Where Were You When You First Read Your Favorite Book?

 Here's a question: 

Do you remember where you were when you read certain books?

I ask because I saw this picture on Pinterest and it took me right back to my childhood and Amelia Earhart:

 

It was in the early 70s and I was in a new home in a new neighborhood, with a different elementary school, and spending my first night in my new attic bedroom. It looked very similar to this picture from Pinterest, except there was only one narrow bed and my flower-power bedspread and curtains were purple and pink with hints of turquoise and yellow. They were quite psychedelic, truth be told, made by my seamstress mom who could whip up anything on her Singer sewing machine. 

 

The tiny room was so cozy. So cool. I’ll never forget the feeling of sitting on the floor under my very own reading lamp, back against the bed, legs criss-crossed in the middle of the giant orange floor pillow I’d asked Santa to bring me from last year’s Wishbook. Yep, it was my world, all my own.

 

I read a lot of books in that attic bedroom over the years, but it’s that first book, a biography of Amelia Earhart, that sticks with me the most. Maybe it was being the only person on the second floor, able to gaze out my small window and see the entire sleeping neighborhood, that made me feel somehow connected to, AE, the legendary pilot. Maybe it was just the room and the book ... I'm not sure. 

There were many other books after that, Silver Chief, Dog of the North being one of my favorites, but it was downstairs in a different bedroom--okay, my sister's bedroom, long story--that I discovered my love of scary books. Come back next week and I'll tell you more about that.

And please, by all means, leave a comment and tell me about your book memories.

Till next time, stay cool and read everything you can while your eyes are young. 

Ann Swann

Afterthought: I've got some books to give away ... stay tuned.

 

National Dog Day - Snake, the Dog

In Honor of National Dog Day

Snake, the Dog

            When I was a little girl, we were given a German Shepherd pup named Droopy. I don’t remember who gave us the big, sweet mutt, because we only had him a few days before he got distemper and died a horrible, puking death.

I have one vivid horrific image of someone—I think it was poor Mom—having to pull Droopy out from under the bed where he’d gone to die. After that, I completely understood the awful truth behind the phrase “a dog’s death.” It was heartbreaking.

            That’s when Snakeman entered the family. I was only five, and Mom said she was just plain ignorant. We didn’t know distemper lived in the soil for up to six months after an infected animal has been there.

            The Snake was six months old when my stepdad, Bull, brought him home. Snake was a big reddish-brown dog, half boxer, half pit-bull, and when he was happy, he smiled and wiggled from the top of his broad, black nose to the tip of his short, stub tail.

Bull named him Simon, but the dog wiggled so much, as most boxers do, that Bull often commented, “that silly dog has hips like a snake.” So in the course of a few days, he went from being called Simon to being called Snakehips, then Snakeman, and later just Snake, or The Snake.

            He got distemper immediately. It made Mama furious. The vet hadn’t told her about the germ living on in the soil, and he hadn’t been able to save Droopy, so she took it upon herself to save The Snake.

            She rubbed his chest with Vicks VapoRub, gave him baby aspirin for the fever, and force fed him chicken noodle soup to rehydrate him after he began throwing up the same way poor Droop had done. I don’t remember what she did for the diarrhea, but I’m sure he had that, too.

In addition to the VapoRub and soup, Mama wrapped Snake in a blanket and slept with him on the couch. She also informed him that he was not allowed to die because there was no way she was going through that again, so he’d better get it in his head that he was going to live.   It took about three days of Vicks, baby aspirin, and chicken noodle soup, but he pulled through. And brother, let me tell you, that dog knew he was part of the family by the time he’d knocked on Heaven’s door and no one answered. He would have laid down his life for Mama, or for any one of us. I like to believe we would have done the same for him. In short, that old Snake was “some dog.”

©AnnSwann

If you would like to read more about Snakeman, here is a link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1535056681/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i15

Oh, my goodness – one used copy in paperback. 

The photo on the back of TAKERS (the cover below) is the fictionalized version of Snake. He is also in that novel. I dearly love his judgmental expression. www.authorAnnSwann.com