![]() ![]() ![]() The library is currently a place of unattainable refuge to me, since the likelihood of being alone in one with an hour or two to browse or read in silence is very slim. ![]() My chances of seeing the world are firmly anchored to the scuffed walls and crumb-littered floors of my home (unless you count the grocery store or the playground). And then, to spend one’s days wandering the countryside and throwing flower seeds will-nilly, then entertaining the village children at her house by the sea (where she could send them all home again at the end of the day, instead of having to feed and bathe and get them to bed)…on some days, I’d give anything to trade lives with Miss Rumphius. Working in a library? Traveling the world and going on adventures? Living alone in a beautiful little house by the sea? Sure, she hurt her back, but at least she could stay in bed until she was better-while I dream of sleeping in past 7am someday, and waking up on my own (there is no way, I have found, to turn off that “mom sense” that immediately wakes up any time I hear the bathroom door open or any other suspiciously child-produced noise between the hours of 9pm and 7am). ![]() It may seem at first glance that the story of Miss Rumphius is an unlikely inspiration for a young mom in the thick of raising little children and caring for a home-after all, Miss Rumphius, as a single woman who traveled the world, might be inspiring only in the sense of fueling said young mom’s dreams of being alone and free. ![]()
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