Books

What is it that is so comforting about taking a book to bed? Even if not read, is the fantasy of gaining knowledge by osmosis so intriguing that one must secretly stow the hardbound pages of a favorite novel or even picture book beneath the bedsheets in hopes no one else discovers the scandal, or for the truly dauntless, simply leaving said book out in the wide open atop the comforter? This, as every nocturnal dreamer understands, allows the black and white print to float freely through the air above one's head as one sleeps, fabulously shaping the book-sneaker's brain jargon into masterfully composed reveries that will tomorrow prove relief from the stresses of anticipated upcoming hurried schedules.

This is at least what I hypothesize is the reason my younger sister Ellen always hid behind as she methodically stashed a library's contents worth of books in her bed every night for, after all, she is practically fearless (mind you, she only stored them in her sheets to be nearer to her. Easier osmosis, I suppose.) As adorable and encouraging a thought this notion may present itself at first- her feeling the necessity to thief every bookshelf in the house just before bedtime- no longer appeared adorable in the middle of the night when all those books would suddenly dive onto the floor with a heart-stopping crash, ruining every family member's chances of a decent REM cycle for the rest of the night.

I've never been as avid a reader as she, and continue to find it a difficult task even today, though I admit, I've found a book to suit my fancy at least for the time being: Grimm's Complete Fairy Tales.  Morbid, some say? Perhaps, but, sticking to my belief that fairy tales are indeed real (no, I never outgrew that one. I unashamedly admit that my favorite TV show is Once Upon a Time.)

All this to say: Books are magical...

*What is your favorite book? Perhaps I'll add it to my reading list.