When I was a kid, there was nothing I loved more on a hot, sticky Midwest summer day than lying on the living room couch in the air conditioning, reading a book, changing position only when my elbows and back got too stiff from propping me up or my arms fell asleep from holding the book in the air. I’d shift positions for as long as I could or until Mom booted me out to get some fresh air and play with the neighbor kids. I’d reluctantly flip the book upside down on the end table, pages splayed open, patiently waiting for me to pick it up a few hours later when it was time for bed.
I don’t remember owning a lot of books as a kid, but I was a big fan of the school library. The librarian knew me by name, and would save books for me to check out that she knew I’d like. I remember taking home the Scholastic book order form and trying to convince my folks to buy me books about unsolved mysteries like the Bermuda Triangle and Oak Island. I did have the complete set of “Little House on the Prairie” as well as “The Chronicles of Narnia,” and read them multiple times. Any book about dogs or horses overcoming incredible odds or with a tearjerker ending– “Misty of Chincoteague,” “Old Yeller,” “The Black Stallion”– I had those too. One summer, I was obsessed with the “All Creatures Great and Small” series by James Herriot, the adventures of a veterinarian and his team as they made house calls and cared for farm animals and pets all over Yorkshire. They were funny and touching stories, with just the right level of squeamish details to appeal to my young mind.
Books are like a song you hear on the radio that transports you back to a specific time and place, which is why it’s hard for me to give them away. I can pick certain books up and remember where I bought them, or who gave them to me, or where I was living when I read it. But the problem with books is you can’t keep all of them, or so I’ve been told as we’ve packed up boxes for cross-country moves. Mike is right – there’s nothing worse than hauling heavy boxes of books down two flights of stairs while wondering if you’re really going to read any of them again. Sometimes you have to cull the herd, and obvious choices like “The Ultimate Low Carb Cookbook” and “Fifty Great Ways to Wear Scarves at Work” drop into the donate box without a second thought. But there are books from your childhood that whisper, “I’m paperback, so I’m not that heavy. Maybe you’d like another trip to Narnia someday?” Those are the books that live in the corners of my closets and bottom shelves of my bookcases, waiting for that someday to come when I’ll read them again.
A few weeks ago, I ended up digging through a big stack of books in the library room at a local assisted living, looking for a misplaced book one of the residents thought she had lent to me but that I hadn’t received. I was worried it had been dropped off by mistake in their library return bin, but I couldn’t remember the title. The lovely young woman who worked there joined me in the hunt. We knew it was about dementia and that it was autographed, so we skimmed the backs and flipped open the cover pages looking for a signature. As we began to realize our task would be easier with an actual title, she held up a book and said, “Hey, here’s a book with your name in it!”
I looked, assuming she was joking and it would just say Kelly but there was my full name, in my best fourth-grade printing on the inside cover and the title page. It took me a few seconds to realize that she had no idea that my childhood name was Kelly Meier and a few more seconds to ponder how she could be holding my actual copy of “All Things Bright and Beautiful” in her hands.
We didn’t find the book we were looking for, but I walked out of there carrying a tiny piece of my childhood. I don’t remember when or where I donated the book, but I love that it came back to me. I’m going to read it again because it feels like the right time. And when I’m done, I think I’ll drop it in one of the little free libraries with the hope that it spends the rest of its days moving from end table to nightstand until its cover wears off and the binding finally breaks. I can’t think of a better ending for a book.
Prescott-area resident Kelly Paradis is a community liaison for Good Samaritan Home Health, Hospice & Marley House. She loves listening to and writing stories about life.