Midnight thoughts; Books

Another trip to the bookstore today left me excited to peruse the pages of the newly purchased John Connolly book. At the bookstore, the sensation as the fingers traced the spines of the many unread books ignite my curiousity. What is this book about? What's the story? Who's the author? How does it end?

How my eyes dart without focus due to the unlimited visual splash of print and colours and illustrations upon the towering shelves make me dizzy. A sensation I have grown to love the moment I fell in love with books. I remember the first book I brought home. Ladybird's Peter and Jane. Kindergarten. I was 4 years old.

Then I moved up to Beatrix Potter. Then Enid Blyton. And then one day, I traded children's stories for books from my mother's library; Stephen King. Mario Puzo. I was about 9 or 10 years old.

Just before I was 13 years old, my mother presented me with a second-hand copy of Lorenzo Carcaterra's Sleepers. Until this day, it has remained one of my favourite books. When I fell in love with Husband the year he turned 22, I couldn't quite figure out what to get for his birthday. I searched the mind (and malls) for a treasure worthy of him. I came up empty handed. Until I looked at my then very tiny library. I gave him my mother's Carcaterra book. It is a gem to me. I had hoped it would be the same for him. The look on his face when he stripped the book of its dull-patterned gift wrapper was priceless.

Nights when Husband and I would be propped up in bed, reading, as we maintain physical contact by crossing one of my foot and one of his at the ankles are precious to me. The pillow-talks that follow - even better.

Is it a mystery that I chose to study English Literature and now, I'm choosing to become a librarian? It's in my blood, so to speak.

Anis