On Loving Books

My book-loving Dad with my older sister, Mary, and me in Quebec City. 

Some of the hardest possessions to part with are books. I'm trying to de-clutter these days (aren't we all, in January?) and decided that our bookshelves were long overdue for a purging.

I can be fairly ruthless when it comes to getting rid of paperback picture books or old board books that even the grandchildren have outgrown, but books that have been family favourites will always have a place in our home. As will books that have tender inscriptions in them. Or books that have been signed by the author. I come by this love of books quite honestly.

The other day, while sorting, I came across a tiny, hardcover book called Coaches and Coaching, by Leigh Hunt. I have it here on my desk. It looks a little scruffy, and it is obviously quite old because the pages are yellowed. Printed in Edinburgh, Scotland, there is no publication date, which I find disappointing.

My mother had given it to me after Dad died in 1992. Inside, I find a note on a slip of paper. Mom's note explains that my father bought the book because it was small enough to fit in a pocket. He liked to have a small volume with him wherever he went, my mother explained, so that he was never without something to read.

If you love books, you probably share that sentiment. What do we do if we have nothing to read??