When I was a kid, my parents got me a book on calligraphy and my sister a book on origami. We swapped and she has beautiful handwriting – and I can fold paper.
My own handwriting, though, is pretty terrible. I’m glad I can type or I’d be in a lot of trouble. My handwriting – even printing – is tough even for me to read most of the time. And if I’m in a hurry, well, I might as well not even try.
So, I’ve decided to do something about it.
I bought a “Homework Helper” Handwriting Practice Workbook – Grade 1. It has tear-out pages and careful instructions on the printed letters – one letter per page – with both capital and lowercase examples.
I sharpened a number 2 pencil and set to work. So far, I’ve gotten through “J” and I’ve learned a couple things.
- I grip a pencil too tightly.
- I disagree with their instructions for an “e” and the “I”. I’m fine with the “o”.
- I just need to slow down.
And, really, that’s the key. I just get going too fast and my poor hands can’t hope to keep up with my brain. Slow down the brain, slow down the hands – and the writing improves.
I plan on finishing out the lessons and the bonus sentences at the back. It’s a little silly, but there’s something to be said about going back to basics. Even if that means first grade.
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There’s a book I’ve read – maybe 20-30 times – called “Snow Crash” by Neal Stephenson. It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read and for a while it was my “lunchtime” reading. I’d read while I was eating and if I finished the book before I was done eating, well, I’d just start the book over. It’s that good.
So, I heard about some folks recently who only read books once. One filled up and then essentially abandoned a Nook and the other would read (and dog-ear – shudder) paperback books while traveling and then just leave them behind when done.
Wait, what?
I was, well, flummoxed. How is that even possible? Now, that’s not to say that I haven’t read any books only once. Some of them are pretty terrible and I make it a point to finish them and then see to it that they get put back in the system – either donated or sold – so that someone else can give them a try. But that’s the exception.
Which is why one room in my house is a library.
There have been books where I settle into a second reading like a snuggie. It’s warm and inviting and it fits me just fine. The characters are old friends of mine and their adventures as familiar as my drive to visit my folks.
Some books unveil hidden depths on a second or third reading. Nuance that I missed the first time around is suddenly clear and intricate.
And some series beg – no, demand – to be read from the start each time a new book comes out. Less a series than one really big amazing book.
To read just once? Flummoxed, I tell you.
Flummoxed.
I also know a couple people that don’t like to read at all. We’re still friends, somehow, but I’ve considered “force-reading” them.
Flumm. Oxed.