Getting back in the swing of things after our snow days has really kept me busy since my last blog update. Sorry for the lapse in posts, but I guess with only four followers I didn't keep a bunch of people on pins and needles during my hiatus. :)
Over the past couple of weekends, we (John, Max, Breta, and I) have established a Saturday ritual that I really enjoy. Our morning starts off with Max's basketball game, usually at 9:00. He has really improved since he started in January, now scoring an average of over 5 points a game! After his game, the four of us go somewhere together for lunch. A couple of Saturdays ago, we went to Ozark Mountain Smokehouse - YUM! Finally, after lunch we go junktiquing - to yard sales, estate sales, and antique malls. It's so much fun, and I really couldn't imagine a better way to spend time with my three favorite people.
Yesterday, we stopped at a Sale by Nancy (the BEST in Little Rock estate sale companies) off Reservoir. The house was crammed full of treasures, but of course I really have an eagle eye for one thing: books. The older, the better. I prefer dictionaries, composition books, and literary classics, but as long as it's an old book I'm grabbing it to take a look. Yesterday, I found a few keepers: a 1915 edition of Tennyson's
Idylls of the King, a
Webster's Elementary School Dictionary from 1901, and a 1943 textbook entitled
Writing Short Stories.
In my search through the cluttered bookshelves at the sale, I found a really damaged book that, from the looks of it, promised to be quite old. Indeed it was, as it was printed in 1844. I called Breta over to look at it, lamenting the fact that it was missing the cover and in such bad repair. I was just amazed to think that this book before me was printed before the Civil War, and I began to imagine the people who had come in contact with its pages.
I also uncovered a novel which really caught me off-guard. The spine of the book from 1883 included the title -
The Dove in the Eagle's Nest - and the author, a Miss Yonge. That's what initially piqued my interest. No first name? Well, I do understand that fem lib really hadn't come into fruition yet. So I flipped to the title page to find out more about the mysterious female author; however, it failed to provide me with any additional information, as the author's name was glaringly absent! The title page merely said, "
The Dove in the Eagle's Nest by the Author of
The Heir of Redclyffe. I can only imagine the struggles of Miss Yonge to have her novel printed - only for her name to be omitted, except on the book's spine!
Today, when I was on my way home from church, I went down Reservoir to pick up Max after spending the night with John's mom. Of course, what caught my eye? The Sale by Nancy sign! So I veered off course for a quick trip to the sale, just to see what books were left unsold and waiting for me - at 50% off. I snagged another dictionary, a 1912 book called
Democracy Today, and a few old novels.
When I got home to smuggle in my purchases, I got to thinking about that 1844 book from the day before and how I would have bought it if it would have been in better condition. I then thought about my own collection of books, and I wondered the age of my oldest book. After flipping through a few, I found the answer: a 1814 edition of
The Vicar of Wakefield: A Tale by Oliver Goldsmith, M.D. 1814... the year Napoleon was sent to exile at Elba. 1814... the year of the Treaty of Ghent, which was signed to end the War of 1812. 1814... the year Francis Scott Key wrote the poem "Defence of Fort McHenry," which later became "The Star Spangled Banner." 1814... the year Jane Austen wrote
Mansfield Park. 1814... the year Harriett Beecher Stowe was born. Pretty amazing, if you just stop to think about it.
When I receive a new old book, the first thing I do after checking the copyright date is flip through the pages. Sometimes a reader from long ago left a bookmark stuck within the pages. Instead of an actual bookmark, the placeholder may be a newspaper clipping, a scrap of paper, a family photograph, or a keepsake of some sort. After finding a treasure within the pages of a book, I carefully return it to the same page it marked. If a pagemarker remained in place for its reader for fifty or more years, who am I to intrude?
After flipping through the pages, I then like to look at the front and back of the book for writing. Many of the books I own are not "clean," as they have the owners' names written in them. I can tell the books that were used in school, as they are filled with doodles and drawings. One of my favorite finds is from a few weeks ago: a book in which the owner kept a list of all her favorite songs, ranging from "At the Hop," to "Lonely Teardrops."
And I guess that leads me to what I enjoy most about collecting these old books: I really feel that I am carrying on the previous owners' love of these books by buying these treasures and displaying them in my home. So, despite John's strongest protests, I'll keep on buying books and placing them throughout my house. They're more than just a stack of random books placed on a shelf by an interior designer. These historic treasures cover the bookshelves in my living room - from top to bottom. They fill the antique secretary in my front hallway. They are a piece of history, and their worn covers and yellowed pages make me happy. I just hope someone will cherish them as much as I do after I'm gone.
And, with that, I'll leave you with an inscription from one of my cherished antique books:
"My Dear -
A gentle reminder of the days that are past, and a calling to mind the bright prospect of coming ones.
From - A Friend."
