I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them - with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself.
I love books. I always have and always will. Even if I am not reading them I have to be surrounded by them. On shelves, tables, beside my chair, beside my bed, on my desk and on and on. I seem to find comfort in their presence. All types of books, serious, humorous, mind stretching, lessons to learn, biographies, cookbooks, old sellers, and best sellers.
I usually have three beside my chair with bookmarks in them. One for pleasure, another that is teaching me something, and one of my old friends that is yellow with age and many passages are underlined.
I can remember on long winter days surrounding myself with my cookbook's and reading them like novels. After my divorce, I read my Bible constantly. Would read for hours and underline passage after passage that spoke healing, wisdom and a way of hope for the One Woman.
Books have aways brought me joy. I can remember as a child receiving my short list for Christmas and devouring them in a few days. Finding a corner in my small childhood home or I can even remember reading in a neighbors tree in the summer time. I have learned late in life to seldom share my special books because when they are not returned it troubles me. If someone is truly interested in a book I have I would rather buy them a copy and then I am not worried about them returning it. I can remember a comment one of my youngest daughter made to me regarding borrowing one of my books. She commented she did not like to borrow my books because some of them were like a diary where I had underlined special words or made quotation.
Now that no family is with me I can read whenever I want to. As a wife, mother and working years ago, there seemed to be no time to pursue this pleasure.
My saddest memory regarding my books is when as a young woman I married and packed my books away to store for a few weeks. They were at my parents home and when I returned to retrieve them they were gone. They had given them away. That is painful to this day and it has probably been 50 years since I lost these friends.
It gives me pleasure to see some of my children's love of books, especially my son's extensive library.
From the memory of One Woman on her Journey Through Life