where the red fern grows – Bookish Butch

What’s your favourite book? And Why?

I have spent a good part,

of the last two days,

reading,

Where The Red Fern Grows.

I am sure many of you have read it.

It’s something of a classic,

there are over,

eight hundred reviews,

on amazon, alone.

OK,

I’m sort of embarrassed to admit,

I had never heard of this book,

until about a month ago.

A woman I met,

told me about it,

it seemed to mean,

a lot to her.

I was intrigued and interested,

by both the book and the woman.

So, a couple of Sundays ago,

I took it out of the library.

It was the first time,

I went to the children’s section.

It’s a wonderful book.

Full of fun and adventure.

It’s about the importance,

of friendship,

of family,

of loyalty,

of sacrifice,

and of hard work.

Full of love and compassion,

as well as,

pain and heartbreak.

An exemplary piece of children’s literature.

One of the first questions,

I ask someone who I find interesting,

is,

what is your favourite book?

It’s important to me.

I also know it’s not really,

that easy a question to answer.

It can vary,

depending on life circumstance.

For instance,

the summer I was fourteen,

I read a giant opus of a book,

Youngblood Hawke by Herman Wouk.

I was really taken with it,

all I remember about it now,

is that it was humongous,

and it made me dream of being a writer.

It was about a writer and I thought,

wow,

that is the most interesting of lives.

I have never re-read that book,

I don’t know if I would still like it,

so,

I will go on remembering it,

vaguely,

and dreamily.

It’s better not to tempt,

dissapointment.

One book I love and have re-read is,

The Catcher In The Rye,

I know many people don’t like this novel,

but,

to me,

it is the best portrayal,

I have read,

of how alien and marginal,

a sensitive, intelligent,

teenager feels.

I read it last year and I felt,

the gnawing in the pit of my stomach,

I was fifteen again,

not in a nostalgic,

wasn’t it great sort of way,

but,

in a,

my God,

will anyone ever get me, way.

But, my favourite book of all time is,

The World According To Garp.

I have been thinking about this,

the past few weeks,

and wondering,

what this says about me.

I think it means I expect the worst,

but,

fervently hope for the best.

I also think it means,

I think you should be weary of,

joining anything,

that orthodoxy,

even when it starts from a good place,

more often than not leads to fanaticism.

It says I know love is imperfect,

and,

sometimes painful,

but,

always worth the risk.

It means I should always try to,

remember what being a child is,

that flippant off hand remarks,

can lead to years of misunderstanding,

and sometimes permanent scaring.

It means that life is both,

hysterically funny and tragic,

sometimes,

simultaneously.

An odd choice as a favourite granted,

it’s about a man,

raised by a single mother,

who has a family and is a writer.

I am none of these things.

And yet,

somehow,

I always felt that someway, somehow,

I was Garp.

Strange.

But, if,

I am anything,

I am strange:-)

Tell me what your favourite book is,

I’m interested.

Later girls,

Cold, reading and ego stroking

A cold day, very cold day.

Thermal socks, long johns,

still cold.

It’s February,

the coldest month of the year.

And,

I had a decent day,

sales were OK,

which is unexpected,

in such weather,

the bookish types,

tend to be hermits,

in the subarctic temperatures,

they stay home, and read,

re-read if necessary.

Today, some of them needed,

to stock up.

I was busy in spurts,

which left,

lots of time,

for reading.

the perks,

of a bookseller,

time to read:-)

I am reading,

Where The Red Fern Grows,

a very enjoyable book.

Strange.

It’s about a boy who hunts,

raccoons, in the Ozarks,

and yet, I like it,

go figure.

I have a feeling,

there is going to be,

an Old Yeller,

type denouement.

I’ll probably cry, like a little girl,

some tough butch, I am:-)

Around three o’clock,

I was eating my orange,

and reading a gripping,

scene, in which,

Billy, Old Dan and Little Ann,

are chasing down,

the ghost coon,

in an effort to win a bet,

off the Pritchard boys,

bad seed types,

who you can, easily imagine,

growing into Deliverance like, characters.

The door opens,

and I get hit with a frosty chill,

I look up, say hello,

and insert the bookmark,

into the book.

It turns out to be this woman,

who I haven’t seen in an age.

I don’t know her name,

although I’m pretty sure,

she must have given it to me,

at some point.

This is odd, for me,

I have an amazing memory.

I’m not bragging,

it has nothing to do,

with intelligence,

you have it or you don’t,

I never forget a name.

But, this woman,

blank.

I have a theory about that,

this woman comes on strong.

Really strong.

Put it this way, even I notice.

I don’t recall if I have ever mentioned my faulty gaydar, probably. It is practically non existent. For me to figure out a woman is: A) Gay or B) flirting with me, it needs to be obvious to a very straight 90 year old. Either that, or she tells me.

This woman,

always looks at me,

looks into me,

might be more appropriate,

as if she sees us doing,

very intimate physical things,

to each other.

She makes me stutter,

and drop things,

she makes my voice rise,

to a nervous pitch,

she makes me giggle.

I don’t know why,

she’s not my type,

and I don’t like the blatant,

come on,

but,

I am not made of stone,

and I react to blatant sexual interest,

like the red blooded butch,

I am.

But, today, honestly,

I was glad to see her,

glad to get my ego stroked,

and stroke she did.

She started off by telling me,

how great I looked,

I didn’t,

bad hair day,

puffy eyes from a bad nights sleep,

and chapped lips,

from February and a recently,

departed cold.

Then she tells me she’s moved to,

the country and I should come for a weekend,

some time.

I mentioned I don’t know her name, right?

Anyway, another customer walked in,

and I was saved.

But, after they both left with several books,

I felt ridiculously buoyant,

like I still had it.

Strange.

It is oddly satisfying to be wanted,

by someone who you don’t,

want.

Later girls,

Library visit and my continuing search for…

Another glorious day here,

in La Belle Province,

well my part of it,

anyway.

I decided to go to the library,

I had some books to bring back,

and I wanted to,

pick up a couple more.

A few weeks ago,

a new acquaintance,

told me,

what her favourite books were,

and I decided to check them out,

both figuratively and literally.

You can tell a lot about a person,

from her favourite books ,

but,

if you haven’t read them,

you better get crackin’:-)

So, my library loot:

I still have,

Making Things Better and

Look At Me,

both by Anita Brookner.

I heard many good things about Brookner,

on various book blogs,

she writes about the loner,

and the loner,

fascinates me.

So, no brainer,

check out Brookner.

The two books I took out today,

Jude The Obscure by Thomas Hardy

and a children’s classic,

Where The Red Fern Grows,

by Wilson Rawls.

It’s funny,

I’ve started reading children’s classics,

in the last four, five years,

Harriet The Spy,

Charlotte’s Web,

Etc.,

and they are charming and heartwarming,

better late than never.

This lady assures me,

Where The Red Fern Grows,

is super and makes your heart sing,

since,

in my opinion,

you can never have,

too much singing heart,

I will be reading it this week.

Jude The Obscure,

for it’s part,

is described as the story of,

a non-conformist.

I consider myself a non-conformist,

I tried to read Tess Of The D’ubervilles,

many years ago,

I think I wasn’t ready for Hardy,

then,

perhaps that has changed.

Well,

Later girls,