Friday, June 10, 2011


I remember the sound of my shoes tapping on the terrazzo floor and the smell of dusty shelves. Everything was taller than me and no one talked to me. But I loved this place. My mom loved this place, so I did, too.

I do not remember ever checking out a book. But I do remember looking at the rows and rows of books and knowing that they were all there for me. They were all there for me to discover. They must be important if someone had taken the time to organize them on the shelves. I couldn't read yet, but I was drawn to all those books.

Now I find myself drawn to old books. The ones with black line drawings are the best. They may not seem like exciting books, but sometimes I discover an old way of thinking or speaking connected to a timeless truth. I feel connected to the time and the people who lived in that time. It feels like a treasure hunt.

The treasure I am finding is priceless.