NEXT CHAPTER

To read a book for the first time is to make an acquaintance with a new friend; to read it for a second time is to meet an old one. ~Chinese Saying

I’ve always had a love for books and a passion for reading. As a child, I enjoyed going to our local library, walking through the stacks, exploring the various titles and authors. Encyclopedia Brown. Beverly Cleary. Nancy Drew. I would select a book and lounge in an oversized chair reading the afternoon away.

Books were always on my Christmas and Birthday wish lists. When I was eight, I received the Little House on the Prairie 9-Book set for my Birthday; I was captivated by the first book, Little House in the Big Woods and devoured the next eight books in a matter of days. I loved the stories and marveled at how the Ingalls family lived.

Nancy Drew Mysteries were another favorite. I had numerous yellow and black hardback books that filled my bookcase and stood proudly next to my collection of Trixie Belden books. The beloved characters and stories were a joy to read again and again.

My Nancy Drew, Little House on the Prairie, and Trixie Belden books followed me from my childhood home to my first home as a newlywed. For eleven years, they were displayed in a bookcase in our living room. When we moved into our current home, I packed them up and placed them high on a shelf in our guest bedroom closet.

I have been busy cleaning out our home as our family continues to move toward minimalism. The idea of removing a good portion of my books was daunting and emotional.

Starting with the bookcase in my office, I removed twenty-four Janet Evanovich books, a dozen health/wellness books, as well as a handful of novels. I felt lighter as I placed each book into a box to donate to our local library book sale.

Next, I moved on to the guest room and open the closet door. High on the shelf were the familiar spines of Nancy Drew, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Trixie Belden.

I pulled a book down and blew off a thin layer of dust. Nostalgia swept over me as I flipped through the pages, remembering the stories and how they transported me into another time, another world.

I had grown out of these books many years ago and my boys had no interest in reading them. These books were old friends who needed new friends. Maybe a young reader. Maybe another bookworm. Maybe a collector.

I counted the books: Thirty-four in total. I decided to donate my collection to an antique dealer who uses her profits to support local animal rescue group.

A new chapter for my books with proceeds to a rescue group? That’s a best seller in my mind.