bookends
February 5, 2013 § 6 Comments
Last Friday I was happily distracted by the sight of my daughter’s head bent in concentration over colorful, misshapen stacks of picture, chapter, and reference books as she sought to catalogue her most cherished books into order that she might better find an old friend to accompany her in quieter moments. Watching her progress my heart and mind were weighted with sentiment for the memory of introducing my children to the beloved collection of stories scattered across our floor.
Set off to the side, alone, Guess How Much I Love You was curiously tucked behind a pillow. My daughter hesitated to lend a place of permanence for our old friend uncertain if the sweeping ink strokes marred the destiny of the book, its future seemed as precarious as its past was familiar.
On an end table, The Secret Garden rested atop a collection of Shel Silverstein’s poems; an old friend lending companionship to a new adventure. One a keepsake from my husband’s youth, the other a gift from an old friend.
Reference books peeked from the piles acknowledging both children’s individual interests; science, animals, history, and encyclopedias contrasting sharply against fiction. My husband’s childhood Garfield books worn and yellowed were shuffled between newer, glossier editions. Calvin and Hobbes kept one another company while Spy vs. Spy plotted quietly between closed pages. Chapter books clustered by characters rested alongside Dr. Seuss and unused books hinted at anticipated adventures shelved among old favorites, each waiting for their turn.
Nostalgia for titles was replaced by an unraveling of order as my daughter attempted to make sense of out the eclectic collection of books. Her initial intention to gather titles into alphabetical order was compromised by the availability of space. Her momentum clouded with frustration left stacks of books littered across our floor, couch, and end tables overnight.
My daughter’s exercise in order created a beautiful metaphor for the importance of certain cornerstones missing in my days. Like one of my daughter’s books I have felt misshelved; practical pieces of my day have been displaced by available pockets of time and activities that center my spirit and organize my home have been absent creating a sense of chaos. So, I begin again at the colorful stacks of books scattered in the corners of our home. Applying my daughter’s logic I am flushing out the pieces of self that get shuffled between busier moments, stretching them out to better see what is amiss and centering myself between the colorful characters, bookends, that weigh my days in joy.
scribblechic 
I too have a thing for reading novels and books……recently i finished one novel and wrote a book review on my blog do study it and giv ur coment.
kudos to reading!!….nothing beats it,isn’t it
I am so grateful for my children’s shared affinity for reading. Thank you for commenting.
I, too, share an affinity for the written words. Thanks for putting into words the hidden power of books :).
I cannot imagine the landscape of our home without stacks of well-loved stories.
Thanks for commenting!
This post is beautifully written. I’m sure your daughter has inherited your love of words, and I hope neither of you ever feels completely shelved. I especially liked this: “Calvin and Hobbes kept one another company while Spy vs. Spy plotted quietly between closed pages.”
Thank you. The colorful cartoon characters are all the more endearing to me for the playful parallels between their stories and my children’s relationship. If I close my eyes I can just as easily picture my children plotting the other’s demise one minute, only to draw the other close in confidence the next.