Memories of my childhood almost always include books. Bedtime meant curling up with my mom, or dad, or my aunt Nancy if she was visiting, and listening to one of the many books we owned. My favourites were the fairy tales. My brother always chose one of his joke books.

I loved curling up with a book although as I grew up and book reports became the norm as school projects I was less enamoured. Bedtime meant hot chocolate and pjs and cuddling up against my aunt and listen as whole worlds became real around me. I wish I could remember some of the stories I was read growing up. I know we had this fairy-tale book, it was old, with yellowed pages and smelled like a library and I loved it. It was my mother’s when she was a child. I believe the book is still somewhere in the closet right now.

Day One
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