h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

...prefer to read it (in e-book format, but still) rather than playing your beloved PC games. 'Wise man's fear' in this case. I even *ahem* bring it into the bathroom.

There are sections where I feel the author used chisel and hammer to *really find the perfect way of describing an emotion, action, song, scenery.

Despite not being a cat, I still purr with satisfaction every now and then while reading this book.

What was that, tummy? Oh, you're hungry? But didn't I eat... uh... seven hours ago?

I know a book is good when I stay up extremely late to continue reading it.

I'm with you on that one, Lil

I usually recognize a book is an incomparably good read when I experience the 'clutch reflex.' By that I mean: when I go about my daily routine and part of it is to pick up the engrossing story and clutch it tightly so I have it handy. There will be moments when I instinctively clutch, realize I ~don't~ have the book in my hand, and then cast about frantically until I find it. Then--and only then--can I proceed with moving about and working my ~normal~ life's activities.

This reminds me of when I was a teen laddy back in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Those were the days I had plenty of time on my hands--between school and a few sundry chores around the house--and I would steal away to my favorite "Me Time" spot. My Dad and I had built a corrugated steel shed with two windows and a door. We used it to store the lawnmower and other gardening items, as well as spare materials from the house for which there just wasn't room inside. My Dad also kept a wealth of tinkering equipment out there, because he was heavily into electronics at his work, and as a sideline for his personal projects.

The shed was also furnished with a set of hanging overhead storage shelves, suspended from 2x4 beams and finished with 3/8" plywood panels. Since I was a scrawny kid, my weight didn't challenge the integrity of the structures. I rarely used a ladder to access the upper reaches, preferring to clamber up the exposed inner cross-beams and pull myself up onto the platform, the book tucked securely into the waistband at the back of my trousers.

The upper shelves were arrayed with bags of old clothing, carpet samples my Mom used for projects, rolls of carpet padding left over from previous renovations, and empty boxes packed inside one another like odd angular Matryoshka dolls. I'd nestle in amongst all the unused, cast off, and expectantly awaiting their turn objects, making myself comfortable under the sloping tin roof. There was a narrow gap beneath the roof line and the top of the walls (so there was enough ventilation to prevent mildew) and a light breeze would swirl over me in thick eddies or cool drafts, depending on the season.

In the springtime, the commingled scents of sweet honeysuckle, sharp pine, rough oak, and the green clean taste of fresh-mowed grass would waft in to fill my senses. In summer, the heat could be stifling, transmitted downward from the tin roof, and I would hunker down low, sometimes even taking off my T-shirt to stay comfortable. Fall brought with it cool drafts that often rushed under the eaves from one side to the other, often dragging with them the scent of burning leaves from the neighbors' yards as they tried to keep up with the falling leaves littering their properties. Winter was typically the least amenable, with its frequent cold damp rainy days and winds from the Gulf that swept in and rattled the corrugated structure.

And ever and always, it was a second-hand book in my hands. One purchased with the few coins I could scrape together from my parents change, or the few bucks I garnered from mowing people's lawns. The covers usually showed signs of wear, the bindings were wrinkled from use by the previous owners, and the pages were creased / torn / dog-eared from all those hands eagerly turning to the next event in the stories. Some--Oh, Lord!--some of the books had been around for longer than I'd been alive, and they exuded a scent of spices only found in the far reaches of the world. They carried me to places I'd only heard of in hushed whispers, to far-flung planets not even in our galaxy, to dangerous places where only the stout of heart could survive, and to utopian idylls that might reveal a deeper secret if one but looked in the corners or the cracks.

My favorite 'hidey-spot' made every book, every story, every chapter, every page a good one. And if my parents couldn't find me anywhere else in the house, inevitably they came out to the shed to retrieve me. After all, one must still eat...

B4istopwhatiamdoing@work&rummage4agoodbook2read

B4. What a beautiful read. Worthy of the Underguide (or whatever it's called these days) - do you write for ?

Trillian's Child,
Yes, I've done a number of things for The Post. Most of it has been poetry, but I've handed them a few short stories, as well. Locations for my Portfolia are as follows:

A52825052 - Still Mostly Harmless (a spin-off tribute to DNA)
A36762159 - Arachnophobia (Part 1)
A36762212 - Arachnophobia (Part 2)
A87733263 - Jilted Lovers
A2436310 - The Poetry Archive
A987889 - ZONK -- A Fun and Easy Dice Game
http://tinyurl.com/d6ylj4f - The Whole Enchilada

B4iturnthisallintoacompendiumworkinabigthickleatherbinding

Welcome back B4 - who else would go reviving journals?

Yeah, that would be me. Glad it was one of yours. You very often make intriguing observations about the world, and your thoughts make for a great spring-board for additional examination. Sometimes more in-depth study of the topic stated; other times it sends us off on a tangent. No matter how closely or ephemerally related, the conversations tend to add to everyone's greater good.

B4anotherwordsendsusoffinatotallydifferentdirection

I know a book is good when I can't bear to part with it and when I re-read it every few years.

Ah yes, re-reading your favourites is a pleasure - especially since I tend to speed-read books without bothering to memorize much anything.

Whne my bookshelves had no room left in them (and not room for more bookshelves unless I'd want to live in a very crammed up flat) I cleared out all the books I felt I never wanted to read again, and the books I'd never managed to get through despite several attempts. Goodbye, bad conscience, and good riddance.

I might have mentioned before (possibly elsewhere) that I walked into a local nursing home (just down the road) asking if they wanted a bunch of books, and found they had just gotten some bookshelves for the common room, but had nothing to put in them. Win-win.

Good for you! We send used library books several places like that.

I am in dire straits again with my books. I have to get rid of some of them. I'm completely out of space to put them.

Well, if they're general interest, you could sure send them here! Ladera has remarkably few books.

It's a pity, really. Words we can send around the globe in no time, not so easy