From what I read and hear, she was a very kind and gentle woman. Smart, too.
Her parting words to Ernest that day as he tucked the books under his arm and headed for the doorway were to enjoy the books, and to read them slowly.
That sentiment struck me right between the eyes the first time I read it. I sometime read quickly, as if the goal is to finish the book only to begin another. Books can be page-turners, which only fuels the rush. However, when I do remember Sylvia's words, I make myself slow down, savor the book.
What a difference it has made! The contents wash over me, immersion, the difference between a quick dip in a pool or a full plunge into a lake and a dilly dally, too.
January is 'read books slowly' month for me. The yard is asleep, though daffodils have pushed through and are wearing soggy autumn leaf hats in their little bed. The after-holiday lull quiets the neighborhood and village and home. Books beckon.
It is my hope that you, too, will pick a good book to plunge into. A paper book, if possible, for the feel of the pages, and their smell, and the sound of them turning.
Maybe you will take the book outside, if the weather permits, or sit in a clean, well-lighted place, a hot cuppa at hand. Perhaps you'll breathe deeply, and take Sylvia's advice.
Maybe you'll think of me, doing the same.
Perhaps the thought will curve a smile.
Now, go, tuck a book under your arm, plunge, dilly dally, and slowly read to your heart's content.
You won't be sorry.
