" . . . but wealth is luxurious and daring, and some of hers found its way to a circulating library. She became a subscriber; amazed at anything in propria persona, amazed at her own doings in every way, to be a renter, a chuser of books!" — Jane Austen, Mansfield Park
I grew up surrounded by books. Love of reading is imprinted on my DNA. As a child, my family moved around a great deal, but ever and always, no matter the house in which we lived, the first thing to go up was the bookcase. We always had a wall in the living room completely covered in books. There was always something to read in my house. Books were as necessary as breathing.As an adult, we have bookshelves scattered throughout the house. After 32 years, I still haven't talked my husband into building me a bookshelf wall like my dad did for my mom, but I'm certain we have more shelf space and a much wider variety of books. If I had any ambition, I'd institute the Dewey decimal system, but, since I don't, I settle for computer and medical books in the office, non-fiction, biographies and histories in the bedroom, and a bookcase in the living room chock full of all the paperback classics my three sons had to read in high school. The story books overflow from two wicker baskets on the floor beside Nana's reading chair.
I am a keeper of books. I know people who will buy a book, read it, and then pass it on to a friend or trade it in for something new. They don't like to have them laying around collecting dust. But, I can't quite make myself do that. Even the paperbacks have to be coverless and disintegrating before I'll part with them. My books are like old friends. I may not see them or think of them for years, but when I return to them, growing reacquainted is always a pleasure, and gaining new insights a delight.
