Alana's Reading Chair

When I was single in the city, I spent many evenings with my friend Randy.  Randy lived in a series of small studios with efficiency kitchens that were owned by neighborhood old timers.

Randy and his long-time love, Shelly, spent months and sometimes years living in foreign countries.  Rumors of their return to North Beach to rest, sock away more money and say hello to old friends would circulate and then one day I’d walk into a local joint and Randy would be behind the bar again. His specialty was bartending, not like today’s mixologist, but an old-fashioned friendly face behind the bar.  Blonde blue-eyed Shelly was enamoured by all things Chinese, so she spent more time overseas, teaching in Chinese universities.

I’d stop by Randy’s place on his day off and he’d often be reading or composing a letter to Shelly. He’d put it down, offer me a cup of tea and we’d sip it at a little table surrounded by shelves stacked with books and CDs that spilled on to the floor.  After tea, we’d pick a book, sit on a low couch strewn with old pillows and a batik cover and he’d read a chapter or two.  As I listened to the story, I entered a familiar, relaxed and imaginative place.

After marrying and moving to Marin, I introduced my hubby to the joy of reading aloud.  As expected, he enjoys it as much as I do, but more so when I read to him, rather then vice versa.  Unfortunately our tastes in reading material presents challenges; he tends towards men’s adventure magazines and non-fiction and I prefer big novels and classics.

I haven’t given up though; I’m always on the look-out for a story that he’ll enjoy so I can relive the simple joy of story-time.