On the sixth day of Christmas I am grateful for the gift of books, for all the ideas, stories, thoughts, dreams and possibilities that have been written down since the beginning of time. Humans have wanted to preserve and share their ideas ever since they drew their stories on the walls of caves. What an amazing invention writing when we created letters and an alphabet and symbols that meant the same thing to everybody. And then the printing press allowing masses of people to read for themselves the Bible, political pamphlets, and later on eye-opening books like Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.
I think of the great library at Alexandria, unfortunately destroyed by fire. Our Library of Congress. Then I look at my little library, a wall of books in the den. Both great buildings and small holding those ideas and stories that make up human thought and history. Even my Kindle is becoming crowded.
I am the book giving grandmother at Christmas. The grands know what they will receive. The only surprise are the titles. Some are old enough now that they prefer gift cards for their e-reading devices or for the book store so they may pick their own. The point is, I have loved the gift of books and reading all my life and have been helpful in inspiring a new generation to read. So many books, so little time.