I’m cataloguing a box of books. Many are books for kids, picked up from various used book sales while I was earning my middle school education degree in St. Louis. The goal, as far as an English teacher is concerned, is to get your students reading. So I bought classics and contemporary works alike; mysteries, fantasies, biographies, plays, poetry, you name it. Whether these books find a home in my own classroom someday or in another project even sooner (neighborhood tutoring program perhaps?), I can’t wait to share them.

I’ve come across many old books I’ve read. What’s this, um, fabulous tale? Special Girl by Dorothy Francis? Glad I read this long before getting diagnosed with diabetes at 16 because Vonnie, the heroine, keeps her diabetes a secret and nearly loses her first crush. Gasp! The back cover reads:

THERE WAS SOMETHING SPECIAL BETWEEN THEM, Pete Karmer told Vonnie Morrison. And that made moving to a new town easier. She would make a new beginning… new friends. This time, she promised herself, she would be outgoing and friendly. But Vonnie’s determination to hide a part of her life caused misunderstandings, and worse yet, threatened to break up her first real romance.

Groan…

And then I found some of my absolute favorite books as a younger girl: The Grandma’s Attic series by Arleta Richardson. I almost pulled them to re-read as an adult and then thought better of it after realizing how many books I want to finish first. Did anyone else love Richardson’s stories?

I came across a Nancy Drew, claimed as MINE. (Note the freckles included in the smiley face.)

I found a book oh-so earnestly given to Jeremy by two LDS proselytizers, phone number covered for protection from crazed blog readers.

And finally I realized how much I love used books. This one, a book of Gerard Manley Hopkins poems, was given to Ann, from Rosemary, with love for Christmas in 1962. Now it’s mine, snuggled in “Cat 48 Box” (my identifying label for basement storage), a little less loved but no less treasured.

I love books.