But not this past week. She went to Harry Potter Camp.
As a "second year," she knew what to expect. A bunch of teenage nerds (and I mean this as a compliment) guide campers through five days of classes that include "Care of Magical Creatures" and "Potions." The professors are super into it, dressed in robes and scarves and wire-rimmed glasses. The setting is an old mansion on several acres of park property called "The Willows." Fantasy abounds. Each "house" decorates a corner of a grand wood paneled room – Lu is a Hufflepuff and she couldn't be prouder. There's even a quidditch pitch and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop (card table in the hall) where she can spend galleons on gummi bears.
It's good to be Lu.
Jon and Lu are reading the Harry Potter books together. They tackle a couple of pages each night. Jon hasn't read the series (and rarely reads anything besides The Wall Street Journal) so it's been a mutually beneficial activity. They are on book 4.
I read the Harry Potter books as they came out. One at a time. Then anxiously waited for the next to be published. Gail read them, too, so we often discussed characters and plot twists. After book 6, the two of us went for a nice Italian dinner to debate the ginormous cliff hanger - did Dumbledore really die? We each wore hot pink sweaters (by accident) and brought our books along. We even printed out theories plucked from the internet. A silly, dorky diversion. It was 2005 and Gail was in the thick of her cancer battle. A year later, when she was dying, I thought about the final book and how she wouldn't live to see its release. Of all the things she was going to miss, a book sequel seems small, but it really isn't.
What books have been important in your life?
Obviously, I was a big fan of Harry Potter, but I don't consider myself an avid reader. I definitely wasn't as a child. The feeling of being lost in a book was rare. I was lost in tv. A lot of mindless tv. When I was really young, I loved the Richard Scarry books. I don't know why. They are bizarre. I also liked Paddington Bear and a book called Bread and Jam for Frances. That's all I can conjure.
A little older, I remember reading The Borrowers' books (tiny people who live in your walls and take things) and then, of course, all titles by Judy Bloom. Coming from a conservative and tight-lipped household, her books helped me avoid embarrassing locker room situations and gave me buzz words for late night chats during basement sleepover parties.
I don't know why, but I have vivid memories of that terribly creepy Flowers in the Attic book series. To sum it up, the dad in a beautiful blond family dies and so the beautiful blond mother goes home to her very mean parents to win back their love and secure an inheritance. While waiting for the mean grandfather to kick it, the beautiful blond kids are stuck in an attic. A ton of time passes and the beautiful blond teenage sister and brother fall in love because that's what beautiful blonds do. I also remember the cut out cover with the girl looking through a window. Why not just leave? I know there was a lock on the door and promises of great wealth, but seriously, just climb out the window, fools. Make yourselves a sheet rope. Grab a gutter.
Next up was a big, giant, literary dry spell. Through college and a few years out, I don't remember reading anything for pleasure. This was followed by an equally disturbing phase where I read a bunch of Deepak Chopra and other new-agey material like a fascinating book about reincarnation called Many Lives, Many Masters. You can blame Oprah entirely.
By the millennium, I was married and living in a cute suburban neighborhood. I'm a participator by nature, so when invited, I happily joined a local Book Club. If there was a "must read" title published between 2000 and 2005, I guarantee I read it (I always finish a book I start!) then discussed its worth with neighbors over glasses of medium-caliber Merlot.
Like Harry Potter, I read The Hunger Games before it became a huge teenage-lit-goes-mainstream phenomenon. But I totally jumped on the Twilight bandwagon and loved every minute of the ride. I was so completely hooked, even though the premise is stupid and the movies are off-the-charts bad.
My two all-time favorite books are strangely similar and have very good movie adaptations. Cold Mountain and Atonement. Both are about innocent lovers kept apart by war with tragic fates. Cold Mountain takes place during the Civil War, which I swear I experienced in a previous life (that new-agey stuff sticks with you), and Atonement is set during World War II. Don't think I lived then, but who knows. Bugle music bugs me.
Since Jon is reading with Lu, I am reading The Little House books with Edy. She loves that the main character is the precocious middle child in a family with three daughters. I like that she gets a lesson on how hard life was for western settlers. And a reminder of how good it is to be Edy, with indoor plumbing and more than a dressed up corncob to play with.
All my kids, they have it so good.
(To be honest, I would have been a pathetic pioneer.)
As of last month, I am part of a brand new Book Club with an improved format. We're still in the planning stage, but it appears that we will meet infrequently and may or may not play poker.
Consider this participator "all in."
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