Mom and books

I owe my reading life to Mom.  I remember her reading to my sister and me throughout our childhood.  I think there’s power in the spoken word for a young child; my imagination was exercised regularly very early on.

And now I see how that cycle is repeating, as I read books to Iris at bedtime. I find myself reading like Mom, borrowing the cadence and sentiment.  Mom’s a great reader.

One of my favorites was a Christian allegorical book.  It was set in a medieval period; part fantasy, part adventure, the children were the only seers among the adults as to the true nature of the missing king in the land.  It was a wonderful book with big ideas.

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The Road

My bro-in-law (he pronounces it “bra”, as per young and colloquially hip) recommended I read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.  I finally picked up the novel a few weeks ago was glad I did.  It was beautiful in its desolation.