When I move to a new location, my faith in my judgment wavers as I carry box after box filled with books I've already read over the years. Why am I attached to so much baggage? I imagine a life without so much weight in it, and vow to get rid of some of them before the next move.

But, I'm reading one of the books from my collection now, one from high school, copyright 1961, 1965. Growing Years of American Literature, edited by Sister Mary Adolorata, O.S.M.. It's a smaller book than you might think, given its name, and worth its weight in gold.

Instead of trying to be all-inclusive, the editor chose to include a few choice writers. One was Stephen Crane who I quoted here a couple nights ago. I'm reading some essays by Mark Twain now, about childhood on the Mississippi River, and about working on a steamboat as a young adult. I almost got rid of this book because I didn't find much in it that interested me as a student. But now I read Walt Whitman, Bret Harte, Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, Abraham Lincoln and find not only do I gain a better understanding of my country, I get an understanding of what's going on in my own life and community in the year 2012.

And then there are the precious moments of coming across a paragraph or two where the brilliance of the writing lights up the mind like sunlight on the sea.