A couple of funny things have happened — inside my brain, mostly — in the last few days that have made me feel like I’m looking through the wrong end of a telescope.

Firstly — and this is mostly comical — I’m pretty sure I’m officially old now. This month, to celebrate the film trilogy’s 25th anniversary, some movie theaters are doing showings of the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings films. Massive fan that I am, this at first sounded really exciting! Of course, I own digital copies of the extended editions, and if I felt like it, I could dig out my DVD copies too. But getting to see them on the big movie screen seems fun! I only got to see the third and final installment in theaters during its original release. A few years ago they randomly did this same schtick and I went by myself to go see the first movie. So, the only one I haven’t seen in theaters is the second one. All that being said, I looked it up to see when it was playing, and it’s only on certain days, and only at a 7:15PM time slot.

I must be old now. Because I have no desire to sit in a place that’s not my own house to watch a four hour movie. I have no desire to drive the thirty-five minutes it takes to get to the theater where it’s playing, in the dark because it’s January, and then drive home in the even-more-dark, and get home at like midnight. To be frank, it ends way past my bedtime. My television at home is a graciously large size to make these epic films feel plenty enjoyable to watch, and I can pause it to go use the bathroom if I have to.

It’s hysterical, or maybe I’m choosing to find it hysterical. But I’m too old for such shenanigans as a late night movie now. I’m looking through the telescope at the wrong end and waving cheekily at my young self looking like a distant, more energetic island.

Ah, youth! Those were the days.

Secondly — I like to read my daughter novels at bedtime a lot of the time, over picture books. We’ve enjoyed classics like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Peter Pan, Stuart Little, and a couple others. Like me, The Hobbit is her favorite, and we read that one together at least twice a year. After an experience of mixed feelings while reading The Tale of Despereaux (which I hadn’t realized was quite so dark as it is, for a six year old), I thought we ought to try some books that have a more lighthearted tone. So, I grabbed an old, battered copy of one of the Ramona Quimby books from one of my many shelves, and settled in next to her.

I hesitated before starting to read, because I realized that the book I’d grabbed is actually like the fifth one in the series. Maybe that wouldn’t bother some people, and when I was young, I definitely read them out of order. It’s not like I had Google to help me check what the order was! (That’s right, people, I am older than Google. My students always get a kick out of that factoid.) But, I felt that I ought to start my kid off right with these books. Ramona is special to me, and I want to introduce her to my daughter properly. She saw me through some tough times, Ramona did. She had some tough times, herself, and always managed to get through it and stay true to herself.

See, there I go looking through the wrong end of the telescope again. Anyway, I set the Ramona book aside for now and we read something else tonight. Then, as my kid fell asleep next to me, I went on Thriftbooks (a great used book website that I highly recommend), and ordered the first four Ramona books that come before the one I already have. Because I’m a nostalgic and traumatized head case, I specifically sought out the exact same editions from the 1980s that I read practically to death as a child. But Thriftbooks is a great enabler like that, and hey, the silver lining to my absurdity is that old books like that are cheap!

I look forward to spending time with Ramona again, and sharing her with my daughter who often reminds me of Ramona in turn. She’s quirky and spunky and funny and bright and marches to the beat of her own drum, and she’s got a heart the size of Jupiter. To boot, she reminded me of Ramona especially when she had decided in pre-K that she wanted her hair cut very short. It framed her face in a heart-shaped way that brought me right to those descriptions of Ramona that somehow have stuck with me for over thirty years.

Well, here’s the rub — I am not the only one with whom my love of Ramona has stuck for over thirty years. I suppose it was at least a year ago, maybe two, but, the last unwanted package we received from my estranged mother was a box set of Ramona books (addressed to my daughter, not to me, which is a whole other matter). They were new and shiny and different and just all wrong. No disrespect meant to the new illustrators, but receiving these books felt very wrong with every fiber of my inner child’s being, and to receive the “wrong” books from my mother who never bothered to understand me, but has always known how to manipulate and damage me…well, you know, it hit all the red alert buttons. “Danger, danger, Will Robinson!” You get the idea. My husband handled the removal of the unwanted package. I stewed for awhile about how that package could have gotten to us when I’d been sure that I’d blocked that from happening. It didn’t help that I’d gotten lulled into a false sense of security because it had been years since what I’d presumed to be her final attempts at this crap. But, that package has once again been the last in many moons, and I have it on good authority that she’s not in much of a position to send me anything anymore. One never knows; the hyper-vigilance doesn’t turn off. I may not have the telescope glued to my eye, but it’s always near at hand.

If I am going to reunite with Ramona Quimby as an adult, I’m going to do it on the terms my inner child sets. And I’m really looking forward to it.

If I’m going to watch The Lord of the Rings, I’m going to watch the extended editions (as any true fan will tell you is the only way to do it), and I’m going to do it at home, for free, at a reasonable hour of the day. Possibly, I’m doing it split over several days, because the odds of my falling asleep in the middle of them are pretty solid. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And apparently, hyper-vigilance isn’t just about maintaining constant awareness and attentiveness with one’s current surroundings, or anticipating all possibilities for one’s future surroundings. Apparently, hyper-vigilance is also about protecting what you can see when you look through the wrong end of the telescope.

Ah, youth!