

{Painting: The Land of Enchantment by Norman Rockwell.}

Appreciation for the familiar.

"When you talked earlier about, after a few years, how a couple would begin to hate each other by anticipating their reactions or getting tired of their mannerisms… I think it would be the opposite for me… I think I can really fall in love when I know everything about someone. The way he’s going to part his hair, which shirt he’s going to wear that day… knowing the exact story he’d tell in a given situation.
I’m sure that’s when I’d know I’m really in love."

~Céline, Before Sunrise~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you feel that way? I do. Sometimes I think there is nothing so comforting as the familiar. Sure, experiencing new things is great; the thrill of the unknown is unparalleled! But at the end of the day I just want to be reassured by something predictable. Though I am not one for daily rituals that must be performed. Just being in a familiar place with the people I love and know is enough for me.
{...Though this is probably because I'm a major homebody.}

Some of the beautiful things.

Just when her life was the most sodden with disappointments that it had ever been...
When she felt the only thing she wanted to do was slip into a fading nothingness; an anonymous grave....
Just when she had forgotten there is hope...
Then, she discovered it: the preservation of the things that made her happiest.
She collected empty bottles & jars and in them stored her treasures.

{Extract of sunshine; spice of the wind on an autumn noon.}

She set these containers on a shelf in an alcove in her kitchen, labeling them with a meticulous hand.

{Salt tasting of ocean breezes; essence of a feathery kiss.}

Pride welled in her heart when she surveyed the neat lines of her assorted riches. Lovingly, she would run her fingers along their varied surfaces. Some warm, some cool.

{Decanters full of intoxicating moonlight-infused water, gathered from a lake at midnight.}

With a careful reverence, she dusted them every day.

{A jar full of the fog that seems to creep from the forests and settle in the roads.}

Every day her collection grew, for now her senses were opened and she found beautiful things everywhere she went.

{Bottle upon bottle filled full of the infectious giggles of the little boy who lived down the street.}

All these years, she had mechanically fed her body but starved that thing inside her. The thing inside everyone that is sustained by the abstract & beautiful things of life.
She had forgotten you need more than physical sustenance to keep one's soul alive.
But, now she has remembered... and her life has never been more dear to her.

confessions of a girl who loves to sing.

She stands on a stage in front of her audience, wearing the dress she only wears for them.
Hands by her side, smiling that secret smile; she sings with the confidence she only feels around them.
They adore her. They hang onto her every note, mesmerized by her music
Before them, she can sing out loud and unrestrained.
She holds out her arms, giving them things she gives to no one else.
Holding her hands wide open, she receives what they alone can give her.
When she curtsies they clap loud and unrestrained.
"More!" they cry. "Encore!" they beg.
She's never been known to turn them down.
They understand. They understand the songs she sings for them.
Her performances for them are unparalleled.

So clearly she feels their respectful presence,
is it any wonder that she forgets she's just a girl...
standing on a chair in her high-ceilinged kitchen.
All alone except for the echo of her own voice.



{Picture of: St. Vincent.}

I am a writer... and I can't help it.

I was reading quotes on some random quote site the other week, and I ran across this quote by Rainer Maria Rilke:
"Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write."

I didn't really think much about it after reading it, I just moved on. But later, I was thinking... would I die if I were forbidden to write? To be sure, dying seems, well, melodramatic... Yet, I somehow feel if I could never write another word of my dreams, fancies and stories - something in me would die.
No more would I run on a mad dash to find a pencil and paper when I need to capture a thought or a phrase.
No more would I stay up late poring over the thesaurus looking for the right word to use.
No more would I get out of bed in the middle of the night and scribble an idea down by the dim light of my ipod.
No more would I get that feeling of absolute content after finishing writing something that I think is good.
My life would be almost pleasure-less!

Thankfully, I do not think there is anyone who is going to forbid me to write, so - write I will!
And so, even on those days when I am in despair, feeling as if everything I write is inane and I will never be any good, I remember... I have to write. Even if nothing ever comes of it. It has spread its roots into the very depth of my heart.










~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But you don't know what's ahead of you--the stony hills--the steep ascents--the buffets--the discouragements. Stay in the valley if you're wise. Emily, why do you want to write? Give me your reason."
"I want to be famous and rich," said Emily coolly.
"Everybody does. Is that all?"
"No. I just love to write."
"A better reason--but not enough--not enough. Tell me this--if you knew you would be poor as a church mouse all your life--if you knew you'd never have a line published--would you still go on writing--would you?"
"Of course I would," said Emily disdainfully. "Why, I have to write--I can't help it at times--I've just got to."
"Oh--then I'd waste my breath giving advice at all. If it's in you to climb you must--there are those who must lift their eyes to the hills--they can't breathe properly in the valleys. God help them if there's some weakness in them that prevents their climbing. You don't understand a word I'm saying--yet. But go on--climb!

-Excerpt from Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery


{Picture taken by me.}

{the night of my grandmother's party}

Silently, I sat at the table.
My left-hand neighbor had gone. My right-hand neighbor chatted gaily to her right-hand neighbor about places I'd never been.
The people across from me were happily engaged in a conversation that I could have joined but I had no desire to.
I looked around the capacious tent that held all the people talking and laughing. So many people... I wished they would all go home so I could have peace.
I sat dully, listening to the chatter.
Darkness enclosed the tent. It seemed like a friendly dark... a dark that was beckoning me...!
Without a second thought I stood up, with one object in mind: to escape.
Doubting anyone would notice me leave or give much thought to it, I made my way outside.

I looked back at the lighted tent, happy with the knowledge no one would miss me.
I stepped further into the darkness. Childishly, I jumped through the tree that was divided in the middle so that its shape resembled a giant "Y".

Down the garden path I walked. The ground was cold and damp beneath my bare feet. {I had abandoned my shoes long ago.}
I walked to the garden's edge where trees, bushes, and vines formed a thick bramble. There I stopped.
Though still in view of the lighted tent, no one could see me.
Staring up into the dark sky, which was punctuated by a full moon, I felt a pleasing sense of solitude slip over me.
The beauty of the night, the joy of seclusion, and the romance of the outdoors intoxicated me. An inspirational emotion washed over me... filling me with the need to write or sing!
Since I had neither pen nor paper, I started to softly sing.
The songs were sad but I sang them because I was happy.
Only the trees heard me and the night hid me from prosaic eyes.

Eventually, I knew I had to go back.
With a regretful sigh, I gathered my skirts and made my way back to the noise and brightness.{Making sure to jump through the "Y" tree again.}
Quietly, I resumed my seat at the table. But I felt different. I felt exhilarated after my impulsive excursion. I even successfully made conversational efforts. I smiled and talked late into the night.
Though in the back of my mind, I still was blissfully singing in the darkness, immeasurable happy.


{Painting: "The Girl Under the Magic Moon" by Darren Daz Cox.}

The Train's Cry

Some nights as I lie in bed, my thoughts wandering around, I hear it: an unexpected train’s whistle in the distance.
When I hear its faint wail in the night I feel inspired… it makes me want to write beautiful things. It makes me want to sing!
It may seem ridiculous but it’s just such a wonderful, inexplicable feeling when I hear the train’s cry. It’s like a slight snatch of a ghost story, a call of loneliness, a beckoning of adventure, part of a love story that’s waiting to be finished.
If hearing this whistle were a frequent thing, I think it would lose all of its magic. But the rarity of it is one of the most delicious parts.

Though it’s true modern trains have little romance. They have become cargo-haulers. Graffiti-bearers. But from far away, all alone in the darkness, it could be an old-fashioned steam train… for all I know.
It makes me give a happy sigh in the darkness.


{Also, I think this is a subconscious reason why I named this blog “The Midnight Train of Thought”. If I could, I would marry a train conductor. Definitely. :)}



{Photo found here.}