Today found many of us offering gratitude to our mothers in some form or another, or perhaps just honoring the women in our lives that are mothers. For us here at casa bookish, it was our first time hosting such events on our own, so much of the weekend was spent cleaning, and half of the cleaning was sucking the cat fur off all surfaces. We love our little felines, but sheesh, do we really have to wear their coats everywhere?
My mom seemed quite happy to have a new copy of The Bird Sisters to read - apparently she'd wanted it, claiming I'd peaked her interest with my facebook page updates (thanks goodreads) (yes my parents have facebook profiles...and iphones). She's always been a reader while we don't always share the same taste in books, I like to note those that I read that I think she'd enjoy.
She's also big on sharing books - she donates most of those that she reads to my sister or me if she thinks we'll like them, or to local book fairs raising money for charity. She's much better than me in this respect, as I am a little possessive with my books, especially those I like, and worry, a little, that when I lend them out I'll never get them back. Selfish, I know. Why have all these books on shelves sitting around collecting dust, as decoration?
I was quite the city nomad in my 20s, and I've given away more than I've kept over the years - they are incredibly heavy to cart around, and when space is at a premium, well, quite a few somethings have got to go, including books. Somehow, though, the collection manages to grow again, at every new address. I love seeing all those stories lined up on the shelves with their colorful jackets, just waiting to be experienced again, either subtly, as just seeing a certain books spine can bring back the entire story, or the feelings it evokes, or fully, with full rereads in order. A wasteful luxury, probably, but not one I'm likely to give up any time soon.
And there you have it, my mom is more selfless than I in reading and in life, as mom's are apt to be, and I'm glad she happens to be my particular mother.
She's also big on sharing books - she donates most of those that she reads to my sister or me if she thinks we'll like them, or to local book fairs raising money for charity. She's much better than me in this respect, as I am a little possessive with my books, especially those I like, and worry, a little, that when I lend them out I'll never get them back. Selfish, I know. Why have all these books on shelves sitting around collecting dust, as decoration?
I was quite the city nomad in my 20s, and I've given away more than I've kept over the years - they are incredibly heavy to cart around, and when space is at a premium, well, quite a few somethings have got to go, including books. Somehow, though, the collection manages to grow again, at every new address. I love seeing all those stories lined up on the shelves with their colorful jackets, just waiting to be experienced again, either subtly, as just seeing a certain books spine can bring back the entire story, or the feelings it evokes, or fully, with full rereads in order. A wasteful luxury, probably, but not one I'm likely to give up any time soon.
And there you have it, my mom is more selfless than I in reading and in life, as mom's are apt to be, and I'm glad she happens to be my particular mother.
