Parting is such sweet sorrow

 

A mushroom comes to life

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The warm autumn sun pulled me to the porch on a Sunday afternoon, to sit with the lizards and ladybugs and finish reading David Copperfield (a week ahead of schedule). Only two short chapters remained. Usually, with only a few pages left, I rush to finish a book, but that was not the case this time. I held back, knowing I would soon leave David Copperfield, a book I hugged for sixty-four chapters; nine hundred and sixty-one pages.

    I started reading and continued on, uninterrupted. When I read the last paragraph, my eyes teared up, partly from sentimentality; partly because goodbyes make me sad. I resisted leaving Dickens' world, but I left anyway, after spending a few more little whiles last week rereading some pages and reviewing the highlights on my Kindle, of passages such as the ones below, which are a mixture of heartfelt, humorous, clever, brilliant, and wise:

"It has always been in my observation of human nature, that a man who has any good reason to believe in himself never flourishes himself before the faces of other people in order that they may believe in him." (This quote is so relevant in this present day of social media-ites clamoring to be noticed.) 

"I had considered how the things that never happen, are often as much realities to us, in their effects, as those that are accomplished."  (Perhaps, and especially to a writer.)

"Thus, through the reflection that it might have been, I arrived at the conviction that it could never be." (Still pondering this one; reminds me of the post I wrote about the poem Maud Muller.)

"We walked, that winter evening, in the fields together; and the blessed calm within us seemed to be partaken by the frosty air. The early stars began to shine while we were lingering on, and looking up to them, we thanked our God for having guided us to this tranquillity." (No words.)

"Here he shook hands with me; not in the common way, but standing at a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a pump handle, that he was a little afraid of." (Strikes my funny bone.)

"Jip remained behind, to bark injuriously at an immense butcher's dog in the street, who could have taken him like a pill." (One has to admit it's clever.)

"... how a crust well earned was sweeter far than a feast inherited ..."

"We passed the night at the old house, which, freed from the presence of the Heeps, seemed purged of a disease; and I lay in my old room, like a shipwrecked wanderer come home." (I love his analogies.)

"My heart quite died within me."

"(Are tears the dewdrops of the heart?)"

" ... and the short evening flew away on gossamer wings."

I will stop there.

    One sentence stood out because of Snoopy. Yes, Snoopy, the cartoon character. The first line of Chapter LVIII begins this way: "It was a long and gloomy night ..." which is eerily reminiscent of Snoopy's first line when he sat typing at the typewriter, "It was a dark and stormy night." Another thing I like about David Copperfield is the first-person tense, which will always be my preferred tense. 

    One more quote, if I may. Dickens wrote in the preface, "Of all my books, I like this the best. It will be easily believed that I am a fond parent to every child of my fancy, and that no one can ever love that family as dearly as I love them. But, like many fond parents, I have in my heart of hearts a favourite child. And his name is David Copperfield ..." 

    And Charles Dickens, a.k.a. David Copperfield, is at the top of my favorite authors list. I don't have a list, but if I did, he would claim the top spot.

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    Now, to begin a new book.

    Before I acquired a Kindle last year, and before my inventory of books stacked from the floor to the ceiling, I drove every three months or so to the library to scan the shelves. I would stuff several selections into my tote bag and hold the greatest expectations that at least one of the authors would tickle my literary cravings. Sometimes I hit the jackpot, but often, I did not.

    About a month ago, I spent a morning at a semi-annual warehouse book sale (heaven on earth), and came home with eight books (mostly nonfiction), which are taking up space on my dresser. The titles are facing out, and every so often, I stop and behold, the same as when I am in Wegman's grocery store, pausing at the bakery on my way out, losing myself in the coconut macaroons and slices of Belgian chocolate mousse cake. 

    At the warehouse book sale, as I studied titles of CDs and DVDs spread out on a table, a young man standing beside me spoke up about how he used to spend twenty dollars on a DVD, and that now he could buy one for a dollar. We traded stories about our bargain adventures, and then we went our separate ways, exploring the autobiographies, romances, and mysteries of a book sale. I hope the selections I carried out the door were wise ones, because starting to read a new book and being disappointed is worse than leaving Wegman's without a cookie or a piece of cake. 

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