Hello readers! Today’s short essay is about a different kind of book than I usually write about, but still the most precious book in my life. And for all of the new readers here ~ welcome to my cozy little corner of the interwebs! Please pretend that this missives is typewritten and delivered in a paper envelope, as that’s the spirit in which it was written ♡

People ask others all the time about their favorite book, or the book that has meant the most to them in their life. I typically freeze up at that question, because how do I sum up 40+ years of reading with ONE book? Do we mean the one that looms the largest as the most frequent re-read of my middle school years? Or the series I always wanted more of, but couldn’t easily find copies of at that time? The cherished classics I own multiple collectible editions of now, but have to admit are highly problematic in today’s terms?

I have so many books now that I can list as having been meaningful to me at a certain point in time, books that I think about often in general terms, that I recommend a lot or reminisce about with others.