A good read ... or not?
My grandmother was an avid reader. She read most anything she could get her hands on — Reader’s Digest, Farmer’s Almanac, the Bible, mysteries, romance novels, newspapers, magazines ... gosh, I even remember her reading our set of World Book Encyclopedias just for enjoyment.
Grandma loved to read. As a matter of fact, I can remember more than one occasion where a trio of wide-eyed kids would interrupt her book late in the afternoon to ask what she was fixing for lunch. A world away on adventures only her books could give her, she would admit she had forgotten about lunch ... Eventually, she would lay down her book and would rustle up some peanut butter and crackers or an orange Popsicle. As kids, an orange Popsicle was a perfect lunch, and from my grandmother’s perspective, life was good. The kids had eaten, and she could promptly get back to her book.
Grandma read every chance she got. She read every evening, long after the rest of us had gone to bed, and she whiled away many an afternoon with yet another paperback book firmly planted on her lap as she sipped a cup of coffee and tuned out the rest of the world. I remember times when we would talk to Grandma for five minutes or so before realizing she hadn’t heard a single word we’d said — her mind (and ears) far away and involved in an adventure in her most current book.
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