Reading: At Home With Books

Somewhere along the line, this blog turned into that stray cat you start feeding out of a sense of humanity, and then after awhile because you can’t sleep with him meowing under your window like that, and finally, because you both have gotten used to one another and there’s no use fighting the forces that have brought you together (and besides, you can’t bear to send him to the pound). Maybe that’s the wrong analogy. Pinocchio had Jiminy Cricket, and so I have FtLoB. Even when I made the decision (or so I thought) to let go of certain commitments this year, there was that little, persistent voice in my head calling me back, “Wouldn’t that make a great blog post?” And so I’m back, feeding the stray cat.

That voice has nagged me all summer long. The clencher, though, came this weekend while I was back home visiting my mom. I was going through an old storage chest I’d kept in my room growing up. It was mostly full of things I used to collect: license plates of all the states I’d visited, pictures of elephants, momentos from travels, books people had given to me. One in particular was a coffee table book from my dad. I’d completely forgotten about it. I was a bookish tween at the time whose favorite Disney movie was Beauty and the Beast (um, duh, right?) for one reason and one reason only: the Beast gave Belle a library. Need I say more? I can’t imagine what another fairytale prince would have to do to beat that. In my mind, that was the epitome of romance.

And so I got my love of book spaces fair and square. My Dad’s way of nurturing this interest was to give me a book about home libraries. What a nerd, right? Was that the same year he gave me the librarian action figure? I honestly couldn’t say.

Of course, these pictures remind me of this short film.


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