Books have been essential to my life since kittyhood. When I awakened in the night with nightmares, I never woke up anyone to keep me safe. I was rational enough, even then, to know that the problem wasn't real and the solution was to pull my mind away from the big white bear chasing me through the yard. I couldn't force my mind away from the nightmare images by myself. The help I needed came from books. Trembling still with terror, I'd climb down from my top bunk as quietly as I could, so as not to wake mother, and gather together my nightmare supplies - blanket, pillow, and a very large pile of golden books. Behind mother's chair in the living room was a hot air vent, and it was there I'd create my nest, and read until the shaking stopped.

I loved the worlds that books could open to me, and read insatiably. Poor mother couldn't afford to keep me in books, and I could barely handle the weight of the books I needed to mentally survive between library trips. This was a problem that continued into adulthood, and one I learned was part of my inheritance from both mother and father. On a typical day I could go through 3-6 books. More if I was isolated on a train trip. I finally learned to mail the books home periodically through my trips. Then all I really needed were enough books to get to me to my destination, and another set to get me home.

Needless to say, we're decorated in Early Books.

We added an addition onto the tiny house we bought. The new rooms come off a 42' long hallway covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves. One side is deep enough for paperbacks, the other for regular sized books. It's all pine, with shelves that can be positioned, and each one routed to allow a plate to sit at the back, if desired. Besides being chief designer, I was also chief wood finisher. So the carpenters made all the shelves, marking the bay numbers on the back edge, and I did the sanding and 3 coats of clear urethane (water-based to avoid the yellowing) of so many shelves I couldn't believe the task would ever end. But there they sit, filled with books and thingies that bring back memories as I wander past them and remember.

Books become old friends. I'm blessed in not having mother's photographic memory because every time I reread a book, it's fresh and new. Some books, like the Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings series, I just read over and over for the joy of staying in that world. Some are books that have deep meaning for me, like Graustark or the Lost Prince, and those I reread at least once a year. All my books can't fit on the shelves of the hallways or the bookcases scattered through the house, so most remain boxed away in the unfinished 'Library' at the end of the hall. But the special ones, the ones that stay on the shelves, those are the friends I'll never leave.