Nostalgia Ain't What It Used to Be

Gladys Taber's Stillmeadow Daybook provided a nicely retro diversion from the sort of thing I usually read. It reminded me of the books in my grandmother's library, the ones I used to read "in self-defense" during the month I spent with her every summer. 

As an Illinois girl marooned in Florida by my father's job and his rejection of snow, my mother often lamented the climate (our house did not have air conditioning) and the impossibility of buying or growing a decent tomato. She counteracted those deficits by taking me to visit her family in Illinois every summer for the month of August. For many years of my childhood, this arrangement was divine -- in many ways, absolutely, bar none, the best way to spend a summer vacation ever. 

I realize now that the many traditions implicated in this arrangement probably deserve a post of their own -- so I will stick with the book review.    

Because those summer weeks included a lot of downtime, I read a lot of things a child perhaps would not read. Some of those books have stayed with me all my life. I'm sorry to say this would not have been one of them. 

No doubt I am a different reader of books now. This could have been a pleasantly bland diversion into country life -- full of important dilemmas such as whether to move the sofa away from the window when it has become the dogs' favorite lookout perch -- but it left me cold. 

I'm sure others love this book, so I will simply say, "Not for me, thank you." I prefer my nostalgia with a little more grit these days. Maxine Kumin, I'm looking at you.