chapter books

As this is a blog devoted (but not strictly devoted) to my favourite past times, reading and wine-ing, a good starting point under the former category would be where did my love of reading start.   I have been 'blessed' with an excellent long-term memory.  I say 'blessed' because while it is excellent that I can remember many things from early ages, I tend to hold on to some of the bad memories, rather than ignore them.  So yes, good and bad there.


Anyhow, like most avid readers I was read to as a child.  Reading was something that was routine and comforting and gave me a chance to imagine scenes from what was being read inside my head.  I was a kid with an active imagination and I was a kid who took great care of my books.  I  didn't like them scattered or tossed aside, a bookmark needed to be used rather than dog earring a page as I got older, and I wasn't a 'sharer'.  Sharing a book meant saying goodbye to it at the least and at it's best possibly coming back not in the condition it was given in.  So, yah - no sharing.  


The first book I remember falling in love with was "The Boxcar Children" by Gertrude Chandler Warner.  My grade 1 teacher, Mrs Lobay read our class a chapter each afternoon, after which I spent the next few hours day dreaming about myself living in a boxcar with my siblings.  I could not wait each day at school  for story time after lunch.  When The Boxcar Children came to an end we moved on to other chapter books, none of which were as dear to my heart as that book.  By then I was reading on my own and library time was my favourite time of the day.   This is where my love of reading began, being excited about books.  I'm still excited about books to this day.  What makes a 'reader' different from a 'non-reader'?


I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling when I think about kids books like Dandelion (oh, it rains and your mane becomes curly!) and Corduroy (with your missing button!) and Madeline (perhaps where my love of Paris began?)


(even though I have yet to earn any readers to this blog) What books do you remember getting you started on the literary journey?


j

beginnings

I suppose the starting point of any blog should be the beginning.  And at the beginning I shall start.  Of course, like most people I'd sampled a thimble full of wine at various family events.  Christmas, Easter, birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, etc.  And like most people under 20, I absolutely did not like it.  I'm unsure as to what variety of wines were made available but a good description for both the reds and whites would simply be, terrible.  Dry, acidic wine that didn't quite come out of a box, but tasted as though they may have come right out of a shoe.  My parents were not social drinkers and I can't recollect any occasions when wine, beer or liquor flowed freely, other than the noted holidays and events above.  That being said, I would hazard a guess that those 'starter' wines weren't of the greatest qualities.  It can also be said that this (at the time) teenager may not have had the most curious palate when it came to table wine.  However, wine coolers on the other hand....


This begs the question, when was the beginning of enjoying wine for me?


My first grown up glass was served by my then boss at a goodbye dinner for me when I was just 23.  It was a fruit forward, smokey-sweet, rich Jackson Triggs Merlot.  I remember drinking this wine with it's velvety smoothness, memorizing the label and thinking, "I really need to try this again."  And again I did!  From there, I could only go up!  I've since moved on from Jackson Triggs for the most part, but this is where the real journey begins for me, 15 years later.  


This little blog of mine will detail my love of both wine and literature.  My goal is to simply become better educated in vinology and develop my big girl palate while 'pairing' this with my love of reading.   There is nothing better than a great book and a fabulous glass of wine.  


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before the early bud, came the late frost

Go, little book, and wish to all
Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall,
A bin of wine, a spice of wit,
A house with lawns enclosing it,
A living river by the door,
A nightingale in the sycamore! 

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)




A fitting bit of prose for this first blog post.  Wine and words.