Summer was always a magical time for me growing up. Why? Because of books.
Most of my summer memories revolve around books.
Loading up the back of my dad’s car with my Trixie Belden collection because what if I ran out of things to read.
Going to the library at my elementary school, the one morning a week it was open. The school was one of those open concept ones from the 1960s, you know, and the library was the hub. All the classrooms were dark. The building was cool and quiet, and I pretty much had the place to myself. I’d walk out every week with armloads of books. Honestly, I don’t know how many times I went. Maybe it was only once, but the memory is strong. I can smell it, even now, nearly fifty years later.
Learning that the library would MAIL books to you. I remember getting a book about The Beatles, and it was mailed in one of those padded envelopes that sheds everywhere.
Picking out books in the five and dime, my first Harlequins, usually chosen because of the horses on the cover.
Most of my summer memories revolve around not just one book, but stacks of them. I was always happy to have the assurance that I’d have plenty to read. I don’t read real books very often now, but my Kindle is loaded with books. Now…to take the time to read them!
Most of my summer memories revolve around books.
Loading up the back of my dad’s car with my Trixie Belden collection because what if I ran out of things to read.
Going to the library at my elementary school, the one morning a week it was open. The school was one of those open concept ones from the 1960s, you know, and the library was the hub. All the classrooms were dark. The building was cool and quiet, and I pretty much had the place to myself. I’d walk out every week with armloads of books. Honestly, I don’t know how many times I went. Maybe it was only once, but the memory is strong. I can smell it, even now, nearly fifty years later.
Learning that the library would MAIL books to you. I remember getting a book about The Beatles, and it was mailed in one of those padded envelopes that sheds everywhere.
Picking out books in the five and dime, my first Harlequins, usually chosen because of the horses on the cover.
Most of my summer memories revolve around not just one book, but stacks of them. I was always happy to have the assurance that I’d have plenty to read. I don’t read real books very often now, but my Kindle is loaded with books. Now…to take the time to read them!
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