An ode to the books of our youth

I’m one of those people that can never have enough books. I buy a new one or two or three every couple of months to add to my collection, even though I probably have  20 to 30 still unread. It’s like I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and suddenly have nothing new to read. Highly unlikely, but I’m sure other book lovers know this feeling all too well.

When packing up my apartment to leave DC, I sent about 15 boxes of books ahead in USPS flat rate packages. I was amazed at how much I had, even after trying to clean out a few. I ended up giving away or throwing out probably only a small stack, and it was even hard to gift the ones I had about Rose Wilder Lane’s childhood to my colleague for his daughter.

Little House books
Photo credit: lynn.gardner on Flickr

My collection varies from classics like The Crucible, Huckleberry Finn and The Grapes of Wrath, to all of Jane Austen’s novels, to historical fiction from WWII and the Civil War, to books on journalism and by journalists, to some guilty pleasures from Nicholas Sparks and Philippa Gregory.

But some of my most beloved books are the ones from my youth: the Anne of Green Gables series, a few from the Little House collection, three or four children’s books with great sentimental value. Their covers are worn and the bindings bent and stretched from multiple readings, some of them five times or more. There are dog-eared pages a plenty, and on the inside covers, my name scratched out and rewritten after my adoption went through in high school. I know them all nearly by heart, and years ago stopped saving them for the children I would have someday, but instead held onto them just for me.

Like some people keep their first music album or baseball jersey or Barbie doll, I treasure these books. They may be of little or no value to anyone else, but they are of immense value to me.

Photo credit: adwriter on Flickr
Photo credit: adwriter on Flickr

I spent hours, days, weeks, and months of my childhood reading. I was reading chapter books in kindergarten, ahead of my classmates, and devouring entire Book It! reading lists. I would fill my backpack with at least 10 new treasures at the library every couple of weeks, and blow through half in a weekend. Instead of camp or summer sports, up until high school, I was probably inside reading. I learned of the joys of an Amazon wish list early on, and my parents fed that fire at birthdays and Christmas, quenching my thirst in between with trips to Barnes & Noble on Friday nights after dinner a couple of times a month. I’d walk the aisles writing down all the titles to add to my reading list, overwhelmed by the possibilities, yet always revisiting books I already knew and loved.

These days, I love new books as much as I did then. I blew through the Game of Thrones series in less than a year, and am halfway through Wolf Hall after a few days (admittedly, downloaded via Kindle to my iPad), eager to move on to Bring Up the Bodies. But nothing gives me more joy sometimes than revisiting old favorites. I could easily read Pride & Prejudice once a month, and I have a hankering to go back to my Little House books and relive Laura and Almanzo’s romance and Pa’s struggles through the long winter. In her book, The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin writes about how for a long time, she hid the fact that she still loved reading kid lit, until she discovered other adults just like her, and formed a couple of reading groups just for that purpose. She embraced the idea of reading what made her happy, and I do, too.

We love these books from our youth for so many reasons. They remind us of a rainy day inside, or our first meeting with a beloved character, or when we knew we had discovered our favorite author. They fulfilled the promise of young love, best friends, loving families, and adventures in unknown lands overcoming obstacles from man and beast. They gave us happy endings, surprise endings, and choose your own adventure endings. They remind us of simpler times before reality TV and video games, when we got hooked on a girl growing up on a prairie, a horse’s journey through life, or a brother and sister traveling through time together.

Memories may fade and TV shows may come and go, and we may read on tablets instead of in print, but these stories of our youth will never fade. They stand the test of time and are waiting for us to return to them again and again, and we are thrilled once more, just like the first time.

What are your favorite books and authors from your childhood? Here are some from friends and others online:

@smheffern: Misty of Chincoteague, Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret
@Tammy: Anything Beverly Cleary
@TWangDC: The Book Thief
@Courtside: books by Melina Marchetta, Cath Crowley, Megan Whalen Turner, Jaclyn Moriarty, John Marsden
@Katyray: A Wrinkle in Time
@brianneburrowes: Nancy Drew, Sweet Valley High, The Baby-Sitter’s Club
@washingtina: The Phantom Tollbooth
@arlusk: Shel Silverstein
@jesserker: Wayside School is Falling Down

My first love: books

IMG_8178Today I headed to down to the Mall for the National Book Festival. I arrived with hopes of getting one of my Nicholas Sparks’ books autographed by the author, but my spirits quickly sagged as I saw six lines of people waiting for him, and was promptly told by an event staffer that Sparks was only signing his newest book. So much for bringing my copy of The Wedding. I couldn’t just jump the book sale line either – people stretched around the corner of the tent for that, too.

I picked up my token festival poster and checked out the Target dog, Spot, and headed back home before the rain hit. Annoyed at first because the event was so packed that I would have had to arrive at 8am if I wanted a shot at hearing anyone speak or sign a book, I left happy that so many people were there, because after all, it must mean they love books! There were tons of kids, too, which pleased me, because you hear so much these days about kids not reading as much, or reading crap like Gossip Girls and the like. But here you could find works by authors like Judy Blume, Julia Alvarez, Sue Monk Kidd, and Tim O’Brien (The Things They Carried by this last author is one of my favorite books).

Read more


The sun is out, but it’s still only about 50 degrees here in DC. Can’t decide if I will run outside today or just do a workout downstairs in the gym. Aside from that, I’ll likely be doing some reading, watching some bball, and lounging in pjs. Of course, I drank coffee and stared out the window for a bit, as an ode to sitting at home with my parents in the meditation room with the dogs, and watching the birds outside. I didn’t really see birds this morning, but I saw about 5 deers taking a little walk in the woods near my building. There was a woman walking around there too, and I was annoyed that she kept walking and scared them off instead of just waiting for a minute until they had passed through.  Paula Deen is making crawfish etouffee, mirlitons, and beignets. I’m fairly drooling over this.

Anyways, I was just thinking about what I used to do on weekends over the years at home. Nothing really exciting, and altogether, the chores part of it was boring, but it’s just little stuff I remember.

I’d get up on Saturday morning, and Dad would make pancakes, or we’d have cereal for breakfast. Immediately after, I’d start cleaning the house. Dusting, trash, sweeping, vaccumming, laundry, the works. That would take a couple of hours. I would try to make it entertaining by pretending I was giving tours of a museum, as I went from room to room. I’d also pretend my porcelain dolls were all girls in a boarding school. You might be laughing at this, but I was an only child and I was doing chores on a Saturday morning. How else was I supposed to amuse myself? If it was warm out, I’d also have chores outside. Weeding (blah), raking leaves, helping plant flowers, stuff like that. We’d have lunch. PB&J with milk, or meat and cheese sandwiches with doritos or pringles. My dad and I would polish off a whole bag. Later in the day, if we didn’t have errands to run, we’d watch an Indy car race on tv, or take a nap with the dog/dogs (Rocky when I was younger, and later, Harrison and Casey).

Sundays would be chore-free. I’d spend most of the day reading in my room (again, I was a nerd, and I fully admit it), or maybe I’d go out and rollerblade or play basketball for a bit. Sometimes we would make a trip to Barnes & Noble. Mom and I would go grocery shopping.

So as you can see, weekends have always been pretty chill in my life. I wasn’t out and about the whole time, and I wasn’t out playing with friends until dusk, or getting into trouble. The main themes were family, chores, reading and relaxing. Probably not that exciting for most people, but it really is telling because of how I spend my weekends now – they’re meant for relaxing. And yes, I clean my apartment on weekends, and read a book, or go to the store. Not much has changed except that now I’m alone – and it makes me miss my parents a lot. I miss Saturday morning pancakes, and sandwiches with doritos, and raking leaves with my Dad. I miss grocery shopping with Mom, and getting “race snacks” or catching a matinee movie and stopping at Graeter’s on the way home.

How did you spend your weekends growing up? What do you miss most? How do you spend them now?

A few things that lift my spirits

It rained today and I woke up not feeling well. However, here are some things that make me brush that off:

-sushi for dinner
-my weekly dose of Grey’s Anatomy
-still feeling awesome about my long run yesterday and looking forward to doing it again this weekend
-knowing I have trips to Louisiana and home booked for the next two months
-pepperidge farm white chocolate macadamia nut cookies
-talking to my mom
-a good, long nap

What about you?