Auld Lang Syne
Jenny Milchman is a suspense writer from New Jersey, and the married mother of a kindergartener and preschooler. Her novel, COVER OF SNOW, is on submission right now, and several of her short stories have been published on line. Jenny’s fiction has earned praise from New York Times best-selling authors such as Louise Penny and Jacquelyn Mitchard. Jenny co-hosts the series Writing Matters: A Dialog on the Changing World of Books at a local independent bookstore; features authors in the Made It Moments column on her blog, suspenseyourdisbelief.com; and speaks about life as an emerging writer at conferences and on radio.
It’s that time of year again, when we have cause to think about old acquaintances, and whether they have been forgot.
I don’t think I’ve forgotten a single one. But I’m not talking about people.
Perhaps a friend or two from school, camp, college, or later on has completely passed from my mind. I hope not. And I hope that if someone has, our paths might chance to cross again.
But the old acquaintances I’m talking about here are…books.
Less than two weeks ago we entered a new year, a whole new decade, but right now instead of moving forward in time, my thoughts are moving back.
All the way back to the late seventies when I was a kid and there were—count ‘em—four independent bookstores in my New Jersey town. Of course, the Breyers ice cream store in town also sold cones for thirty-five cents.
It was a different age in so many ways.
Because even a thirty-five cent cone was a wild treat for me, I tended to spend my time at the library more than at any of the bookstores.
The one I loved best was the branch within walking distance of my house. It was a walk of almost two miles, but kids were more unsupervised then, and by the time I was nine, the library became my weekly destination throughout the summer.
I can still remember arriving, hot and spent, and tugging at the heavy glass door with both hands to be admitted into a welcome blast of cool. I would veer right for the children’s section, a wooden shelved area set behind the check out desk.
And there were the old acquaintances I’m talking about.
Trixie Belden. I read every single one of the thirty-nine Trixie Belden mysteries one summer. I can still see those pale beige bindings and feel the thrill of discovering a new cover. As I made the trip back home, I would inevitably find real life mysteries worth solving. If not for the cumbersome stack of books I held, I would’ve been ducking beneath bushes and pushing inside dim buildings to find clues.
I’ll never forget Trixie.
Or Nancy, or Nan and Flossie, or even Frank and Joe Hardy when I finally bottomed out of girl heroines.
Then there was the entire L. Frank Baum series which goes a long way beyond that first encounter with a wizard and a little girl.
And finally, one great day—whose pathos I didn’t then recognize and wouldn’t for many years—I left behind that children’s section and made my way over to the grown up stacks.
Many more acquaintances there. Doris Miles Disney, Stephen King, Ira Levin, William Peter Blatty, David Selzter, Frank De Felitta. Children were more unsupervised then, and so was their choice of reading material.
In that freedom, I made some of the best friends of my life, and whether it’s 2010 or 2100, I will never forget them.
January 12, 2010
Posted in: Guest Blogs
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2 Responses
Agatha Christie, Phyllis Whitney . . . almost anything with a gothic moor, gray mist, or the promise of scandal and adventure.
Titles include OLD YELLER, SACAJAWEA, and TRAVELS WITH CHARLIE.
Wish I had more time to hang out and remember when . . .
Ahh yes, I shouldn’t have left out Phyllis Whitney! Good ones, Peg…
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