Rambling

Image from harpercollinschildrens.com

I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all. - Laura Ingalls Wilder

Maybe I am just turning into an old married woman, but Valentine's Day the last few years has been perfect each year with quiet, low-key evenings. Last year was Ben's first year as a dental student, and he had to study that evening for a test the next day. Right now as I type this he is studying for a quiz; we had dinner out and watched an episode of Mad Men earlier. My gift to Ben was The Hunger Games Trilogy. (I direct you to good ol' Wikipedia for a quick review.) I was grateful for his genuine surprise and appreciation.

At dinner we talked about our love for reading when we were younger. Elementary school- I remember having to wait a whole week between school library visits, when we were limited to one book at a time. That was absolute torture. On the other hand, summer meant constant trips to the public libraries, and I loaded up on The Baby-Sitters Club, Sweet Valley Twins and any other kind of girly fiction I could get my hands on. Across the country- Ben read Goosebumps and Stephen King.

Image from littlhouse.wikia.com

I listed off my book series/collections to Ben and of course included the Little House series. These books had a place on the bookshelves in my headboard. I could reach for them easily at bedtime aka "wanting to stay up late and read time."

I remember the excitement each holiday as I unwrapped a new book from Grandma and Grandpa Skelton (my aunt Ree usually supplied me with BSC and American Girls) as the collection became more complete. Gifts were not limited to Christmas and birthdays. We would get gifts from Grandma and Grandpa for other holidays, including Valentine's Day. (Just a few years ago, Grandma gave me Valentine's socks.)

I'm rambling a bit, I know. I am happy for how a simple yet thoughtful gift (ie a book) can make such an impact. I am grateful for fond remembrances.

Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time. - Laura Ingalls Wilder