memories
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For the Love of a Library
We would walk to the library, lugging bags full of books. It wasn’t far, under a mile, but when I was small and the books were heavy it felt like forever. It was a walk we took in all kinds of weather because we were a family that believed in regular trips to the library. We were each responsible for carrying the books we checked out and since I always checked out the most that were allowed (eight books which I never thought was enough) it is not surprising that my bag was heavy. We would walk down our street, right on Main Street, past the pizza place, Lift-the-Latch Gift…
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In My Grandmother’s Attic
It was dusty and hot in the summer and it was freezing cold in the winter. The attic had a certain smell, not unpleasant, composed of old books, wooden floorboards, and something else I can’t identify. Mothballs, maybe? I wish I could smell it again. The attic was actually the unfinished upstairs of a Cape style home but that is what we always called it, “the attic”, and we loved to go up there. Every time we spent the night at our grandparent’s house we were sure to end up prowling around. There were a few toys stored up there. I remember a plastic tea set and a Fisher Price…
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This One Is For My Dad
My dad might possibly be my most dedicated blog reader and the person with the strongest belief in my ability to write. Within half an hour of finding out my blog existed, he had purchased a subscription to a writing magazine for me. So when he (kind of jokingly) suggested that he should make an appearance on my blog I knew it had to be done. So, here are a bunch of random facts and memories about my dad. And Dad? No complaining about the photos. This was your idea. He has a firm belief that a good cup of coffee and a doughnut or two can solve all the…
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Memories Are Made Of This
The smell of molasses cookies fresh out of the oven. The words you say over and over. “Shut the door.” “Have you done your homework?” “It’s time for bed.” The feel of Lego bricks and Matchbox cars under your feet. If there is one left on the floor your feet are guaranteed to find it in the dark and when you yell in pain you will wake the baby. The words of the board book you read over and over, so often you can still recite it now years later. The pudgy hands starfished against your leg and the toothy grin you see when you bend down. The smell of…
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Book Memories
I typed the title of this post and then paused, slightly stumped by the fact that most of my life is made up of book memories. That is what happens when you are a book obsessive from birth onward. If I wrote about all of the memories that come to mind we could be here for days. I will spare you that and stick with what originally inspired the title. You can thank me for my restraint in the comments. It was book fair week at my daughter’s school. Just like when I was a child, book fair week is also the week of parent-teacher conferences. And just like when…
