What's under the bed...

It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it.

 ~Oscar Wilde

I like to think that I'm psychic sometimes.  Doesn't everyone?  "I knew it was you before the phone rang..."  or..."I was just humming that song before it came on the radio."  I am a huge fan of the supernatural, and frankly, wish I had more finely honed psychic skills.  Though I could write a whole book about my fascination with the otherworldly, this blog entry is about a very specific facet of my ability to see my own future.  Believe me, it is plenty scary indeed...

About eleven years ago, our family was going through a turbulent time.  By this I mean to say, lots of people died at once.  First, my mom, then Ed's grandmother, then my grandmother, and then, finally, Ed's grandfather (he was not a "go gently" kind of guy, which is probably how he made it home from Omaha Beach).  My mother was the trail blazer;  the others didn't start dropping until about a year later, and then faded within a few months.  At the same time, I was expecting my first child.  There was a lot of "challenging transition".  Polite code for:  "the shit is hitting the fan.  it is too late to duck."  But I digress...during this turbulent time of challenging transition...

I often visited Ed's grandmother, Elizabeth, while she was living in the Gloucester House, an assisted living facility nearby.  This was not an easy time for Elizabeth for several reasons, the zinger being that she was dying.   To add insult to injury, she was dying in the Gloucester House, amidst the indignities of afternoon card games and mid-morning cookie breaks.  Elizabeth had felt very much like a grandmother to me, so early in her illness and my pregnancy, I tried to visit her often.  I confess that I failed toward the end of both projects, and rarely saw her the last few weeks of her life.  But here's my vision:

While visiting Elizabeth, and, eventually, her tough old husband, Woodrow, in the Gloucester House, we got to know some of the residents.  There was a troubled old lady who shuffled around muttering "I'm a wreck, I'm a wreck, I'm a wreck, I'm a wreck, I'm a wreck of the haspiriss."  (I don't know what the haspiriss is either...)  And I can't remember if it was her or another resident who often sang out "I'm ready!  I'm ready, ready, ready, ready!  Ready for ice cream!"  But my favorite character, my future self, was a quiet little thing whose eyes darted suspiciously all around.  She was especially concerned with unfamiliar faces.  Well.  Aren't we all?

Her secret was this:  she hid books.  They say that she darted furtively all around the Gloucester House, snatching any form of the written word.  Books, pamphlets, magazines, religious tracts...nothing was safe from the old lady (let's call her Bessie) on a mission.  Once she had captured her prize(s), she would slip away to her room and squirrel her printed material into the space under her bed.  Every so often the staff (I don't remember if she had family on the scene) would have to clear out her stash.  If I were Bessie, I would be pissed right off.  Taking my books!  That's rich.

So.  I'm feel pretty confident that I will end my life hoarding books.  After all, it's what I do now.  I, too, have books and magazines everywhere.  If there were room under my bed, hell yeah, I'd stash some goodies in that hidey hole!  Who knows when you might need a pamphlet about "Dialysis and You" or a magazine with an article about that island you always wanted to visit.  And the article is so good, and in depth, it would be tragic to toss is, but who has the time to read it right now?, so under the bed it goes.

For now, my under-the-bed area is inhabited by ferocious dust bunnies, abandoned pacifiers and a few boxes of family pictures.  But my print collection grows and grows.  I've got a lot of books of poetry.  We have a righteous collection of "personal growth" type books.  Tons of really excellent fiction.  Progressive theological explorations.  Biographies.  Car repair manuals.  Some real doozies too, I admit.  A lot of superb reference books, if I do say so myself.  And lots and lots of these books, I've never read.  God help me, probably won't read.  But I am happier knowing they are here, should I need to consult them.  And I cannot imagine that my penchant for books will lessen as I age.  So many things to learn!  Good to know I've got so much knowledge, so much imagination, so much adventure, available to me with the rustle of a page.  The bonus?  The icing on the cake?   The pages were made for me, not I for them:  they are just fine on their shelves, in their baskets...waiting for me to catch up with them.  And I will, you wait and see.  Which is probably exactly what sweet old Bessie said too!

In the meantime,  if you need a pamphlet on "Caring for your Gums for Life", or our church bulletin from three Sundays ago, I've got you covered.  I just know it's here somewhere...