Mitgliedwestwindschild

My library (currently about a thousand volumes) is mostly a mix of fiction of all genres - lots and lots and lots of mysteries, suspense, sci-fi/fantasy, historical novels, classic literature and popular fiction - but it also includes poetry and biographies of favorite authors, humor, psychology, astronomy, a variety of nature field guides, travel, and most of my college textbooks. Of late, I have begun also reading (and collecting) books on politics, society and the looming environmental crisis. I've always treasured reading as my means of escape from a difficult reality, but as I have become more active in the causes of environmental protection and awareness of global climate change, I've also become interested in the political process. Thus the addition of Barack Obama, Al Gore and John Kerry to my library.

To this day, I regret the loss, 20 years ago, of the box containing some of my most treasured books collected in childhood - Laura Ingalls Wilder hardcovers (with Garth Williams fabulous illustrations), several Louisa May Alcott favorites, books received on long-ago birthdays and Christmases or purchases with saved up allowance from the Weekly Reader Book Club.

I love books. Always have. As a child, my mom kept us kids (6 in 6 years - I was 2nd oldest - then 3 more over another 10 yrs) quiet and out of trouble while she fed the baby (there was ALWAYS a baby in those days!) by gathering us around her and reading from children's classics. Heidi, Little Women, Gulliver's Travels, Tom Sawyer and Eight Cousins (some in abridged versions) wre among my favorites by the age of 4 or 5. A Child's Garden of Verses, The House at Pooh Corner, the All-About Storybook and the story and poetry volumes of the Childcraft series were all staples as well (I still thrill at the remembered cadence of "Ho! for the pirate Don Durk of Dowdee; He was as wicked as wicked could be. But oh, he was perfectly gorgeous to see; the pirate Don Durk of Dowdee!"). As a privileged older child, I was permitted to stand by Mommy's shoulder and turn the page for her when it was time. I recall the thrill of recognition as the black scratches on the page began to form into words for me! And how I strained to figure out each set of marks so I would know it was time to turn the page without being told. I was a reader! I also remember how desperately I tried to make the words say something else when Beth March died, and when Heidi grieved in the city for her Grandfather. In the stories I began to write as soon as I could shape the letters, nobody suffered or sorrowed. Happy beginnings led to silly adventures and happy endings. Thus began my lifelong love affair with the written word. The opportunity for experiences-not-otherwise-available afforded by the imagination. The joy of sharing a beautiful image in words.