When I was a kid, books were my escape. I was the pesky little sister and often got left behind so I wrapped myself in words and got lost. I read everywhere.
In the shower, at dinner (drove my parents crazy until they finally gave up trying to have a conversation with me), walking to school (boy those busy intersections were fun!), nothing stopped me.
I loved those 'choose your own ending' books and The babysitter's club (I was 6!). I even read Sweet Valley High's series (I bet a few of you did too). Then I found Nancy Drew, and a variety of books I no longer remember the name of but it doesn't matter. I remember getting lost and that was amazing.
I loved John Grisham and Dean Koontz when I was 13.
My dad would take me to the book store so that I could load up and it made him slightly crazy (and a little pleased) to know that I'd be finished with my hefty stack of books by the end of the week. I knew every corner of our library and which boards creaked.
Those books were my lifeline. Each character would stay with me long after I closed to back cover and started a new one. I loved those creased spines and worn pages of my favorite books; ones I read over and over until they simply fell apart.
I've missed them. I hate that as I've gotten older I've made less and less time for something that so shaped who I am.
It seems that something always needs my attention. Laundry, dishes, clothes need mending, children need my help or to simply play, and so on. Just ordinary life.
So when my sister sent me a gift card for Barnes and Noble I had a horrible time choosing but couldn't help but to feel so excited.
In three days, I've finished two of the 3 books I ordered.
Maybe there is time after all.