Time to Read

I envy those folks who had time to read everything--you know, back when there weren't yet any books, just lists of harvests, lists written in a language that looked like the doodles of a bored kid in second grade.

Time went on. Books. Printing Press. Kindle. I remember reading somewhere that Erasmus, 1456-1536 (maybe someone else?), was the last person to read every book. I doubt it. Even then--without Facebook and binge-watching and ESPN--I don't think someone could have done it.

I read a bit as a boy, then paused for adolescence (you know), then accelerated again--slowly, slowly at first--until now, accelerating in a different way (toward dotage) I'm reading like ... well, like Erasmus. Multiple books going all the time--some "real," some Kindle-ized.

I realized a long time ago that I wasn't going to get to read all the books I want to--not by a long shot. Lots (!) of celebrated ones are never going to pass through my eyeballs, my brain (and bypass my memory). I'm ashamed to list them here--and so I won't. (Don't want you thinking less of me than you already do.)

And lots of writers others have recommended to me? I just haven't gotten to them. And probably won't.

I try not to think of such things too much--especially in public, where, as you know, the sight of a lachrymose old man in a coffee shop is a signal to hit 9-1-1 on your cell. And wait for the white-coat crew to arrive ...

Still ... more time to read at the Funny Farm?