Put The Rat Back On The Wheel Because Here We Go Again

Shael is reading Jane Eyre in her reading class and there aren't enough copies to go around. Her teacher asked if it was possible to get their own copy, borrowed from a private collection or a library. I don't happen to own a copy so I was going to take her to the library and I never did. Maybe I can take her tomorrow night. The library closes at 5:00, which is the time I get off work. But on Tuesdays and Thursdays it's open until 9:00, so maybe. I have Remarque, I have the complete essays and other writings of Emerson, a Steven Crane, two very old hard back editions of Mark Twain's Roughing It (both volumes) that are stamped on the inside with "This is the authorized Uniform Edition of my books. Mark Twain" (if they would have been signed Samuel Clemens I might have something worth a lot of money), I have several Jack London, I even have an Arthur Miller, but no Charlotte Bronte. In my college Lit book that I've saved all these years, I have lots of other things, but it's American Lit and Charlotte Bronte was certainly no American. I told Shael to ask her Poppy, my Dad, if he might have a copy. He has all kinds of books, a person might be surprised at what he has in that room of his. I figure if he has a copy of Little Women (and I know he does) he might actually have a copy of Jane Eyre.

I was telling a lady at work about it and she said "What's Jane Eyre?" This person, nearly 36 years old, has never heard of Jane Eyre? And this morning as I was telling Mike this, he said he didn't know what Jane Eyre was either. I said "You know, Charlotte Bronte?" and he said "Who?" *tsk, tsk* Okay, now Mike and I went to the same high school. We basically were subjected to the same things, yet somehow, we each came out with two different educations. How does this happen? We had the same English class, how does he not know who Charlotte Bronte is? No, it did not just now occur to me that Shael is learning something in 6th grade that I didn't learn about until high school. I'm finding that's the case more and more often.

When I asked Shael if she liked it, she kind of sighed and said "You'd like it Mamma, you should read it. It's big and boring and those are the kind of books that you like!" Thanks. Some day, in the near future, she's going to read one of those big boring looking books and her eyes are going to be opened. "That's why my Mamma reads so often. This is good!" Just for the record, I've made a broad generalization of the type of books I don't care much for. Anything older than 100 years, or anything British. Give or take a few exceptions. I have a friend who loves Jane Austen. But trying to read her makes my eyes cross. My high school sweetheart had a thing for Charles Dickens. Ahh! I know I should like it, they all have happy endings, but trying to find the story in all those words is too much! I'm a shallow minded reader, people. I do, however, really like Jack London, Edgar Allen Poe and Mark Twain, does that redeem me?