The end of an era

My husband and I used to linger at the dining table after dinner, sipping wine to candlelight, pouring through encyclopedias in search of answers to questions posed in dinner conversation. We’d open one book, which lead to another, then another until multiple encyclopedias would gush their knowledge across the table sparking new questions.

Of course that was when the written word meant something. When facts were checked and believed. When mistakes were noted and corrected. And editions were updated.

With time, those fonts of wisdom moved from a place of honor in our book shelves to the bottom shelf behind novels. And then to stacks under the piano. A couple of years ago I inquired if anyone wanted them and of course no one did. And no, they couldn’t even be recycled. So back under the piano they went to collect cobwebs and dust.

I’m now strong enough to admit that those bound volumes are the end of an era. That my husband and I would never open their covers again. So one by one, I’m tossing them into the garbage, throwing away something that doesn’t serve us anymore. But I’m doing so with a heavy heart and thinking back to those lovely nights of candlelight, wine and conversations enhanced by our encyclopedias.