Your tattered old books remind you of parents and grandparents, of childhood, of grad school, of traditions or trips or memorable moments. Your worn-out books are more than objects: They are physical reminders of love.
In response to a column I wrote a couple of months ago about keeping worn-out books, readers sent scores of stories and photos — more than I have room to publish here. Here is a sample, and deep thanks to all who wrote.

Chuck Haga of Grand Forks, N.D. (and a beloved former Star Tribune columnist) sent a photo of "Common Plants of Itasca State Park," published by the Bell Museum. "The back cover is torn off and there are stains throughout — sweat, coffee, rainwater, blueberry pie, bug spray — but it has made 40 or more trips into the park with me," he wrote.

Carolyn Light Bell, Minneapolis: "I have tossed out, given away, and donated to the little libraries many of my yellowing paperbacks and books. But my tattered e.e. cummings 'Complete Poems, 1913-1962' represents a part of my life that I deeply treasure. I once replaced the old one with a new one, trying to dress up my library. But as it turned out, I couldn't bear to divest myself of this old book."

Karen Kelly, Edina: "My copy of D.H. Lawrence's 'Women in Love' is missing its cover because of the beating it took late one night in 1980. Senior year at Vanderbilt, trying to write a paper at 2 a.m. that was (duh) due at 8 a.m. One of my roommates was in the same boat. In a moment of punchy, stress-reducing melodrama, I got a laugh out of her when I stood and started bashing my book against the corner of a brick wall. I have saved this book not because I ever intend to read it again, but because it is a cherished memento of a cherished friend and a cherished time."

Rebecca Loader, Minneapolis: "Mom gave my Great-Aunt Bertha a copy of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' for Christmas 1933. Everyone read this book. The red cover got tattered and the pages turned brittle. Many had dog ears from being used to mark readers' places. The spine got loose and some of the photos detached from the binding.
"Mom got the book when Bertha passed away, and I read it for the first time when I was 12. Sometime along the way, pages 170-171 acquired several mysterious stains: Did Bertha prick her finger while she was sewing and leave some blood drops? Did Bertha spill coffee? The stains just added to the mystery of the book."
Molly Koivumaki, Chaska: "The childhood book that I cannot part with is 'The Night Before Christmas,' which I received for Christmas in 1964 when I was five years old.