Sometimes I Surprise Myself!

In my early 30s I became acquainted with a woman about twice my age who shared my love of reading. In talking with her, I learned that she primarily read non-fiction, and was avid about learning new things. With the arrogance of youth, I wondered why, since she was retired, and therefore "old," with no practical (meaning income-producing) way to apply that knowledge.

Now that I’m about her age, I’ve found that all I want to read is non-fiction, and that I just can’t seem to get my fill of learning something new. I now understand that people don’t have to "do" something with their knowledge, that there is great pleasure in simply discovering new information or expanding existing information.

I still enjoy fiction, although my tastes have changed dramatically over the years, but I’ll nearly always chose non-fiction first. Some of it is lightweight, and some of it forces me to really study what the author is saying. I’m very eclectic, reading from an extensive selection of authors, philosophies, and fields.

I suppose in a way that I’m looking for answers, although I’ve not formulated any serious questions. I think, though, that most of it is a matter of curiosity, of wanting to know as much as I can about everything. The older I get, the more I realize how little I really know, despite having lived a full life, with a variety of experiences.

From Trash To Treasure

I recently watched a squirrel attempting to carry something fairly large and bulky up a tree. I put peanuts out for them every morning, but his burden definitely wasn’t a peanut. It looked like an oversize coffee cup from a takeout place. The squirrel tried repeatedly to run up the tree, sometimes making it almost halfway up, but invariably dropping his treasure. He’d scramble down, grab the cup and try again.

I knew he’d never reach his goal, whatever high branch it was, so I went out to pick up the cup, mentally grumbling about whichever neighbor had left trash out for the squirrels.
When I got to the bottom of the tree, I discovered an empty peanut butter container. Not only that, I recognized it as stolen from my recycling box! I’d left the box lid loose enough that the furry thief had been able to loot the contents.

I’d washed out the jar before disposing of it, but it had a fluted bottom and I hadn’t been able to remove all traces of peanut butter. It was plastic, and the squirrel had chewed a two-inch hole in the side. Apparently other squirrels on the ground were trying to steal his trophy or perhaps he wanted to finish devouring it at his leisure in a tree. In either case, he considered me the thief and roundly scolded me.

I now have a new recycling container, with a tight-fitting lid that I’m careful about closing securely. I still hear little feet scrambling around occasionally, so I know my squirrel thief is waiting for its chance to grab another treasure.