It’s my potty and I’ll read what I want to.

In our house live two information junkies.

Atop a dresser in our bedroom sits a very old television I won about 16 years ago in a grocery store bingo-sticker game and carted back with me when I migrated from Saskatchewan. Yes, it’s colour.

For years, we have lived without cable or satellite programming, and when the kids come to visit, they’re forced to sit around and talk to us, although we’re not above settling the grandbabies onto our bed with a juice and slipping “Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang” into the VHS machine.

Because we occasionally like to watch the news (and I like police dramas), we  have a $15.00 set of rabbit ears that brings in CBC and CTV with relative clarity, so long as someone is willing to hop out of bed to soothe the bunny every few nights.

But when August comes, I doubt we’ll spend money on the whatzit we’d need to convert to digital; instead we’ll just use the set to play movies.

And that’s okay, because listening to the radio and reading are what we like best.  There’s hardly a moment that we aren’t tuned in to CBC, or pouring over a newspaper, or reading each other items we find online.

Every room in the house is filled with books, and no, my children, I won’t just get rid of some of them.  In fact, I’m on a mission to collect as many as I can afford before I get old. I will take comfort, on my death bed, that you will have to spend time at least holding some of the volumes that have moved me and bent my thinking over the years, as you sort my belongings into the various piles that make up the detritus of my life:  Charity Box;  Hide  From My Sister;  Pawn Off On My Sister So It Stays In The Family But I Don’t Have To Look At It;  and Lie To My Sister That Mom Promised Me This When I Was 11.

But, I digress.

Even our bathroom is filled with what we consider worthwhile reading material.  And this, I fear, may have caused a rift.

During a spring visit, one of my daughters commented how delighted she’d been to settle into a steamy soak at the end of a long day with kids and cousins and nephews, but that she had remembered, too late, that she’d locked herself in the nerds’ bathroom:  “Can’t you ever just read a normal magazine, Mom?”

She hasn’t been back since that visit, and though I’m not sure it’s the water-closet library that’s keeping her at bay, I did recently visit our favourite magazine shop and return with a plain brown bag tucked into my purse.

I hope my daughter is reading this, because a very audible “Ew!” was voiced by either the NYT or this Magazine as I slipped the copies of People and Oprah into the literature basket.  Oh, the sacrifices a mother makes…

I’d love to hear about the literary divide in your family.

~Lady Di

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Published in: on July 14, 2011 at 6:00 pm  Comments (8)  
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