I have two tubs of books that I brought up from my mother’s house. Though I’ve gone through them many times before, sifting through the tub always takes me back to a great place; that of my childhood and reading voraciously. What is most satisfying is that for most of the books just looking at the cover recalls only bits and pieces about the story but even more about what was happening in my life then. I can tell what grade I was in, I can remember my room exactly as it was and being sprawled on the carpet in front of the bookshelf that also doubled as a toy chest. Thinking about little me and myself today, many things are still the same. I still like to sprawl out amongst my books, I still devour them, and I must have many to choose from even if that means stacks of unread books.
Many of these I have not re-read as an adult and honestly it’s because I’m afraid of ruining a wonderful perception and partly because there are so many books I haven’t yet read. At times this seems silly and others I’m not so sure that a book I loved as a girl I would enjoy today. But that may not be the point and lately I’ve wanted to do just that, re-read the books that I loved and often read several times. I smile when I pick up the worn copies and see my name written inside, sometimes with stickers and stamps. Or in the case with Sherlock Holmes and Nancy Drew mysteries, my guesses and sketches (yes, literal drawings!) about what will happen. I am even glad to find that I was a fan of science-fiction then which up until a few years ago I wouldn’t touch because I was sure I didn’t enjoy the genre.
A few that I have selected to read are: