Home is Where the Books Are

When I think about coming home, I think about traveling.  That feeling of living out of a suitcase for however long and then walking into my bedroom and seeing all this stuff.  All this stuff.  Why do I have so much stuff?  Would I ever need it?  How could I when I’ve survied just fine an ocean away with a few changes of clothes and a tiny air-travel approved bag of toiletries?  But one thing I’d really miss are my books.  I always pack one with me if I’m straying too far from home.  So, it was Milo battling the Doldrums as we drove out west when I was nine years old.  And Charlie tinkering on his typewriter when I took that heartbroken trip to Pennsylvania one year.  Patti and Robert whispering to me on my first long road trip with my new husband.  And Weetzie, of course, kissing me anywhere and everywhere along the way.

There was this challenge going around social media last year.  Everyone tagged me in it, but I never got around to putting my reply up.  The challenge was:  “List ten book that have stayed with you in some way.  Do not take more than a few minutes and don’t think too hard.  They do not have to be the “right” books, or great works of literature, just ones that have affected you in some way.”

So, here is my reply.  That rag-tag group of friends that stowaway, or are waiting for me back home.


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