My Mama is an outlaw. Her crime? Defacing books.
Let me count the ways.
When I was growing up, Mom used to keep a small Bible laying on the edge of the tub for reading at the end of her long, hard day. The only problem was that after taking care of three precocious kids and a demanding husband, she very often fell into exhausted sleep while reading, only to awaken at the sudden splash as her Bible fell into the water. There was always something so comforting and endearing about seeing that misshapen and distorted Bible sitting on the edge of our tub.
The truth about my Mama is this: she leaps feet first into every book she opens. The characters become her friends, if not her family. I don’t know how many times I have called her and she has said, “I gotta get off this phone and finish this book. Except I don’t want it to end because the man in this book is so much like your Daddy.” – or – “The mother in this book is just like you Robin, she doesn’t take any crap off anybody!”
You see, reading is not a passive exercise for my Mom. It is a passionate, emotion-filled journey that requires nothing less than her total focus and interaction, which includes cracking book spines and dog-earing pages. But that's not even the worst of her offenses. (I hope the book police aren’t reading this blog or heaven forbid, any of those silent monks who hand-scribe books in cold, damp monastery basements.) Because - forgive her Baby Jesus - my Mom writes in the margins of her favorite books.
Inherit a book from My Mom the Book Vandal and you will find a graffiti trail of her innermost thoughts scrawled with guiltless abandonment on random pages.
In her defense, she was led into this life of crime by her own Mother, my Flodie.
Flodie was a voracious reader who developed the habit of inscribing a distinctive, properly cursive ‘F’ inside the cover of every book she read. She would also give her handwritten opinion of a book with either: 'Very Good', 'Good', or 'So-So'. Furthermore, Flodie demanded that her daughters also initial each book, so everyone would be in the loop. My Mom would initial a simple 'dc' with beautiful flourishes, while my sweet Aunt Betty Bob would initial 'BBM'. I never see that initial without hearing my Mom's laughter as she taunted her sister with “Big Bowel Movement”. (My Mom and I are just classy that way.)
Growing up surrounded by all these book vandals had quite the opposite effect on me. In compensation for my feloneous matriarichal mentors, I chose to break the cycle by willfully obeying all the rules of Book Etiquette 101: I used bookmarks. I never opened a book to the point of spine-cracking. I never used a book as a coaster for my sweaty glass of sweet tea. I always put my book down before I got sleepy in the tub. And most importantly…I never ever wrote in the margins.
And then one day, my Flodie was gone.
We sifted through her belongings, hoping desperately to find something important...something meaningful and comforting. But it was shocking how little of herself she had left behind for us to hold on to. I kept a hairbrush with strands of her beautiful silver hair. I kept a tube of her favorite ‘lips’. And I kept her Bible...her tattered, well-worn Bible. It wasn’t just a Bible she read, it was clearly the Bible she used. I’ve found loads of comfort and wisdom in the pages of that Bible. And an unexpected treasure of a neatly folded tissue tucked between pages in the Book of Luke...
Let me count the ways.
When I was growing up, Mom used to keep a small Bible laying on the edge of the tub for reading at the end of her long, hard day. The only problem was that after taking care of three precocious kids and a demanding husband, she very often fell into exhausted sleep while reading, only to awaken at the sudden splash as her Bible fell into the water. There was always something so comforting and endearing about seeing that misshapen and distorted Bible sitting on the edge of our tub.
The truth about my Mama is this: she leaps feet first into every book she opens. The characters become her friends, if not her family. I don’t know how many times I have called her and she has said, “I gotta get off this phone and finish this book. Except I don’t want it to end because the man in this book is so much like your Daddy.” – or – “The mother in this book is just like you Robin, she doesn’t take any crap off anybody!”
You see, reading is not a passive exercise for my Mom. It is a passionate, emotion-filled journey that requires nothing less than her total focus and interaction, which includes cracking book spines and dog-earing pages. But that's not even the worst of her offenses. (I hope the book police aren’t reading this blog or heaven forbid, any of those silent monks who hand-scribe books in cold, damp monastery basements.) Because - forgive her Baby Jesus - my Mom writes in the margins of her favorite books.
Inherit a book from My Mom the Book Vandal and you will find a graffiti trail of her innermost thoughts scrawled with guiltless abandonment on random pages.
In her defense, she was led into this life of crime by her own Mother, my Flodie.
Flodie was a voracious reader who developed the habit of inscribing a distinctive, properly cursive ‘F’ inside the cover of every book she read. She would also give her handwritten opinion of a book with either: 'Very Good', 'Good', or 'So-So'. Furthermore, Flodie demanded that her daughters also initial each book, so everyone would be in the loop. My Mom would initial a simple 'dc' with beautiful flourishes, while my sweet Aunt Betty Bob would initial 'BBM'. I never see that initial without hearing my Mom's laughter as she taunted her sister with “Big Bowel Movement”. (My Mom and I are just classy that way.)
Growing up surrounded by all these book vandals had quite the opposite effect on me. In compensation for my feloneous matriarichal mentors, I chose to break the cycle by willfully obeying all the rules of Book Etiquette 101: I used bookmarks. I never opened a book to the point of spine-cracking. I never used a book as a coaster for my sweaty glass of sweet tea. I always put my book down before I got sleepy in the tub. And most importantly…I never ever wrote in the margins.
And then one day, my Flodie was gone.
We sifted through her belongings, hoping desperately to find something important...something meaningful and comforting. But it was shocking how little of herself she had left behind for us to hold on to. I kept a hairbrush with strands of her beautiful silver hair. I kept a tube of her favorite ‘lips’. And I kept her Bible...her tattered, well-worn Bible. It wasn’t just a Bible she read, it was clearly the Bible she used. I’ve found loads of comfort and wisdom in the pages of that Bible. And an unexpected treasure of a neatly folded tissue tucked between pages in the Book of Luke...
But for Mom and myself, the gifts that kept on giving were the boxes of books we found with Flodie’s initials and particular stamps of approval. Upon Flodie’s arrival in heaven, I spent days pouring over those books...holding each one in my hands...hoping her beautiful hands had touched the very same places as mine...knowing her mind and heart had absorbed the very same words. I was so grateful for the healing, for the sense of connection.
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I sat down to visit with my Mom the other day and as always, I asked about the latest book she was reading.
“Oh, Robin. I found it. It made me cry.”
“Found what?” I asked in complete bafflement.
“I found the passage you outlined in this book. You know...where you wrote 'My Mama' in the margin”.
“Oh, wow, Mom. I did that ages ago. Will you read it to me, please?”
She did not pick up the book. She picked up her journal.
She said “I copied this in my own little book so I wouldn’t have to hunt for it. I’ve read it a million times. Here it is..."
“I feel my Mom touch my arm. And then I am in her arms, where I have always fit, listening to that incredible heart of hers beat beneath my cheek. Suddenly I can feel her strength, as if resilience was something one can gift to another. “She looked back up at me with tears in her eyes, my own filled to overflowing.
“Isn't that just perfect, Mom? It says exactly what you are to me. And Mom? Other than Bibles or textbooks, that’s the first time I’ve ever written in the margin.”
Three generations of book outlaws. My Mama was so proud.
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NOTE TO MY MAMA:
Merry Christmas to my BFF. I hope you enjoy my little collection of stories. I hope you scrawl your beautiful graffiti in the margin of every single page. And I hope when you are finished, you will turn to the front cover and write 'Very Good', or at least 'Good'. Anything but 'So-So'. Because we all know, life's too short to read ‘So-So’ books.
Love you much,
Robin In Da Hood
OMG Robin! Tears are flowing down my cheek! What a beautiful heart you have!! What an awesome family!
ReplyDeleteLove,
Fran Snider Dale
Thanks so much for your sweet comment, Fran.
ReplyDeletei love this post. That is precious. I love your mama & you. :) My Casey is exactly like her...LOVES LOVES to read. :)
ReplyDeleteBetween Flodie, Gran-MiMi and his Mom...Casey didn't have a chance! Love you much ♥
ReplyDeleteWhy do you do this to us? You make me laugh and you certainly make me cry. Love ya much, my Christian Sister!
ReplyDelete