Let the Wild Rumpus Begin

I really want to see Where the Wild Things Are. Maybe this weekend.

I loved that book as a kid. I still love that book.

I loved that and Blueberries for Sal, Make Way for Ducklings, The Twelve Dancing Princesses, Goodnight Moon, The Chronicles of Narnia, Where the Red Fern Grows, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.

My parents would read to us every night before bed. Which gave me an internal reading-time clock. In junior high (and thereabouts) I would get into bed every night at 8:00 and read for and hour or and hour-and-a-half, then turn out the lights and go to sleep. Every night. Without fail.

I would also eat crackers in bed while I read. Probably not the most hygienic, but I do love Saltines.

When my Mom got to the end seventh book in the Chronicles of Narnia, she would cry when she read it to us. I didn't understand why until I re-read the books during the summer after my sophomore year at college. Then I cried too.

My Dad read to us from Lord of the Rings. He's a Tolkein expert, if I haven't mentioned that before. He's loved the books since childhood (my favorite story of him as a kid is that he got in trouble for sneaking his LOTR book into Sunday School by putting it in his scripture case and reading it all during class). He'd read at a hurried pace during the chases, in a somber voice at the sad, and in a thoughtful voice at the final scenes. We'd always beg for just one more chapter, or, if that failed, just one more page.

I think that's why I can't wait for lunch time every day...when I can return to my current adventure/biography/history/dramedy/personal essay and spend a blissful hour eating the equivalent of grown-up crackers.