Today we have hit 50°. If this weren’t February, I’d be talking about spring. No layering today, it is a straight up flannel shirt day. I have to get dog food so I’m adding the dump to my errand list. My car is already filled except for the heavy box of used litter upstairs I’m leaving for another trip, no room.

When I was growing up, Saturday was my sacrosanct day. It was a day to wander or go to the movies or just stay at home to watch Saturday TV and then read the day away. Sometimes I went to the library. I’d take as many books as the librarian would let me, so many they’d fill my bike basket. They were my week’s entertainment. In my wanderings I always felt safe even if I was by myself. I’d ride around my town then sometimes pedal to one of the next towns. I was gone until late afternoon. My mother never worried.

We had an encyclopedia. It was the one from the supermarket, a new book a week. I’d take a book and open it at random then read where I landed. I learned about odd things and old things and spectacular things. I read about countries I dreamed of visiting. I learned about the world. I always thought of those books as my private library.

During the early days of Peace Corps, volunteers were given book lockers. They were made of cardboard and opened in the middle. On each side of the locker were two shelves filled with paperbacks. I was lucky enough to be given one by a volunteer who had completed service and was going home. Books were sacred. They were passed along or traded. With no TV or radio or newspaper, reading was one of the great joys. I spend afternoons sitting in my living room devouring my book. I carried one with me when I traveled. The long ride to go south went quickly when I read. That book locker was amazing. It had The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. There was the Daphne du Maurier novel, My Cousin Rachel, which I probably would never have read otherwise. I read every book. I also traded them for different books. My book locker was never empty.