For Valentine’s Day, a love affair and a gift …

How many of you can remember how your love affair with books began? Someone from the old ’hood posted recently that the retired grammar school building that once housed our local library was to be torn down. The post triggered an avalanche of memories. That building was within walking distance of my childhood home, and I most especially remember the day I stood at the librarian’s desk (an actual walnut desk) while she explained how I could get my own library card. I was only five. I was barely tall enough to see over the desk, and my baby brother was in a stroller beside me.

The librarian told me I could not get my own card until I could print my name. To this day, I can remember everything about the conversation, the quality of the light streaming in the dusty windows, the very tall stacks of books, and most of all, my determination to learn to print my name. We walked home where I sat down and practiced all evening until I could do it. Lucky for me, I only had to print my first name because my last name derived from Wales, and was not that easy to write.

And, oh, you simply cannot imagine my pride the next time we walked into the library. My mother filled in the application, I printed my name, and the librarian typed me my very own library card on a big black typewriter. And that’s when my love affair with books began.

As is true for most love affairs, there were a few bumps in the road. Like the time I brought home Let No Man Write My Epitaph. My parents were horrified, and angry at the librarian for letting a child check out such a book. I don’t know if I was more shocked at the content of the book, or at the idea that someone would try to censor what I could read. We had another kerfuffle a couple of years later when I came home with Ayn Rand.

After that, my father decided to take a more active role in helping me select reading material. He gave me Earth Abides, a tale about a virus that wipes out most of humankind (an idea that only grows in appeal as time goes on) and the small group of survivors living in the Berkeley hills, close to our home. I loved that book. The next summer we went camping, and Daddy gave me Fire, a story about a forest fire in the Sierras that became a perennial favorite. Then, as a young adult enjoying numerous cross-country skiing trips in the mountains around Donner Lake, I became absorbed in Ordeal by Hunger, about the winter the Donner party were stranded near the lake. Just a few years ago, I noticed that all three of those books were written by the same man, George Stewart! There’s a lesson there …

I never went to school in this building. I’m not that old. My mother did sign me up for ballet lessons here when I was seven. I didn’t even last long enough to get the shoes. Then, when I was about twelve, she signed me up for charm school here. No surprise, I flunked out of that, too, but not before learning to walk with a book on my head. Also, I picked up a few dating tips, like never to extend last minute invitations. Apparently doing so makes it appear you think she has nothing better to do.

And now for the gift. As you know The Boy Who Bought It, fifth in the Estela Nogales Mystery series will be released for sale on March 1. Every current subscriber (as of today) will be entered into a drawing to win a free signed paperback copy of The Boy Who Bought It. And, beginning tomorrow, all new subscribers will be entered into a separate drawing of their own. Tell your friends and good luck!

What do you remember about your early encounters with books?