
I have long known that reading good books is the primary path to being a wizard. There are many, many things you can learn from the magic contained in fiction books, but now there is also research that proves books can improve your empathetic skills. Here is the article I found to suggest it is so;
http://blog.theliteracysite.com/fiction-readers/?utm_source=lit-twcfan&utm_medium=social-fb&utm_term=20160108&utm_content=link&utm_campaign=fiction-readers&origin=lit_twcfan_social_fb_link_fiction-readers_20160108
If you don’t feel energetic enough to actually go there and read that, let me summarize a bit. When you read a good fiction story, you get to live for a while in another person’s skin… see the world through someone else’s eyes… and if it is intelligent, realistic, and complex enough, it rewires a bit of the part of your brain that tries to understand and make sense of perspectives that are new to you, not merely habits that you follow down muddy, well-worn paths on auto-pilot. You get to practice understanding other people. And the more you practice this with well-written, insightful material, the more empathetic you will become. The article notes significantly that children reading J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series develop skill at compassion. I can personally testify that as a middle school teacher, I saw that very thing happening as students in my nerd classes not only became more sensitive towards the gifted weirdos in their class because of Harry, but also became more understanding of the special education students, and other often-bullied minorities. Harry Potter books are literally magic books.
Here are some other notable books and their magical powers;

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee is taught in numerous middle schools and high schools across the country because teachers have instinctively realized how much it does to solve problems of racial and cultural tension in the school environment. It tackles the unfairness of racism, the effects of extreme poverty, the possible side effects of too much religion, and it illustrates everything through the voice of a very intelligent young girl. Learning hard lessons becomes practically painless.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is narrated by the angel of death. It is set in Nazi Germany in the war years. The central character is the daughter of a man arrested and executed as a communist. She is forced to live with German foster parents who turn out to be very loving individuals, though they are enduring difficulties of their own. They not only love and nurture her, they take in a young Jewish man who is fleeing the Gestapo and the work camps. In the face of the constant threat of death, the main character learns to read both books and people, to care about others, and face the deaths of those she loves without fear. This book makes beauty out of human ugliness and war, and love out of fear and death. Very powerful magic, in my humble opinion.
So what am I saying in this Paffoonied post of books and magic? Only this. There is magic power to be gained from reading fiction books, especially well-written fiction books. Try it for yourself. You may accidentally turn yourself into a frog… or a little girl from Maycomb, Georgia in the 1930’s… but it will turn out to be very good magic. Go ahead, try it. I dare you.
The Clock on the Wall
Who in their right mind writes an essay about a clock on the wall? Well, the “right mind” thing gives me an out. I do watch the clock on the wall. Especially now that I am old, and the sand in the hour glass is running out. The clock on the wall can be quite entertaining. Especially one like the cuckoo clock that hangs in my parents’ front entryway. On the hour, the dancers twirl and the two goofballs in lederhosen saw away at the log they will never be able to cut in two.
My wife and I gave that clock to my parents as a gift for their 50th wedding anniversary. We bought it in Texas and brought it on a visit back to the family farm in Iowa. Having old German relatives as a boy, I remember waiting impatiently for the clock to strike in Great Aunt Selma’s house, anxious to see the cuckoo pop out and the clockwork entertainment do its little mechanical show. I’d have gladly wished on a star for the hours to pass instantly… to see the show again right away… and be older and wiser and able to do more. Back then it seemed like older folks like Aunt Selma lived forever, with her dried-apple face and German accent. Accumulated time seemed to have majesty and power. It was magical.
But now I am old. My joints hurt every time I move. I can’t get out of bed of a morning easily. Parts of me that I used to take for granted no longer work. I have forgotten what it feels like to feel good and full of energy. The time on the face of this old clock hasn’t changed in nearly a decade. My parents don’t keep it wound. We no longer look forward to the clock-Kinder dancing so often. If the clock stays forever at five after four, maybe the grim reaper won’t come knock at the door.
I have always believed that there was magic in old cuckoo clocks. It was a simple, earnest faith in magic that only a child can truly know. But now, as an old man, I remember.
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Filed under art my Grandpa loved, autobiography, commentary, family, feeling sorry for myself, humor, metaphor, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Tagged as clock magic, German cuckoo clocks, humor, magic, memory, metaphors for life, time passing