Memories of Books

As I look back over my long history as a reader, memories flood in regarding specific books and book-related events. A few stand out:

• The Scholastic book catalog that used to arrive periodically in my elementary school classroom.My parents were extremely supportive of my reading, and would let me choose as many as I liked. And oh, the day my books arrived! Heaven!
• A Mother Goose story book I discovered in the library when I was in sixth grade. Although it was far too "young" for me, I loved it, particularly a story about a young woman who killed her sister. The body turned into bones, which someone made into a harp, which then sang of the sister's perfidy. It was actually rather morbid.
• OK, I've got to admit it. My folks were "rubbish pickers." They loved to find really cool stuff in other peoples' trash (don't tell them I told you). One of the best finds in the world was a complete hardback set of Beverly Gray mysteries (she was kind of like a college-age Nancy Drew). I wish I still had them, as they'd likely be worth a lot of money now.
• Taking a Bible in to school to read, and being told to take it home again as it wasn't "appropriate" for the classroom. (I still can't believe that happened.)
• Reading The Adventures of Robin Hood (over and over and over again), and dressing up like one of the Merry Men for weeks on end.
• Learning about opera from a series of library books that not only told the story of the opera, but had the musical themes notated. They were easy enough that I could play them on the piano.I fell in love with The Magic Flute and Carmen long before I ever saw an opera staged.
• Discovering Shakespeare in story synopses in my grandmother's set of The Book of Knowledge (something else I wish we still owned). I can still see the sketches of Lady Macbeth descending a staircase by candlelight, and the two princes in the tower from Richard III.
• Reading Jane Eyre with a flashlight under the covers late into the night. (Well, it felt late to me at the time!)
• My first "dirty book." My poor dad brought home A Stranger in the Mirror by Sidney Sheldon for me without apparently knowing what it was about.It had been languishing in his office's Lost & Found for months, and he thought I might like it. I think I was in junior high at the time, and was shocked – and fascinated. I did not, by the way, tell the folks what I was reading.
• Reading Stephen King's Salem's Lot, and then having to sleep with the lights on for a week.