Monday, May 18, 2009
Friday, a delicious thrill swept over me as I chose a few books from the Spanish institute's library. It surprised me, the anticipation of biblio-pleasure. My love affair with books has fizzled a bit over the past few years. Over time, my long-time passion shifted to frustration at their high-maintenance demands.
High-maintenance demands, you ask? Books? Well, yes. They took too much! Too much space...hubby's and my combined libraries spilled, no poured, off of one tiny bookshelf in our newlywed apartment. Too much time...subway reading time was replaced by subway fiber and fabric time. Too much money...spontaneous book buying dried up as every purchase was scrutinized through the lens of a budget.
But then I started to miss them. I longed for their loyal companionship: always available, ready to entertain, willing to comfort, completely honest, surprisingly vulnerable. I wanted to open up a book again and move right in, taking up house in a different time and place. I remembered the good times we'd shared, when books connected with me, making me laugh out loud or start crying unexpectedly on the subway. I missed how a book could occupy me, expand my view and crack my own heart open until both my outside and inside worlds had shifted. I missed my love.
So, we're trying it again. With the help of a wall of salvaged book shelves, a book club and a library card, books and I are seeing if we can't make it work after all. They are creeping back in and claiming their rightful place in my life: on my subway ride, in the doctors office, late at night, on the airplane. Last week, in the quiet library, I fell in love all over again. I tingled with the sense of endless possibility between the covers of that little level two reader...would it entertain, intrigue, touch, comfort, inspire, challenge, inform, tease, delight or satisfy? I was going to take it home and find out. The foundation of a life-long love affair. I think we're going to make it.