Sunday, February 2, 2014

Bury Me With a Book

Please family, bury me with a book in my hands when the time comes, unless you want to see me fidget in my casket. 

Fellow bookworms will understand. They know that fidgety feeling when they're stuck anywhere waiting without a book to read. Doctor's office, school parking lot, mortgage closing, whatever, waiting all goes better with a good book to read.

A few years married, our first major purchase was a brand new red MG Midget for me.

Talk about fun, this little MG was it! Top down if the sun was shining at all, weekends and holidays we were off, my husband behind the wheel.

The workweek was another story. The MG was mine then, and I felt like a career woman straight from the Mad Men era. No martini lunches for me though as I worked as a stenographer for a religious publishing company. 

I was hip enough, though, to buy one of the first pair of pantyhose sold in Nashville. I still remember climbing out of the MG in the parking lot at work and within a few steps feeling the pantyhose begin to slip down my hips. I wish I had old home movie footage of my mincing walk inside.  The nurse in the clinic laughed and helped me use safety pins to pin the waistband of the hose to my slip. A full length slip, remember? One of those obsolete items of clothing women wore in the old days?

An avid reader ever since I had checked out my first library book as a child, I had just passed the test at work to be promoted to proofreader when I became pregnant with our first child and left work to enjoy the whole experience. We decided to sell the MG as another love was going to take its place.

What does my MG have to do with being buried with a book in my hand? Only that this bookworm had the bad habit of keeping an open book in her lap and reading it at every stoplight. I swear I didn't read while I was driving though, at least no more than many people do today texting while behind the wheel.

I don't advise either practice. Bury me with a book in my hands, please, but not too soon.

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