The other day I woke up from a bad night’s sleep to my mother barking, “Wake up! The woman across the street is having a garage sale!” I rolled over, half asleep and partially hungover, croaking, “Mom, I thought you told me not to buy books anymore.” She stubbornly responded, “Hurry up!”

I got out of bed, mustering up the energy to put on some minimal makeup. I donned a cream colored fisherman’s knit, aka my new favorite sweater, and trudged over to the house across the street, where a woman was laying out some children’s books.

I would soon learn that she was the daughter of the woman who had passed away in the house just a couple of months ago. She and her late mother had both been teachers and all of a sudden, a full wave of nostalgia crashed into me.

These were all the books I grew up with, the ones that raised me. Picture and short chapter books, those with Clifford the Big Red Dog, Frog & Toad, the Berenstain Bears, and so much more. All longtime friends that I had forgotten about.

Perusing through the boxes of books, it occurred to me how wonderfully illustrated most of them were. The pictures were the epitome of classic art, the reasons why I love a good oil on canvas to this day.

I picked up three books that I’d found, because I couldn’t resist. The first one is If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, a true classic. The mouse is us, everyone! We are all the mouse.

The second book is a beautifully illustrated one, also about cookies. The characters in this book are so politely dressed. Outfit inspo, anyone?

And the third book I picked up is a visual dictionary of the pioneer community, just in time for Thanksgiving. My old soul finds olden life so very interesting, and no other source material seems to explain it best. When looking for brief, surface level, and simplified explanations on a topic, I often turn to children’s books. Not only are the explanations straight to the point, but pictures are often part of the package. Don’t lie to yourself, we love a good picture every now and then!

What was particularly endearing about these used books, was that many of them had personal messages on the inside. “To Tatum, From Grandma. Have fun reading!” I saw many for Tatum, and I couldn’t help but wonder who he was, and what he was doing now. I thought about the woman who passed away, what stories she must’ve had as a teacher, as a mother, and as a grandma. I suddenly felt somewhat honored for being able to now own a book that she once had.

Such a wonderful walk down memory lane and I must say, these books really stand the test of time. Do I refuse to grow up? Am I stuck in the past? Perhaps. But does it make me feel inspired and invigorated? Absolutely.