Normally, I keep religion and politics off this blog. What you believe in and what I believe in doesn’t have anything to do with enjoying my books. But today I’m going to make a tiny exception.
On Sunday I went to a memorial service for an 85-year-old woman I didn’t know. She’d spent her last 3 years at our local nursing home, where our synagogue does a service once a month. My son and I attended that service in July, and I sat next to her in her wheelchair, and turned the pages in the prayer book for her. She didn’t say a word, to me or in prayer, until the very end when she thanked me. Her daughter – a member of our synagogue – or her grandson usually came to be at the service with her, but they didn’t make it on this particular day.
She passed away a week later.
The reason I mention any of this is because I learned something really cool about her in her obituary: She loved to read mysteries! (I also love mysteries, despite what I write.) In her first year of retirement, she read 100 books. And she cataloged every book she read on index cards kept in those index card boxes that people tend not to use so much anymore. (Imagine if Goodreads had existed back in the late ’90s when she retired. This woman would’ve had impressive shelves.)
Her love of reading and my love of reading (and writing) connect us, even though we didn’t know each other. And these same things connect me to you, Dear Reader. We may not know each other, we may not share the same beliefs, but we share a love of reading. How transcendent!
If you’d like to let me get to know you, please leave a comment about a positive experience you’ve had with a stranger.
Bisous,
Tori
Thank you for sharing this. It was lovely and I too feel that invisible cord or connection with book lovers everywhere. We are a tribe of strangers, connected by our love of story and our love of books. It is a beautiful thing.