...build me a house, andrew henry...

my favorite book as a child resides in oskaloosa, iowa. the bookshelf it sits on is found in a narrow room that also holds a desk, the lincoln logs we fought over as kids, and a rather uncomfortable couch. the room has a smell distinct from the rest of the house. that smell always triggers the desire to read.

when i arrive at my grandparents farm house its hard not to run straight for that bookshelf. but i contain myself, making the rounds of hugsandkisses and the llmeeverythingthatshappenedinyourlifethesincethelasttimeisawyou's. after supper, i quietly sneak into my favorite room and start to look through the three shelfs of kids books. sometimes i pause at one, glancing through it quickly, smiling at the memories it holds. but never for long.

when i finally find the book, i always smell it first. it always smells of must, of old, of memory. i bring it to that uncomfortable couch and settle in to read it. i always read it by myself first, savoring the feelings the story prods and pokes.

i've been searching for a copy of this book for about three years. it was out of print, but i faithfully checked once a month to see if one was available. my hopes were never fulfilled.

until saturday. this book came back into print a bit ago. i ordered it from barnes and noble. it's coming in the mail. i'm so excited its ridiculous.