DO YOU REMEMBER NANCY DREW?

How Reading Changes As You Age

“Janet, it’s time to turn off your light. We’re leaving early tomorrow. You’ll have to finish your book later.”

“OK,” I moaned. I loved to read. So when my parents were loading the car the next morning for our special weekend trip to my grandparents’ cottage on Edinboro Lake, I grabbed my unfinished book and another installment from the Nancy Drew Mysteries that were piled up by my bed.

I think my parents were thrilled when I curled up in the back seat for two hours, immersed in finding The Hidden Staircase. They didn’t have to listen to me asking, “Are we there yet?” I couldn’t wait to unveil The Secret of Shadow Ranch with sixteen-year-old amateur detective Nancy and her best friends, Bess and George, and her boyfriend, Ned, when we got to the lake.

(As a kid, I didn’t know that Carolyn Keene was a pen name for the numerous authors who wrote the Nancy Drew stories. Did you? )

At middle age I still loved to read, but sometimes it was hard to find the time. Somewhere between 8 and 48 I lost the ability to curl up in a car and get into a good book. When vertigo hit between Chapters 3 and 4 of Erich Segal’s emotional Love Story, I ended up looking like a distraught drunk throwing up along side the road. I apologized to Oliver and Jen. They had worse problems than me.

Eventually, I found the perfect time and place to read endless love stories. I spent many evenings floating in a steamy bathtub of “Cascade take me away,”after my kids went to bed. I teared up for Will and Elly in LaVyrle Spencer’s Morning Glory and cried for Bernard and Liz in Danielle Steel’s Fine Things. And by the time I finished Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook on one of my nightly escapes, I was shivering and sobbing uncontrollably for Noah and Allie.

As I’ve aged, I’ve enjoyed being transported to other worlds where brave, resilient women once lived. It has been rewarding having quality time with Mary Rowlandson, a Puritan kidnapped by the Indians, Martha Ballard, a midwife and healer, Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress to the CW Post fortune, Johanna Bonger, Van Gogh’s sister-in-law, and dozens of military nurses who served in Viet Nam. Here are their stories respectively:

The Flight of the Sparrow by Amy Belding Brown

The Frozen River by Ariel Lawhon

The Magnificent Lives of Marjorie Post by Allean Pataki

The Secret Life of Sunflowers by Marta Molner

The Women by Kristin Hannah

I read once that there are nearly 158,464,880 unique books in the world. And 10% — 15 million — of those are fiction. So I haven’t really worried about what I’ll do with my time when I get old -er.

Until recently, that is. When I told my optometrist that my eyes got really tired and blurry while reading The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Reid, he said, “ Jan, I’m afraid your eyes are aging. You’ve got old, dry eyes.”

“What?! I’m not that old; I’m only 78. I cry all the time about the weirdest stuff.” Turns out emotional tears and basal tears (the ones that lubricate your eyes) are two different things. Well, at least I don’t have glaucoma or macular degeneration, I thought.

I dropped by Koehler’s Drug Store and bought loads of eye lubricant. Then I had Daniel Newell add some really bright lights in my living room. I’ve got so many more books to go…

“Honey, did you move my book? I can’t find my copy of Great Big Beautiful Life by Emily Henry.”

“It’s near that new lamp. I think your reading glasses and a bottle of Visine are sitting on top of it. Do you see it yet?” Oh boy, it might not be my eyes! Ha!

It’ll Be OK.

~~~

“Don’t stress about your eyesight failing as you get older. It’s natures way of protecting you from shock as you walk past a mirror.” ~ Pinterest

QUESTION: DO YOU HAVE A GOOD BOOK TO RECOMMEND? THANKS!

Don’t forget my paperback, a collection of earlier blogs, is still available on Amazon. It’s a great gift for those who need a little comfort while aging. xoxo