I loved this post . . .There was this once, summer vacation, teenaged years but I don't recall being old enough to drive...or licensed to drive on roads...had a dirt bike before I was legal...anyway, I'm poking around in the house and came across a copy of Durango Street in my sister's bookcase. I thumbed through the beginning, thought it sounded interesting, took it into a corner of my room and sat there and read it through. Good story...read it long before The Outsiders...but not before watching West Side Story on the tube. Check it out if you're interested.
And this other time it wasn't a book but it was words on a page, resulted in a topsyturvification, a kind of adulteration of life that I was unprepared for, being seven...or was it eight? And that led, eventually, to an encounter at a window...or two...or three...encounters...looking at the world through dirty glass while picking at the whitecaps of peeling paint on the sill. Or someone looking back...this feeling of stage presence I'd prefer to do without. And all that is a hoot as I install windows (among other things) for a living.
Have a big black safe for valuables...this that the other...and was looking for something, got distracted by my "BabyBook" and pulled it out...all these happenings from yay ago...a window to the past...a "book" though...
Found some Congressional Records from the 30s in this old house this once...up in the attic...a stack of them, yellowed and mouse-eaten some of them...a window to the past...and yet not a book, either. I guess just the first one is a book book.