The big idea

I read a lot. The usual ways: in bed, over breakfast, on the sofa in front of the TV, Saturday mornings with a cup of tea. The unusual ways: in traffic, brushing my teeth, while cooking, a book propped up on the sil as I do the dishes. On the toilet, of course. And the rest, which I'm not proud of: while driving, while ignoring my kids. I've found taking holidays usually sprouts one or two bold ideas, and this past holiday - with the kids to New Zealand - was as usual. I was reading - of course I was reading - Barbara Kingsolver's 'Animal, Vegetable, Miracle', about her family's year of seasonal eating. Clever concept, topical, passionately expressed. The notion of denial was immediately appealing. I've been feeling bloated with Western excess, full up and sick with it. And I was reading Barbara as the kids played Lego or fell about each other in a sequence of family motels; reading Barbara rather than romping with my boys in New Zealand. Reading has a moral authority, sure it does. If you read, you gain automatic credit points for brains, for engagement. How could it be wrong? I read, I have fresh conversation at the ready, I'm surely right to read so much, so much... but just now it feels cowardly. I read instead of something, I read rather than something. Surely with 2 little boys all the ignored alternatives are more deserving of my time? I think Barbara put forward the idea of denial and holidays always make me receptive to change, so here I am: not reading for a month. Of course, following Barbara's lead, I first thought of giving up for a year. Very neat, very grand and expansive. I felt nauseous just considering it, and settled on a modest month. October 2008. We'll see how it goes.