When I was growing up the one thing I did not like about summer time was the lack of book reports as an excuse to read.
When I was in college I longed for breaks because then I could read whatever I wanted! That was my definition of pure unadulterated bliss.
There are a number of funny stories in our family about books and my penchant for reading. I might share one or two of them with you some Monday.
Sadly, we are a house divided on the issue of what makes a good book. If you live in Alabama, you understand that "house divided" phrase. Around here it is used to describe a home where one family member is a rabid Auburn fan, and the other a rabid Alabama fan (I know, I know; that adjective is redundant because there is no other type of Auburn or Alabama fan). The division is almost as strong in our home. Mr. Marvelous rarely reads fiction. Bless his heart! I rarely read non-fiction.
Over the years we have reached an uneasy tolerance for each others' peculiarities of taste. He accepts that I love fiction (or what he refers to as fluff), and I accept that ~ bless his heart! ~ he does not (with the exception of anything written by Frank Peretti, Pat McManus, and most of Ted Dekker's books).
Recently I ran out of books. It was a desperate feeling! I posted the crisis on Facebook and received a few suggestions (thanks, Ladies). My sister-in-law posted that she was shocked that I was asking for suggestions; I should be the one giving suggestions. I let that percolate for a while and decided that I needed to add a category to the trusty blog posts: Good Books.
|The Old Cincinnati Public Library courtesy of Buzzfeed. Oh, how I wish!|