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and the moon be still as bright
Jan. 7th, 2004 11:40 pmI am apparently a predictable turtle. I buy lunch from the sandwich shop in the office park perhaps 3 times a month, when I'm too disorganized to bring food from home, and don't have time to get to the (cheaper) fast food places almost a mile away. I didn't think I was recognized, remembered, noteworthy. Yesterday, the clerk gave me my sandwich, took my money, and asked, "What? No book today?"
I pushed my hood back to show the headphones. "It's a book on tape. I thought it would be easier to manage, what with wearing mittens when I walk, and with it getting dark so early." She smiled. There's no way for her to know this is a painful subject. I never told her I was having trouble reading because I was so depressed. She had only seen me carrying a book to lunch. Even when I didn't have time to sit down and eat, but only took the bag of food I had ordered by phone and walked right back to my office, she knew I read while I walked.
She laughed, and asked how I like listening to books instead of reading them. I told her didn't really know yet, because this was only the second book I'd listened to this way. I smiled to be friendly. I didn't tell her how frustrating it is that listening is so much slower than reading. Or how hard it is to recover when my mind wanders or shuts off for a moment...looking back to scan the previous line, or even the previous page, is trivial. But trying to figure out how far back I need to rewind and re-listen is daunting, and then re-listening is either boring or confusing or both.
I'm listening to _The Martian Chronicles_, in honor of Spirit. (And now I suppose I should say, in memory of Beagle.) I think it's working for me, kinda sorta maybe. The first book I listened to was Ruth Rendell's _Kissing the Gunner's Daughter_. It sounded good, and I enjoyed bits of it, but I was bored and frustrated and dizzy and disoriented about it. I couldn't listen with enough attention to actually follow the plot. _The Martian Chronicles_ is more comfortable for me....it feels like home.
Part of that might just be the accent. Ray Bradbury is as midwestern as I am. His Mars may be otherworldly in spots, but his people, his language, are all thoroughly haimishe. Another part is that my class read _The Martian Chronicles_ in school when I was 14. A month of reading aloud and limping diagrammed analysis struck me as deadly dull. The following year, we spent 6 weeks on _Dandelion Wine_, while I seethed with boredom and resentment. (I had once liked _Dandelion Wine_, when I was 8, before duty summoned it and crushed the life out of it a word at a time. We spent a whole class period on "relish." Another on "grass-stained." God help us.)
I never thought of Bradbury as comfort reading. Yet somehow listening to _The Martian Chronicles_, after 20 years away, is comforting and familiar.
I pushed my hood back to show the headphones. "It's a book on tape. I thought it would be easier to manage, what with wearing mittens when I walk, and with it getting dark so early." She smiled. There's no way for her to know this is a painful subject. I never told her I was having trouble reading because I was so depressed. She had only seen me carrying a book to lunch. Even when I didn't have time to sit down and eat, but only took the bag of food I had ordered by phone and walked right back to my office, she knew I read while I walked.
She laughed, and asked how I like listening to books instead of reading them. I told her didn't really know yet, because this was only the second book I'd listened to this way. I smiled to be friendly. I didn't tell her how frustrating it is that listening is so much slower than reading. Or how hard it is to recover when my mind wanders or shuts off for a moment...looking back to scan the previous line, or even the previous page, is trivial. But trying to figure out how far back I need to rewind and re-listen is daunting, and then re-listening is either boring or confusing or both.
I'm listening to _The Martian Chronicles_, in honor of Spirit. (And now I suppose I should say, in memory of Beagle.) I think it's working for me, kinda sorta maybe. The first book I listened to was Ruth Rendell's _Kissing the Gunner's Daughter_. It sounded good, and I enjoyed bits of it, but I was bored and frustrated and dizzy and disoriented about it. I couldn't listen with enough attention to actually follow the plot. _The Martian Chronicles_ is more comfortable for me....it feels like home.
Part of that might just be the accent. Ray Bradbury is as midwestern as I am. His Mars may be otherworldly in spots, but his people, his language, are all thoroughly haimishe. Another part is that my class read _The Martian Chronicles_ in school when I was 14. A month of reading aloud and limping diagrammed analysis struck me as deadly dull. The following year, we spent 6 weeks on _Dandelion Wine_, while I seethed with boredom and resentment. (I had once liked _Dandelion Wine_, when I was 8, before duty summoned it and crushed the life out of it a word at a time. We spent a whole class period on "relish." Another on "grass-stained." God help us.)
I never thought of Bradbury as comfort reading. Yet somehow listening to _The Martian Chronicles_, after 20 years away, is comforting and familiar.
