I decided to
take a mini road trip yesterday down to Portland to visit Powell’s Books. It was, as it always is, a fantastic way to
spend an afternoon. The trip also
involved a visit to Lloyd’s Center and dinner out but the visit to Powell’s was
the highlight of my day.
It’s amazing
how long I can scour the shelves for just the right books, rummage through
multiple titles of my favorite authors, scan the shelves for new reading possibilities
and still want more time when the allotted time is up. We had a three-hour maximum for our parking
space some five or six blocks away and I was surprised when I discovered two
hours had already passed. By that time I’d
only been able to visit the journal section, the reference section for writers
and the mystery section…as well as the cafĂ© where I purchased a Chai tea and a
very delicious ginger molasses cookie.
What is it
about just being in the presence of books that can give someone so much comfort
and contentment? The store was packed
with visitors so we were surrounded with other like minds but what about those
who don’t quite understand what the big deal is all about? Who hardly, if ever, step foot inside a book
store or a library? Who never even open
a book unless it’s a manual to fix something around the house or a book
necessary for a class they may be taking?
Is there any way to make them understand just how wonderful it is to get
lost in a great story, become privy to the lives of characters who seem like
real people, find comfort with the knowledge that we’re not the only ones who
deal with difficult circumstances, or feel excitement when we bury ourselves in
an imaginative and fascinating make-believe world?
Many might
say it’s in the way we’re brought up but I would have to disagree with that
idea. I found I loved books at a very
early age and I’ve been a reader ever since.
It’s just something I took a liking to and I never turned away from. As I raised my sons, they were both always
surrounded by my books and my need to read and as they learned to read, I enjoyed
taking them to the bookstore and letting them pick out their own books. Both my boys were brought up the same way…I
enjoyed reading to them when they were young, making it a routine to let them
choose a book so I could read to them every night before they went to bed. When they were both in grade school and had
to earn their AR points, I made sure they were both on task and reading at least
twenty minutes every day. I believe they
both enjoyed the quality time as we read books together. But around middle school is where I believe
the fork in the road came about. One of
my boys took one road, while the other decided on another path. One of my boys loves to read books as much as
I do, while the other will only look at a book if it’s something he’s tasked to
do. Both have bookshelves in their rooms
but while one is loaded with books, the other is full of school yearbooks and
sports trophies.
It’s just
the way it turns out sometimes. Some people
love books and find great pleasure in reading; others just don’t. There’s really no rhyme or reason to it, I
don’t think. My boys have proven that to
me. And that’s okay. Some people turn to books while others find
other outlets.
While I also
have other outlets to get through the day, to let off steam or to end each day
on a positive note, I can’t imagine what it would be like not to have books, to not
always be in the middle of a book and now, to not be writing a book.
For those
very reasons, I find delight while visiting places like Powell’s Books. It satisfies my need as a reader, adds fire
to my creative soul and calms my spirit with blissful contentment.
I can’t wait
to go back!