Books

As my profile image suggests, books are very important to me. I grew-up in a house where I had my own "library." Eight descent sized shelves full of books from the time I was very young. I realize that if I had had a sibling, I would have been forced to share. My parents, after a fashion, had their own library space with shelves from floor to (slanted) ceiling — all full of books. This is not including the boxes upon boxes of inherited, hand-me-down books in the closets and attic. 

I never understood homes with only a dozen or so books. 

When I was living on my own, I found my happy place, my oasis, was Barnes and Noble. The smell of a new book is intoxicating and comforting to me. When my husband and I bought our first house last year, I commissioned large shelves for the living room, which were instantly filled with books.

I've always had an issue with the notion of throwing out a book. Even if I truly hated something I've read, I've held on to it because somewhere in my moral code it's ingrained that it's wrong to dispose of a book in such a fashion, unless it's damaged beyond repair. 

Books are vessels of magic. By just the turn of a page, you can escape into another place, another world, another life. 

The end of a good story shakes your entire world for a moment— there's a period of contentment (at a solid conclusion) followed by a sense of loss and sometimes slight depression. A truly excellent book makes your heart race, your brain whir and even sometimes changes you perspective on life itself. 

Books have saved me on more than one occasion. When I was as low as I could get, they lifted me back up and gave me a brighter perspective. 

In an age of technology, it's more imperative to instill our children with a love of reading. And not reading on some screen, but with paper in hand. It's a simple piece of magic we can touch and feel, and the tactility of books is a precious thing.