The leaves have changed.
I was sitting at the former homeschooling desk of Dear Son, in our former homeschooling room, staring out the window watching November blow in on a northerly wind. The wind made the tree just outside the window dance around while tiny yellowed leaves were torn away from the branches. It was a blustery day. A day just like those in the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. I became rather melancholy. Honestly, winter months will do that to me. This day of blue skies and mild temperatures, however, wasn’t at fault for turning my heart a light shade of blue, it was my memories.
Sitting in this room surrounded by cupboards and cabinets still full of books, my mind floated back to the idyllic days. Days where I was blessed to have, and doubly blessed, to remember reading Winnie-the-Pooh to Dear Son. Whenever there is a blustery day, I often think of that silly ol’ bear and the absolute, sheer delight that entered our life when we shared this book. We took our time reading through it. No agenda, no schedule, no literature analysis, no spelling words, no vocabulary words. Just this beautifully crafted story about a Boy and his Bear. I’m tearing up just writing this.
The book is the story.
Dear Son was around five when we discovered the Pooh Bear beyond the Disney rendition and we landed straight in the heart of the original book. I picked up a tattered, red cloth covered copy with worn edges and a few stains. Sometimes the book itself tells as much of a story as the words in it. This book had a story to tell. A story-without-words. A story that Dear Son and I were able to write our own chapter and add it to countless others. Days on end he would bring that book, that precious, red cloth covered, timeworn book to me and
ask me to tell him what “that silly old bear” would be up to next. Everything would stop and we would head for the squishy couch in the sun room and with expectant anticipation we would crack that book open.
Few books take me back to a specific time in space like Winnie-the-Pooh. Back to a time when I thought my days were filled with an unending list of chores, and responsibilities, and errands, and demands, and whining children. In reality they were filled with sticky hands holding mine, laughter at silly, stupid kid jokes, learning escapades, and love-worn books.
That’s why we’re here.
Dear Daughter and I started HootBookRevival so that us folks that are drowning in the printed page could unload and then reload those bowed shelves; so that we could load up our lives with beauty and fantasy and dreams along with facts and stats. But we’re here not just to help get rid of books. We’re also here to help you remember which ones were special. I hope in all that unloading and reloading that you have a few keepers in there. A few keepers that shoot straight to your heart and fill you full up of squishy couches, blustery days, little boys and silly old bears.