When we moved into our current home, my youngest child was 2 years old and the oldest was 12. Along with the furniture, clothes, and toys, we brought along forty boxes of books. And that was what remained after we’d pared down our book collection. I hadn’t realized we’d amassed such an embarrassment of riches.
I admittedly have a soft spot for books, especially children’s books. When the kids were little, we made regular trips to the library, swiping our cards with glee. We also frequented the White Rabbit bookstore in La Jolla. The kids were spellbound by the animated storyteller. And we dug through boxes of books at garage sales as if digging for buried treasure.
Internet access and digital books were not readily available in those dinosaur days. We weren’t blessed with information at our fingertips and kindles loaded with exciting tales. We hoarded hard-bound encyclopedias to help the kids with their homework assignments. We collected “how-to” books for instructions about home repairs. We assembled a library of professional books about the legal field and business world. We possessed an assortment of travel books to guide us as we planned our next “family vacation” (which, I discovered, is a true oxymoron). We carefully compiled a collection of the classics for the kiddos. We had children’s books for kids of all ages since our offspring spanned a full decade. And, of course, we had a stockpile of books in the genres my husband and I favored. It added up to a large cache of books.
We built floor to ceiling bookshelves, stocked them with a tempting assortment of books, and tried to instill a love of reading in our children. And, recently, we converted the closet under the stairs into a reading room for our grandchildren. (See the above photo of Ruby.) Reading is a foundation for education. Reading is an avenue for adventure. Reading can transport you to different times, places, and experiences. Reading can open your eyes to the world.
