Kindred Spirits

I once read that books are the life-blood of a room, the soul of a home. There are books in every single room of my house. My husband will tell you there are too many; I will forever claim that there aren’t enough.

Most of my books are tucked away in the guest bedroom in our basement. Sometimes, when I am stressed or sad, I will go to this room and run my fingers along the spines of my treasured tomes, and suddenly I am not alone.

A week or so ago, an author friend of mine posed a question on facebook that gave me warm fuzzies: “Who were your best friends from the books you read growing up?”

I felt like I needed to run down the stairs to my bookcases so I didn’t forget anybody. The names came to me quickly: Ella of Frell. Molly McIntire. Ramona. And Beezus. Mostly Beezus, because I was Beezus. Laura Ingalls Wilder. Jo March. Anne Shirley. Naya Nuki. Fern Arable. California Lucy Whipple. Anne Frank. Caddie Woodlawn. Wendy Darling. Amelia Bedelia. Christy Huddleston. Wanda Petronski. Stargirl. Hermione Granger. Susan and Lucy Pevense. Nancy Drew. Matilda. Elizabeth, the Paper Bag Princess. Madeline, who lived in a house all covered in vines. Sarah, plain and tall. Jessie and Violet, who lived in a Boxcar. Molly, who was a pilgrim. And so, so many others.

These are the girls and women who shaped my childhood and adolescence. Although I have always been blessed with good friends, I was never one who could be deemed “popular.” Most of the time, my living-and-breathing best friends have earned that title with me because they also have a love of books.

You could call them kindred spirits.

There is a shelf, down in my guest room, which holds these friends of mine, stuffed close together and covered in dust. Occasionally, I still need one or two of them, and they are always there when I need them, for a paragraph or a page or simply to stick in my purse so I’m not alone when I’m out and about. My needs are not as frequent as they were, and most of the time I focus on making new friends.

But I have a daughter. And although her dearest friends right now are Cinderella and Pinkalicious and Fancy Nancy Clancy, I know someday she will need to meet Ramona, and Laura, and Fern. She will learn that everyone has bad days and good ideas, that sometimes she will have to do hard things, and sometimes she might be the only person who could save Some Pig. She will teach school in Cutter Gap and write stories in the Annex and deal with her own Ms. Trunchbulls. She might turn down stuck-up princes and she might stand up for her own Prince Char. She will pass through the Wardrobe, fly to Neverland, and ride the Hogwarts Express.

Parents don’t usually get to choose friends for their children, but if ever my daughter finds herself alone in the world, I find peace in knowing that somewhere in my basement, I have a shelf of adventures, escapes, and friends waiting for her.