Saturdays in the Nook with Literate Housewife!
Saturday, August 30th, 2008(Today I am thrilled to bring you a post from Jennifer of Literate Housewife. Jennifer’s blog, Literate Housewife, is fantastically written and one I always read first. I hope you enjoy her story as much I did!)
I had the privilege of growing up in a small, suburban community where the neighborhood library was only a mile away. It was a pleasant route to walk or ride my bike. Some of my best and most peaceful memories of middle childhood revolved around my trips to the Gaines Township Library. I could lose days sitting in the faux leather seats reading book after book after book.

The most memorable trip to the library happened during the summer of 1987. I was 15 years old, eagerly awaiting the driver’s license that was heading my way in October. It was a hot, lazy summer day. Despite the heavy air and that fact that it would be closing soon after I got there, in my restlessness I decided to ride my bike to the air conditioned library. I put the overdue copy of Pet Sematary in my backpack with enough change to pay off the fine and took off on my pale blue Huffy 10 speed.
As it turns out, this was the luckiest trip of my life. As I dropped my book in the return cart, I noticed a nearly pristine copy of Misery sitting on the cart waiting to be re-shelved. I saved the library page the effort. I grabbed it, took it to the counter, and checked it out. I found an empty chair in the back behind the non-fiction and started reading. However much time passed between the first page and when Betty Anne, the head librarian, gently told me that the library was closing, I noticed nothing of my surroundings. I was engrossed in Paul Sheldon’s car accident and the growing awareness of Annie Wilkes’ obsession.
I don’t recall the bike ride home or even eating dinner. In my memory I went from propping my bike up in the garage to plopping on my bed in my basement bedroom and cracked the book back open. Unlike when I read Pet Sematary, Christine, Carrie and Firestarter before it, this felt like more than a silly or gross thrill or scare to me. My heart pounded out of my chest as I maneuvered around Annie Wilkes’ house with Paul in his wheelchair. I can still feel the tingles in my fingers and arms and the chill in my chest as he was hobbled. I had never been so terrified, but it was as if the book was glued in my hands. I could not, would not put it down.
The sun had risen on Sunday morning when I finished that book. I looked at the clock and knew that my mother would start pestering me to get ready for Mass any time. I sat the book on my lap and lingered with it for a few moments. I would regret not sleeping the moment I slipped into the pew, but right then I didn’t care. I thought about how wonderful it must be to have the talent to make people feel so alive with your words. That morning I was thankful to be a reader. Today, I still am. I know that you are, too.










