By Cait Collins
I’m in the process of cleaning out my study. You see, by book shelves are overflowing with books from history and science to children’s picture books. My niece claims I hoard books. Of course I do. Books have their own personalities. Each one has a voice. A spirit. And a life. They hold a place in my heart.
You see, as a teenager, I was a bit awkward and shy. I was Twiggy in a Lana Turner world. Books were my friends. They accepted me, made me feel important when I absorbed the knowledge they provided. They comforted me when my sister was out with friends and I was left behind. I’m not angry or sorry for those days. I found the joy in knowledge. I became a trivia queen.
At a young age I was familiar with Shakespeare and Tennessee William and Eugene O’Neil. I attempted to read Mein Kempf, Hitler’s autobiography. I loved geology. I could recognize rocks and minerals. Spy novels fascinated me. James Bond was a favorite character. Grimm’s Fairy Tales were nothing like Disney tales.
And I started writing. I’m still writing. And I’m still reading.
And I’m still sorting books in my book shelves. Some will go to the public library for their fund raiser. The children’s books can be donated to Ronald McDonald House. And some I will keep. They are the special books. The ones that still have me reaching for them to read again and again. Of course I’ll add new books to the shelves. But I’ll always have dear friends resting in my library.
How long has it been since you reread a favorite book? That long, huh? Why not revisit that old friend? After all, true friendship lasts a lifetime.