What a wonderful posting yesterday on Paul Martin's blog, The Teacher's View. Not only is he a wonderful and engaging writer (meaning it is difficult to tear yourself away from the words once you start reading) but he echoes thoughts, imaginings and musings so familiar it's as if looking in a mirror.
He describes what it's like being in a well-loved reading spot, with its vaulted ceilings and view of the Pacific Ocean. "This is where I belong, my home," he writes. But I took it in the larger sense, referring not to the stacks of that particular, well-loved library but in general, simply being among books--because though I, too, have "favorite library" memories, the feelings he talks about can come from being in one's own little corner of stacked books, or briefly, in the nook of a bookshop, lost in a world of exploration, finding the joy in discovery--a 'home' that's not rooted to a physical place but to the mental world in which one chooses to reside. In that sense, home can be anywhere--or nowhere--depending on the availability of books and those quiet moments necessary for reflection.
Yesterday, while sorting clothes in my reading room to give away to a local clothing drive, a ragged tome from several decades ago caught my eye and I paused to open it up and thumb through it again. And putting it back onto the shelf led me to its neighbor, another book I hadn't read in many years, and ... you know where this is going ... the clothes-sorting task now abandoned, I became lost in the very world described so aptly by Paul on his blog yesterday. A five-minute 'break' that can turn into an hour and 45 minutes--such is the power of words on a page.
Thank you, Paul for such beautiful writing, for reminding me how wonderful is the world of stories and ideas and memories found in books, for reminding me that, for me, too, "This is where I belong, my home", the one you take with you no matter where you actually land in life.