Books

Mom always loved books. She liked reading them, looking at them, holding them. In all the places she called home, there was always a library, numerous shelves, or bookcases, full of interesting tomes on life, politics, medicine, history, biographies, nature, poetry, fiction, non fiction, and on, and on. Here she is in 2005, camped out in front of my Uncle Bob’s small bookcase.  It was often in disarray of sorts, which irked her to no end. Whenever we visited together, she would always ask me to straighten it up. Mom thought books had a special aesthetic, and deserved to be displayed neatly organized. She was right. They do.