Sweet Medicine

Sweet Medicine

From the moment the policeman directed me, “First to your right, second on your left, sharp right again and you’re there,” I was. My grandmother’s voice led me down past the park and cherry trees to Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane. I had come to Nana’s summer bungalow planning frolics in the waves, but now I was strolling along the streets of London with Jane and Michael and the incredible Mary Poppins.

I had always been what you might call a “deep reader.” I didn’t just read a book, I inhabited it. When the wind changed and Mary Poppins blew into the life of Jane and Michael, she blew into mine too. I watched her slide up the banister into the nursery and unpack her incredible carpet bag. 

“What’s a carpet bag?” I asked Nana.

“Let’s find out,” she answered. Nana was never one to give a story away. We had shared many reading adventures. I was nine and sick in bed yet again. I had lived a vagabond life, moving often with my family and sometimes without them. Nana and books were home to me.

Together, we jumped into the sidewalk painting with Bert and Mary and rode the carousel, Nana astride a black stallion and me on a spotted pony. Raspberry jam-cakes sounded delicious. We found out that tea meant more than a hot drink to soothe my sore throat, and that a good laugh could raise your spirits to the ceiling. When Nana tipped a teaspoonful of yucky medicine down my throat, I imagined strawberry ice and lime-juice cordial.  Nana, like Mary, might have thinking more of rum punch. 

We both loved the bird woman. Nana’s neighbor kept pigeons and we pictured them sitting on our shoulders and pecking at our toes. We imagined it tickled. We didn’t know what a tuppence was, but we thought we might have enough to buy a bag or two. When the wind changed, and Mary left, Nana and I waved farewell; we knew we could meet Mary again just by opening her book and diving in.  

Books have always been sweet medicine for me. When I am troubled or stressed, I often think about how characters in my favorite books solved problems with wit, pluck or humor and wonder whether I might do the same. When I am sad, a happy book cheers me up. When I am angry, a restful story soothes me. Some books take me a thirty minute vacation – just enough to invigorate my tired soul. 

Every year, teachers read aloud to their students just for the joy of it. Oh yes, we spend many hours teaching phonics, comprehension and fluency, but our real goal is to build a love of reading into each child. When you love reading, you read, and when you read, you learn phonics, comprehension and become fluent.  

Think back to your school days. Do you remember a special novel that your teacher shared that sticks with you today?  My daughter still remembers her second grade teacher reading James and the Giant Peach. She went on to read all of the Roald Dahl books just because her teacher showed so much joy when she read it. How many times has your child held up a book and stated, “My teacher read this!” and then decided to read it again?  How many times have you fallen into a book with your child and entered a wonder land together?   

Nana left us when I was fifteen, but her love of story has continued to feed and comfort me. When I read the books we shared or when I read aloud to children, I feel her holding my hand and warming my spirit and I sip the sweet medicine only love can give.

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