"Wow! That's quite a lot of books you
have there!" - exclaimed my friend as she sat in my car. I looked back,
and giggled - I had almost forgotten that the back seat of my car looked
like a bookshelf- I'd gotten so used to it over the years. I carry a
book in my purse, I keep another book on my desk at work, and you should
see my bed stands! Books have a very special place in my heart, because
they come from a place of love, and carry associations that warm my
heart.
While my mother was getting adjusted in the USA, I was raised my my grandmother, my father's mother, in Moscow, Russia. As you can imagine, the only ladies who ever came into our house were in their 60s, just like my grandmother, and (
since fancy candy was scarce, and they were all engineers and abhorred pointless dolls)
I always received books as gifts. My birthdays were filled with books,
all signed by friends and classmates, and those gifts were all carefully
arranged in the "library" that my grandfather built himself in one of
the hallway hollows. This was a miniature room with a chair, and
bookshelves that towered from floor to ceiling. Yes, I was the youngest
proprietor of a library, and that was my safe haven.
I
had severe problems with my kidneys when I was a child, so I spent a
lot of time in and out of the hospital. I remember my hospital roommates
always being rude, so I tried not to leave my room for a long time. My
roommates had stolen from me, destroyed my belongings, and eaten the
food my grandmother had so lovingly prepared for me, so instead of
leaving the room to play, a stayed and read. I read about Egyptian pharaohs, about the Incas and Mayas, I read all of Chekhov and Pushkin, Lermontov and Grimm brothers. I loved Dumas, and imagined the 3 Musketeers fencing their nemesis with épées in my hospital room!
My days were filled with inpatient appointments, and reading, and one day, my grandmother came in the evening and announced that we were going home! I was discharged, and I could sleep in my own bed! It was about 7pm, and already dark outside when we left, and I remember how the snow crunched under my boots, and how great the fresh, cold air felt inside my nostrils! It was freezing cold, but all I wanted was an ice-cold can of coke and real food. Everything tasted delicious when I was home - even the air had a different taste, and it was amazing!
Years later, I am re-living my hospital experience with my mom. While she undergoes her doctor's visits, lab work, MRIs, avastin infusions, ultrasounds, and chemo preparations, I read, and float away on the loving clouds of books. We typically spend 2 to 5 hours a day at the hospital, about 3 times a week, and there is no better time than the moment we both know we are done for the day, and are going home! That moment that she tells me what she feels like having for dinner, and how extremely famished she is (and there is no way she is eating anywhere other than home!)
There is no place like home. No place that can comfort you, and make you feel well and healthy. That's why home is where our peace is. I sincerely hope you all have spent a beautiful Holiday with your families, and give gratitude for your home today, and every single day you have the privilege of sleeping in your own warm bed, and making yourself a meal in your own cozy kitchen.
