The power of a great book

In 1994 I took a book called "Sacajawea" by Anna Lee Waldo from my mother-in-law's bookshelf.  My very favorite genre of reading is historical fiction, so in spite of the sheer size of it I gathered courage and asked to borrow it from her.

Coming in at 1,332 pages, it's not a good 'beach read' choice. I've kept a journal of what I read for for the past twenty eight years. In 1994, I read thirteen books, Sacajawea being one of them. My eclectic list included Stomach Virus by Kathy Peel, two by Max Lucado, two John Grisham, one biography, two by Leon Uris and How to Win Friends and Influence People, by Dale Carnegie.*  24 years later, I barely remember most of my other reads that year, but Sacajawea still sticks with me.

I became so immersed in reading about this amazing woman's life that our dinnertime conversation often included, 'well Sacajawea'. To this day we have a standing family joke about it. And about the fact that Sacajawea cut off a couple of her fingers to signify mourning when her grandmother passed away. I've assured my family a similar sign of mourning at my own passing is not necessary.

About four years ago we were driving from Texas to Idaho and I realized we were very close to Sacajawea's grave, in a very ordinary native Indian cemetery, with a statue of her on one side and her actual grave on the other.  The cemetery Sacajawea is buried in is actually a bit difficult to find, but well worth the effort. She's buried next to two of her children if I remember correctly. Cub Sweetheart was obliging enough to make a detour in our roadtrip and we spent a bit of time there.

When my mother-in-law passed away in 2007 I was able to take that paperback copy of Sacajawea with me, and it sits on my bookshelf, waiting for a day when I will take another summer to reread it.  I treasure this book as much as I do some of her quilts, mixing bowls, and aprons.

Now I find myself a charter member of a new bookclub, The Nibs, where we only read old, long classics. Our current choice is Les Miserables and my translation is 1,194 pages long. That's less than Sacajawea, and now that I'm in a different season of life, not caring for children, it's very doable to read it in three months, when we'll meet to discuss it. (I imagine it'll be much more of a challenge to get through for the other five members, who are still raising children, or children themselves.)

One of the first things about CS, that told me he was different than any man I'd ever known, was that he recommended books to me. Big books. Wonderful books. Books he'd read in high school or college, and I'd never heard of, or dismissed them as something beyond me. I still remember reading Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, and Watership Down by Richard Adams at his recommendation. I'd read then we'd discuss over our bologna sandwiches in the lunch room. I had always been an avid reader, but mostly read junk. It had never occurred to me to read intentionally, to read to learn and open my small world.

Cub Sweetheart when we were first sweethearts

It might be accurate to say Cub Sweetheart was my very first bookclub which had two members.  I've sometimes wondered if I fell in love with him because he was the first person who saw potential in me beyond typing and filing. Or maybe it's because he was darned good looking. Perhaps a bit of both?

I belong to two other bookclubs, but most of what we read in them is modern fiction. Which is nice and fine and fun to get together with other ladies over a glass of wine or lunch. But I'm really loving digging into dusty old books, stretching my brain, growing to love (or hate) the main characters, then meeting with a small group of people to discuss them. The priest in the first part of Les Mis stole my heart immediately; then I met Jean Valjean, and Fantine. I already know digging into this wonderful book will shape how I see the world, and it'll be one I'll remember for years to come.

As to that *"How to Win Friends and Influence People', it was recommended to me by a high school teacher, Mrs. Dupree, who taught Office Occupations, my career track at the time. We'd had a 'discussion' about something - I suspect it was my behavior or attitude -  and her last comment to me was that I might consider reading this book. My response was to draw a moustache on her photo in my yearbook.

Mrs.  Dupree, I did read the book, and you were right. I wish you'd been my Lit teacher instead. Who knows how it might have changed the trajectory of my life. And I'm sorry about the moustache.