I have always been a reader. As a child, I dreamt of a windowseat. A haven filled with squishy, colorful pillows. A place where the rain drizzled down the windowpanes, watering the lush green lawn swathed in flowers. And this little slice of heaven was surrounded with endless piles of books, perfect for wasting away the chill, rainy day.
I had no such windowseat. But I had books. And oh, what books they have been.
2016 was a year of immense change for me. But books wove their threads through my year, as they have my entire life. They provided me an escape from losing my grandfather and losing my job. They helped inspire me to stay positive and try new things. They taught me about the incredible things that people can do. They made me laugh, they made me cry, and they made me dream.
At the beginning of the year, a colleague asked how many books I thought I would read during the year. I decided to keep track, and I ended 2016 twenty pages shy of book number 90. I didn’t do anything special to hit that number. I read in the morning while brushing my teeth. I read in the break room at work. I read on my patio and in my hammock. I read every day and every night of the week.
I had many friends ask me for book recommendations this year. And so my blog began. I won’t post regularly, but I will post as I finish a book worth mentioning. They won’t all be good. And some will be old friends that I visit. I will discuss fiction and non-fiction. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
And I hope you feel that, as Betty Smith said in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, “The world was hers for the reading.”