Much Love Monday

Once upon a time, when I was writing up my first real resume, my father told me to put down reading under the section entitled other interests. I was so shocked at that proposal, I thought - and yes, apparently I was a rather naive child - that everyone read.
Not living with my books of yesteryear has been very hard for me, for I always viewed books as prized possessions, far more important that toys, which for some odd reason depressed me. I remember spending hours reading Emily Dickinson's collected poems not on a chair, but on the floor, the rebellious youth that I was. The edition I had was printed on thick, slightly coarse paper; the binding was marbled.
Only last week did I discover her poems on Gutenberg. Finding them was like having a grand reunion with an old friend, finding that same old red thread intact, despite the shifts of time and age.
In my youth, I seemed to think that books had the answer to everything, but now I know they are weak and sybaritic if not employed to enhance life and experience. But it is interesting that as we grow, we begin to see where our affinities lie, what we resonate with. I seem to have a genuine "thing" for books. A few weeks ago, I ordered a few and was surprised by my joy when they arrived on Saturday.
The sight of the stack of new books has buoyed me; it is as if I can already hear their voices, feel the affirmation for being oneself - and then expressing it.
Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days;
It half endears the abstinence,
And pain is missed in praise.
As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.
As for the spices that stimulate time - that pretty much sums up my weekend. Symbolic food was cooked, guests made merry and glasses were raised. Despite having grown up, travelled the world on my own steam, I am still that same little girl, relishing books and believing in the importance of writing the candid, heart-felt letter.
So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love following my bookish, hard-to-understand path with the faith that it will have a happy ending. A story can have a happy ending if we turn to books to fill in the empty spaces, when we need additional reminders of beauty, love and inspiration; when we consult with the authorities, who have realised their potential in harder times than ours. A story can have a happy ending if we are powered not only by our own hearts and minds, but also that of friends - some of whom reach us through stories.  

Elements: frame: maybemej.