I know. Guess I’ll start this like everyone else does when they have been absent from writing for a while. Things have been busy and being that a lot of thinking has been going on lately, I didn’t want my writing to be effected by it. Furthermore, due to my mood(s) (depending on the day, it could be plural), coming up with a subject matter has been difficult. However, tonight the subject hit me and I guess its time for me to write again.
I took my boys to dinner tonight and looked at my oldest and said, “I feel like I want to go to Barnes and Noble, but nothing specific has come to mind to buy.” He looked at me wide-eyed and stated, “Yes, we haven’t been in a while. Let’s go!” On our way to B&N my children and I discussed them getting a new book, as they had read the ones they had in their possession. However, I still had not a clue what I was looking for when I arrived. I soon found my answer.
We all walked into B&N together and the boys went running off to the sections they were interested in and it hit me like a brick. I didn’t need a specific book. I needed B&N. Yeah, I know that sounds weird and it’s not specifically B&N I needed, because frankly any bookstore will work for me. To be surrounded by that many books and have that much of a selection gives me a comfort and makes everything on the outside disappear. I could spend hours (and have) in a bookstore just gazing at the many types of books, book spines, subject matter, the art work on the covers – I guess you’d say anything and everything about a book.
“So is this the first time I’ve gone to a bookstore for comfort?”, I asked myself. I realized that it isn’t and it has happened several times in the past. Since I got divorced four years ago, I have always held that one thing I love to do is going to a bookstore, getting a cup of coffee and sitting there reading the newspaper on a Sunday morning. I have found myself at times visiting B&N or Books-A-Million on a whim because it was something I knew would make me happy and content. Bookstores are my solace. I’m not even really sure why. My parents read a lot when I grew up and I did as well. Furthermore, I love and enjoy writing. It could be the fact that I know the authors of the books I look at put their heart and soul into it regardless of the subject matter. It was a task, a goal, and a project that they put their blood, sweat and tears into while struggling with the idea, writing and publishing the book. A sense of accomplishment is held in every book, no matter how “good” or “bad” it is. The author saw the dream and thought it to be worthy enough to share with the world.
An hour went by and I helped my youngest find a new book to read (my oldest had his picked out in the matter of ten minutes). It was beginning to be late and something had caught my eye as I walked around looking at the books like they were candy. Poetry. I don’t have a really good poetry book and in college, I fell in love with poetry. The symbolism, meaning, and content of poetry attracted me. I chose Good Poems selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor and already I’ve found a poem I really like:
She does not need to be loved by you; though she’ll give you credit for good taste. Just because you say you love her; She’s not throwing herself at your feet in gratitude.
. . .
Most convincing, we know all this not by her preaching but by her presence — it’s no act. Every word and look and movement spells Independence: she likes being herself.
Mae West, Edward Field
From every trip I make to a bookstore, I always feel better when I leave with my new little treasure I choose to take home with me. From the sound of my oldest’s response when I asked if we should go, maybe he’s a lot like his mother and finds solace at a good bookstore, as well!