By show of hands, how many of you have already read Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. Everybody who grew up before cable TV? Everybody but me?

The copy I so recently procured for myself proved, upon opening, to be an illustrated edition of the classic story. I’ve endured snickers and smirks from members of my household. “What have we here? Is that the full story?”

Yes, it is the full story, and with big words, too. Like “rapidity” (which is how the parrot talks) and “cannonade” (which is what one side of the dueling parties unleashes against the other). That’s not to mention all the boat jargon, the staysails and spankers and hawsers, which leave me quite lost unless, of course, I study the pictures.

So let’s not be snickering at my picture book, unless you can show me a good sheepshank knot.

At any rate, I see the appeal of this classic tale: In a little seaside town where nothing much happens, Jim Hawkins’ days are filled with serving grog in his parents’ tavern. Then along comes a rum-loving pirate telling tales of buried treasure, warning against one-legged man who might ask after him. It isn’t long before young Jim can no longer say, “Nothing much happens around here.” And not long after that, he boards a ship and sails off with the gold-seeking crew.

Boy adventure stories aren’t my first choice, but I certainly found myself rooting for the young hero.

mrs. fields cookies blog ready

I also know a little about buried treasure. Mine is a plastic box full of Mrs. Fields cookies, kept at a location I will not reveal to you. I feel wealthy indeed. A craving for chocolate hits me and I unearth one of these doubloons. Makes a long afternoon more bearable.

And what’s your secret for getting through long afternoons?