The Journey.

December 31st 2022

It’s 12:05 am and I am laying upon the bed, facing my phone, Jesse quietly works away at an account for one of his clients,(New years or no the work must go on) we look up long enough to wish each other Happy New year, then carry on with the evening, im listening to the last of the fireworks, as they race up into the evening sky, where upon they explode into an erupting ball of light, colour and sound, finishing with a pop and fizz before silence ensues once more, the gently thumps of music above my head serves as a timely reminder that I’m not the only one awake or indeed alive and right now another year begins, while we are waiting to do it all over again in five hours time, (in Jesse world.

The challenge..

Beside me on the yellow fleece blanket, lies a crumpled up piece of lined paper, just shortly before new year kicked off, I had begun a list, a list of resolutions, intent. Even before that last fire work burst rudely into the night, I knew without any shadow of doubt or remorse I would break every single one of those carefully thought out plans for a healthier, happier lifestyle, I’m a weak woman and I make no apologies for it! 😁.

There was however one item listed, it sat at the very bottom of the page glaring defiantly at me, refusing unlike the others to be ignored or abandoned. It had meaning, and despite everything I knew it too!.

During the very long dark cold days of winter, I find myself often at a loss for things to occupy this mind of mine, (and goodness knows you really don’t want my mind running amok, not ever!) my mornings are pretty much taken care of, I’m a well scheduled being😊, I go about my chores while Jesse catches up on some much needed sleep, it’ tends to be those long stretches from noon onward till evening I find most testing, And being mainly house bound they seem drag on endlessly,. Doesn’t help I’m not a big fan of tv, (my life has enough dramas without soaps) Cooking for one is always over before it ever really began, And I’ve pretty much relinquished art days to some dingy dank space at the back of the cupboard in my bedroom, for the foreseeable future unfortunately.

The only other hobby I had up to a point ever really stuck at till recent years that is, was reading, from the time words stopped dancing about upon the pages, I think I would be, roughly six or seven, I read. Not just because it was expected, or for school, I actually loved books. In the early years it was ladybird books, beautiful block colour pictures, with fairy tales, I can still see pictures of Rumple stilskin to this day, Im positive they would still unnerve me too😊, Farm scenes with large Shire horses and their snow white feathery feet, gleaming chestnut coats pulling ploughs, big white faces pointing down to the earth, muscular necks arched as the team pulled their weight into leather collars.. Janet and John books, all before I swiftly moved on to Enid Blyton and her wonderful adventuresome famous five.

I went to the library each week with my father, loving the smell of dusty old well read books, I would sit on one of the tiny chairs placed in a semi circle, with two or three books at my side, quietly reading away until he had chosen his. For a child so full of life and chatter, I rather loved the enforced hushed silences, the books filled my overworked mind completely, Saturday was library day, Saturday bought new books to devour, new adventures to be found betwixt plastic covered covers.. My father encouraged my love of everything books, buying me Princesses Tina pony books each year at Christmas, . Coming back from another trip to London one time with a red covered second hand paper back, its gold lettered title faded with use.. That book happened to be Anna Sewells Black Beauty, from page one, laying flat on my stomach across the bed, I was locked into the words, loving how Anna became Beautys voice, her description of his life spoke volumns to an Eight year old horse lover. As the years went on, no book was safe from me enquiring mind, I read books way above my age range…although this to came with its own bitter pill,

Being a sensitive nervous kind of kid, I would dread Tuesday afternoons at Manorway Primary school,. we would have had our lunch in the canteen, then or soon after I would begin to feel that tell tale twist begin in my stomach, I knew what was coming, The words “right books out children and read to yourselves”, instead of being my idea of joy, was a living nightmare. My surname beginning with M was unfortunate, it meant I came halfway down the list..halfway meant just enough time to work myself up into a ball of nerves, jumping each time Mr Brown called out a name, You see that was time for each pupil to read aloud to the class,. (I have always hated being centre of attention, drawing attention to myself was never a good thing at home, so when it became my turn to read, I stuttered badly over some words, missing out others that due to panic merged into a jumbled up mess, I couldn’t express my fears to my teacher as nice as he was, I just couldn’t find the words, but each week my teacher wouldn’t allow me to change my book because my reading wasn’t good enough, in truth I read far better than the older child they had listen quietly to me, often having to read out longer more complicated words for them 😁. Reading at school was frustrating if not annoying, reading at home or the library was heaven.

As I grew up I found whole hours, if not days could be lost between those pages, Finding a small area at home, where no one went, filling it with an old tattered rag rug, cushions and a blanket, there hidden from sight, curled in a ball with a book I found escapism, journeys, adventures, I became so involved with the characters that I swore when I had to put my book down, they carried on without me, many a time I crept up on my latest book silently, opening the covers in a hurry to see what had occurred in my absence..course nothing had because we all know their far to clever to actually get caught out😁

Throughout the years books, have been my playground, escape from traumatic experiences, light when life was too dark to bear, even while going through the restrictions, limitations of Agoraphobia, within books I travelled to far off countries, journeys to places I could only dream of in reality.. Also with the aid of books my mother and I found common ground, a no man’s land if you will, where in life we had clashed badly, our love of reading, bought about peace, harmony and frequent hours on the phone discussing our latest read..we had bonded over our love of books to such a point I hunted high and low to find her her favourite authors in local charity shops, in fact the very last Christmas present I bought her was a book by Josephine Cox, …

And there began an issue, over the years myself and mother had shared such wonderful moments together, afternoons in her sunlit living room, drinking tea and chattering like excitable sparrows over the latest copies Josephine Cox or Catherine Cookson books,. Both getting through at least three per week. 😁

When my mother died, the trauma of losing her for some reason meant for the first time in my whole life, books couldn’t save me, they couldn’t bring about that solace I was used to..instead of life between the pages, I found a jumbled up mix of flat black written words, spidery letters that escaped off the page, it was meaningless, I tried so often to pick one up, longing to find that escape from the pain that crushed my heart, but instead of having that need fulfilled, I found a big empty void, it’s daft I know but inside me I felt the one time I needed them most like my mother they had gone…but in truth it was myself that had abandoned them…

Back to December 2022.

As I lay absent mindedly flicking through Facebook one afternoon, an advert came up on my news feed for a book called The reading list by an author I hadn’t heard of previously, called Sara Nisha Adams,. Normally I would scroll passed without a backward glance, but something stopped me mid scroll this time, it caught my attention, and I read it’s synopsis, never thinking that I would go on to find myself buying the book. But I did, and even as I read the first few pages later, I held out little hope I would complete it.(totally defeated from the off) but again to my pheasant surprise, not only did I read it, I devoured the pages hungrily, not feeling sated until I read the very last word.

The book was built around the main characters loss of his wife, yet though it has some sadness, it’s also filled with pearls of wisdom, learning how to rejoin society after shutting yourself firmly off, how to begin life all over …how apt was that book for my first reading experience in years…the book also mentioned a list left behind by the characters wife..a list of books..books that actually exist, so as I closed the cover of the reading list, I searched for the for the five books on that list….that last day of December I not only found those five books, but with them returned my love of reading…

It’s with this in mind I go back to that original crumpled piece of lined paper, there I saw on the bottom line, my last resolution..please read 50 books by this time next year..yeah I hear you all ..What FIFTY!!!!?, And in the beginning it did seem an overwhelming task I had set myself, but that journey through the pages has seen me through both good and bad times, submerged totally Ive bonded with their authors, it’s such an intimate thing, the sharing of words, letting someone into your inner most thoughts…

Did I do it?

You bet I did, I took that challenge right to my heart, I engorged on each volume, and though there’s no one to share the stories with, no soul with which to discuss the highs and lows, What had started out as just a challenge in the beginning, has grown into so much much more..it’s like finding a long lost friend in a crowd, then catching up on old times over coffee…50 books was what I set myself, 72 books later and I’m still not done😁, I’ve discovered new authors, genre I never would have guessed I would enjoy, old favourites have returned once more too, I’ve joined my local online library, what’s more I’m no longer haunted by loss, because I regained so much more…next year who knows I may set myself something else entirely or maybe a nice round number, like 100 books 😁. Anyone want to join me? 😁 I’m going off to make another coffee folks and carry on with my latest addiction a book called, the last letter by Ruth Saberton..whatever your doing today, stay safe and take care of you❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤x