Both my parents arrived here to go to college, and settled here thereafter. I think that both of them enjoyed the freedom they found in college, and in Berkeley. They met each other here, and married soon afterward, and a year or so later, I was born. I see that I am giving the impression that they were college sweethearts, but nothing could be further from the case- they met a few years after my mother, who is much the younger of the two, graduated with a Master's Degree in French Literature.
I am told I was a very good baby, though I don't recall anything of the kind. Nobody has ever confronted me with stories of my misdeeds, and the only evidence I can find that I did *anything* at all out-of- line when I was small is a dictionary with some torn pages, which has been mended carefully with tape. If I had known how important books would be to me later in life, I would not have done anything of the sort.
I have two half-sisters, my father's daughters from a previous marriage, though they were both grown when I was born - and in fact I have a niece who is only four months younger than I am, though she never calls me "Auntie Em", and never will, if she knows what's good for her. I didn't see my sisters very often when I was growing up- certainly no more often than I saw my aunts, so I almost got into the habit of thinking of them as aunts. Now that our ages allow us to have sensible conversations, I enjoy getting to know them.
I was raised as an only child, and a somewhat solitary one, at that, and because my parents read aloud to me every evening and instilled in me a love of books, I started reading at an early age. I had friends, of course, but no matter what else I did, I always read. I still do. I think I might go mad if someone told me I couldn't ever read a book again. In fact, just the thought of never reading anything again makes me want to go and hug my bookshelves... I am only keeping myself from running out of the room in search of my books by saying "Basingstoke" to myself (Those of you who don't know the operettas of Gilbert and Sullivan may want a little explanation (or to put it more vulgarly, contextualization) of the word Basingstoke).
Perhaps that's why I tend to be such a solitary type, because I have found it difficult to find people who read as much as I do, and have time to talk about what they've read. Perhaps I don't meet them because they're all shut up in their rooms, reading.
I'm finding this biographical stuff harder to write than I thought I would when I started- here are some musings about my reluctance to define myself this way.
Also, this view of myself is a very one-sided one. Yes, books have always been a necessity in my life, but I don't spend all of my time sitting in a room alone, reading. I have a wonderful boyfriend, I have two cats who won't let me sit by myself without investigating what I'm up to (and purring ferociously), and I do get out of doors and have fun.
Over time, I seem to be turning into an extrovert, and I like it.
I promise that there will be more information about me than this scant few lines, when I have the patience to write it.