Brown paper packages and other goodies.

There was a book, when I was a child, that was my favorite. Its title, I’ve kept in my mental rolodex for decades.
It was always there, like a white, puffy cloud, waiting for my conscious acknowledgement.
I haven’t been reading much. In the past year or so, I’ve not set my eyes upon a mixture of words beyond magazines and local news rags. That’s not me. I love to read. I love to be swept up in a story. Curled up with a binding and font. I have a friend who recommended a book to me awhile ago. Another friend picked it up for me and thus set in motion my gears of reading again. To be sure, the book is a good one. She didn’t exaggerate its lyrical charm. I’m loving it. But it called to mind the book from my childhood. That jarring of memory that set me on a quest. A quest to find the book from long ago.

It’s called: “The Golden Goblet.” Written by a woman named Eloise McGraw. It’s about a boy in ancient Egypt who suffers unspeakable human abuse and the ending is a happy one. My favorite kind.
It’s been out of print for who knows how long. I went to trusty Amazon and searched. I didn’t want a paperback version. I wanted the hardcover that I’d held in my 13 year old hands. It took awhile, but I found it. A woman in New Jersey just happened to have the hardback in almost pristine condition. I snapped it up.
This morning, amidst the bills and ads of grown-up mail, it was there. In brown paper. Like a Julie Andrews sap-fest. I was elated. I walked to the dumpster with my adult face on to toss the unnecessary pizza discounts. But when I rounded the steps for home, I squealed. How delightful! I savored it a bit before ripping off the brown wrap. But there, underneath, was my reunion with youth. I studied it and turned it over in my hands. Flipped the pages near my face and smelled that wonderful old book smell. It looks smaller than I remembered. I remembered it to be colossal. A mammoth book. Everything, it seems, looks bigger to a child. It’s only 248 pages. But I can’t wait to savor each one. I remember the story. I remember most of the characters. But most of all, I remember the hope it gave to a kid, who was even then, lost. Perhaps I shall gain some new hope. Hope for the still occasionally lost kid. I hope so. I will let you know. Still, I love those brown paper packages.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 1st, 2006 at 8:36 am and is filed under Posts that contain the word "LOVE". You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.