A Year of Annie Dillard :)

Book club, my house, this past Friday on Annie Dillard's An American Childhood--and not one soul showed their face. (You know who you are!) In truth, their absence was a gift. Spurred by a recent breakup, I started reading. Within 15 minutes, reading drove me to writing. The non-arrival of my book club members was divine intervention of a sort. I woke up through the pages of Dillard's text... Oh, my voice called out through the pages, it's "You again!" (12).

For me, Dillard's book is about rediscovering how to live a vibrant life through the unblinking eyes of childhood. She notes, "Everywhere, things snagged me. The visible world turned me curious to books; the books propelled me reeling back to the world" (160). Dillard (and recent life experiences) have "propelled me reeling back to the world," despite Doctorate classes, managerial work, and single motherhood with three young kids--or perhaps because of those things, I've been given a second look at life.

In my reawakening, I began wondering: What if I read a few pages of Dillard each week and then acted on what I read, much like the once fascinating descriptions of rocks drove me to geology and camp-outs in Southern Utah? If Annie was playing guitar, I would pick up the dusty Acoustic from the basement and pluck out "Fearless Heart," like my favorite missionary companion used to play before bed. Then, I would write about it. I would find a way to push past the fenced boarders of my life--graduate school, packed lunches, TGL Reports--and remember what it felt like to live. This I've determined to do.

Annie examines life. She examines it even as she lives it. She awakens and reawakens to find herself on different areas of the globe, under a different set of constellations, and she muses about connections between all those different spaces in time. I'm trying to do the same. Where was I last year, the year before? Stumbling? I do not stumble tonight. Tonight I write under a dark grey roof, Orion on the east horizon, Gemini bordering his arm, and Taurus above, with his red eye, Aldebaran, gazing down. His beauty marks me, and I transcend Annie's pages. What more will I yet discover in this world?

Prologue: Let Reading Go to Your Head

In 1955, when Dillard was ten years of age, her father left on a river trip that would take him from their home in Pittsburgh, down the Mississippi to New Orleans--a place he hoped would revitalize his predictable life with rough, hot, jazz (6-7). What prompted the trip? The book, Life on the Mississippi. I hate to open those pages lest I find myself on a river trip as well. Dillard's father quit his job, packed his boat, and left home with a whistle on his lips. Though he only made it as far as Louisville, Frank Doak and his daughter, Annie, teach us something in the story: Don't live a life of regret. Dillard's every word beckons readers to reawaken, reexamine, reinvest, and remember what it means to live.

Let reading go to your head. Imagine, invent, fantasize--then act. Try it, and I'll try it along with you.

Next week--Prologue (3-5): Imprinting the Land