I was walking when a motorist pulled over and asked, “Where does this road go?”

I told him that I’d lived around here most of my life and the road had never gone anywhere.

I was walking because walking generates ideas. I don’t know why, but it does. Just because, that’s why! So does taking a shower.

I’ve always had that far-away book in my eyes.

When I’m not reading a book, I’m thinking of the next book I’m going to read.

Benjamin Hoff wrote this in his bestseller, “The Tao of Pooh,” “Do you really want to be happy? You can begin by being appreciative of who you are and what you’ve got.”

I’ve got books.

I read “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee many years ago and not so many years ago. It’s sold 40 million copies give or take one or two. Her new book is “Go Set a Watchman.” I’m an avid reader, but I’ve not read this book. Perhaps it’s because “To Kill a Mockingbird” was perfect.

My disinclination to read the new publication reminds me of something that Michael Cotter told me that one of his elders was fond of saying: “I wouldn’t get up from a hard chair to see that.”

I enjoy reading writings of people I know.

I’ve taken a plethora of English and writing classes. I’ve been taught the who, what, when, where and why. I know that in Greek mythology the Three Graces are goddesses of charm, beauty and creativity. I’ve taught creative writing and journaling. I’ve told countless souls that if they don’t write it down, they will forget it. I’ve taught writing to people of all ages — from grade schoolers to those in their nineties. I’ve asked older students what they remembered their high school graduation speakers saying. They recalled nearly nothing, some even less than that. So I use the same tricks to teach that were used on me. Write your definition of “uffda” or “piffle.” Write your own obituary. Tell me about your first pet. If you were forced to live on a deserted island and were allowed to bring only one book, what would it be and why? It couldn’t be a digital version. There would be no way to charge the batteries. You’d be all by yourself. You’d be Gilligan without the Skipper, the millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the professor and Mary Ann.

Henry David Thoreau wrote, “A man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone.”

You’d be rich on that island.

I might bring the book “Moby Dick” by Herman Melville. I’m not particularly fond of the book, and for some strange reason, I feel guilty about that. Maybe if I were stranded on a deserted island, those circumstances might make me appreciate “Moby Dick.” Perhaps I could find a version with a pop-up whale.

A librarian was working at her desk when she noticed that a chicken had come into the library and was waiting in front of the desk. When the chicken saw that it had the librarian’s attention, it squawked, “Book, book, book, book!”

The librarian put four books down in front of the chicken. The chicken quickly grabbed them and disappeared. The next day, the same chicken put the previous day’s pile of books down on the desk and again squawked, “Book, book, book, book!”

The librarian found four more books for the chicken. The chicken snatched them and vanished. The following day, the librarian once again encountered the chicken, which after returning books, once more squawked, “Book, book, book, book!”

The librarian’s curiosity had gotten the better of her, so she gave the chicken another four books and followed the fowl after it left the library. It went through the parking lot, down the street for several blocks and turned into a large park. The chicken walked into a grove of trees. The librarian followed. On the other side of the trees was a small marsh. The chicken stopped there. The librarian saw that there was a small frog next to the chicken. The frog examined each book the chicken gave it. The librarian heard the frog saying, “Read it, read it, read it, read it.”

I think I’d check four books out of the local library. That way if I were shipwrecked on a deserted island, eventually the library police would find me in order to collect the overdue book fines.

 

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.