I was in a bit of a pointless black rage this afternoon, so rather than stay at home and take it out on my spouse, I bundled my son up into his car seat and took him to the bookstore.
I remember when going to the bookstore was a treat.
I remember when the bookstore was my haven.
I remember when the bookstore was my home.
Today it was just a Place to Be Out of the House, and that saddened me.
My son, whom I'd fully expected to fall asleep on the drive over, did no such thing, and instead eyed me with curiosity as I let out a long-suffering sigh, clicked his carrier into the stroller, and pushed it into my former wonderland.
I don't have much time for reading these days, and I've neither the funds nor the acquisitive nature to buy a lot of books, anyway. The Library is the place for me: and if it turns out I really love a book- enough to make other people read it, then I buy it. Except even the Library hasn't seen much of me, due to the aforementioned not-much-time-for-reading. Sure, I've been devouring the Georgette Heyer novels SCurry loaned me, but those (thankfully) do not require a lot of concentration.
All this to say, I was wandering around the bookstore, feeling sorry for myself and all the books I wasn't going to read and wasn't going to buy- but my son was in a perfectly lovely, wide-awake mood, and did his best to cheer me and the rest of the world up with his gurgling and cooing.
Eventually I came across some dice for sale, and since I was in need of new ones I let Neeps 'choose' which set I should buy, by flailing in their general direction. He flailed repeatedly at the same set, so I figured he was pretty sure about his selection*. Since they were properly secured in their little plastic case, I let him hold them on the way up to the register, and he promptly turned them into a rattle, keeping rhythm with some secret song only the newly-born are attuned to. I watched his pure, unadulterated joy with this little thing, and I found the tightness in my chest beginning to loosen.
When the world seems overwhelming with the size of its darkness, we must turn to the smallest things for joy, I suppose.
*"scarab royal blue with gold", for the curious