I’ll start with the books.
Sounds simple, right? Get rid of the ones I’ve read and won’t read again. Sort through one bookshelf, then another, then another.
The problem is… books are like time machines.
You know how a song takes you back to the 10th grade dance? Well, the books on my shelves do that for me. Just touching their spines is like climbing into a DeLorean and flooring it to 88 miles per hour.
I land in a cornfield of memories.
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| (Photo courtesy of Midland Movies.) |
Each book is a survival lesson. Take Mile 6,660, for example. After an hour of sorting and shifting, I need a bulldozer to dig myself out.
(Oh, where is Michael J. Fox when I need him?)
But the future needs space to grow, right? So I try another tactic...
I have this fantasy of someday owning a bookshop, so I decide to play bookseller.
I start a bag for the Little Free Library on Bladen’s Court, an off-shoot of historic Elfreth’s Alley.
But I don’t just pack the bag — I curate it.
Putting on my bookstore hat, I imagine what type of clientele might “shop” there.
Tourists, of course. History fans. Probably some kids. They might be interested in local authors — or books with an East Coast tie-in. Nothing too heavy, in weight or subject. They’re vacationers after all. They’ve got enough to carry.
Finally, I hoist the bag onto my shoulder. Luckily, it’s a very short walk.
Peering down Bladen’s Court, I realize, I’m carrying a bag from the Book Passage store in California, but also…
I’m about to walk through a literal Book Passage!
When I finally empty the bag, I breathe deeply for what feels like the first time in days.
September is my January.
As a teacher for more than 2 decades, the new school year is always a fresh start. Plus, we’re nearing the Jewish New Year, and my mom’s apple cake is the perfect fuel for new beginnings.
But September also cradles my birthday deep within its belly.
I enter the month firmly grounded in an age I’ve come to know well. Then — 17 days later — whoosh! I turn the page into unfamiliar territory.
It’s like a passage to something — I’m just not yet sure what.
I’ve gone through lots of passages on this journey.
They can be traumatic, like a midnight trip to the ER.
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| (That's a morphine smile.) |
They can be puzzling, like getting a prosthetic leg to fit right.
Or they might save the day, like stumbling on a stunning shelter in a Paris rainstorm.
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| Parisian passages are the very best kind! |
The problem is we don’t know how tight they’ll squeeze us, where they’ll lead, or what we’ll encounter on the other side.
This season, there’s another passage in process — one I hope might expand my journey in a new direction.
The Adaptive Traveler’s Guidebook will soon be available online!
I created the Guidebook to help people with disabilities and health challenges learn about themselves as travelers, embrace the complexities of packing and planning, adopt a traveler’s mindset, and welcome travel into their everyday lives.
It’s a way of sharing what I’ve learned, full of information I wish I’d had over the years. It’s a small tool I hope might grow larger with time.
I’ve never offered anything online but, encouraged by fellow writers, I’m determined to figure this out.
Yep, sounds like a passage!
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| Stay tuned... Details to come. |
If passages were a school subject, I would not be earning an “A.”
I approach them with avoidance, animosity, agitation, ambivalence, adjustment, and — in my most accomplished moments — adaptation. I’m still working on acceptance.
But at least I’m learning to recognize them. And perhaps that’s the point.
Recognizing a passage — calling it what it is — feels empowering, puts it in perspective, even sparks curiosity.
Later this month, when I open the door of that DeLorean and lift myself out of that low bucket seat, I hope to land in a field of cornstalks taller than I am. Or at least to view my old cornfield with new eyes.
(And if my teen self has her way, Michael J. Fox will be there to greet me.)
Happy September — and safe passage!
It’s time to turn that page.
Walk on,
Rebecca
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