I spent an evening last week not working and it seemed like an event. If doing nothing seems like I've done something, then inversely, doing something could start seeming like nothing. So maybe if I continue doing nothing I'll feel like I've really accomplished something. But then, after a while, that becoming something would make it feel like... It's never good when you get confused writing your own column.

Anyway, the day that I did nothing was one that I thoroughly enjoyed, even if it might not seem that exciting from someone else's perspective. I read a book that I found in one of my old bookshelves and spent the remainder of the day eating frozen pizza and drinking milk before going to bed early. The house was nearly silent and even the lack of sound was comforting for a short time.

One of the things I always notice in a power outage is how much ambient noise there is in the house. The refrigerator, computer, fans, air conditioning units and even the lights make various hums, whirs and vibrations that never really cease.

However, this particular day I turned off everything but the refrigerator and listened to the silence. Now some of you might say one can't listen to silence, but those same people would also decry my argument of nothing becoming something and probably already stopped reading this some three or four paragraphs ago.

At any rate, after spending the last month working on the house, as well as taking on other projects, it was so different for me that it actually seemed like a special occasion. An evening in with dinner for one, box pizza with chipotle hot sauce and a big glass of milk.

I think having a little time alone is good for a person, in fact helping to prepare for the times when with others. The down time wasn't really part of a well-orchestrated effort or anything, it just so happened that I was home alone on a Thursday night and I felt like reading. I finished the book that evening, a really weird fantasy/parody by Terry Pratchett that I had started a few days before. After reading it, I did some research on the Internet and found out the author has churned out an average of two books a year since 1983 and now is suffering from early onset Altzheimer's Disease. So much for keeping a mind active and being protected from such things. It's enough to make you want to throw out your crossword puzzles.

As for the book, I wouldn't suggest reading it, unless you have a Thursday night alone with a few restive hours to wile away and some vague interest in trolls and wizards living on a planet that is actually something akin to a disc flying through outer space on the back of four elephants supported by an intergalactic turtle. I doubt I'll check out the sequel, but feel free to contact me if you feel the need to read it.

Now that the vinyl siding is winding down, with only one gable and one corner behind the house remaining, I've taken on a few other tasks, like putting up some Sheetrock, replacing a few pieces of window trim, fixing a porch rail in Galax, replacing a bathroom fan in Sparta and checking on getting some gutters for my house. Other than that, my schedule is wide open.

So, as you might imagine, the remainder of my secondhand novel collection will have to wait, at least until I find another rare evening alone. Winter is a better time for reading, in general, but reading always is a welcome diversion from the monotony of every day life.

While I usually don't read most of a book every day, I generally read something, along with a few passages from the Bible. I've found it to be good for my mental health. I've recently started a tome on Russian fairy tales, some of which were written by Alexsandr Pushkin. I visited his home when I was in Russia and it was quite an amazing place. Some of the things were written in French, which made it somewhat easier since I can usually vaguely translate at least some French. (This said by the man who accidentally loaded his plate with sour cream at the French breakfast thinking it was yogurt because he was unable to think of the word for anything besides 'duck' and 'chicken and wine.')

Many of the themes of the fairy tales are very similar to ones that any American might realize. There are beautiful girls, scary witches and heroes reminiscent of "Jack Tales" I remember from my own childhood. I think those were some of my favorite stories as a youngster; in fact, I used to get the books from the library at every opportunity, despite the fact that the librarian used them for 'story time.' I didn't mind hearing them after having read them.

It's odd, but sometimes I don't really remember much about a book like some folks seem to. I have one friend who seems to memorize the names of the places and people in every book he reads. I can give a general rundown of what happened, so long as you don't wait too many years to ask.

It's not only my book memory that works that way, either. My mother reminded me of something I did years ago as a young adult and I didn't even remember it at all. It's kind of like I was hearing a story about someone else.

Sometimes past events get mingled with thoughts and legend, making history somewhat less than accurate, but much more entertaining. I'm not exactly the subject of history, but even stories about our own family likely end up getting somewhat mixed up and changed over time.

Along those same lines, stories about historical figures often must be taken with a box of salt, for a grain isn't nearly enough.

Just remember, most of those historical lies started out as books. For instance, George Washington and the cherry tree, a tale I often was told as the truth, but little more than an effort to have Washington associated with honesty. Now we all know what a failure that was, since the very idea of comparing anything in our nation's Capitol with honesty is quite laughable. The cherry tree story was apparently made up by a pastor turned author who wrote an unauthorized biography and threw in the made-up tale to help sell books. Well, at least the lie was interesting.
 

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