This week's books

 are disjointed. 

Travel does that. I have library books with me: Patricia Lockwood's No One Is Talking About This with me (so far Priestdaddy is much more my favorite), along with Nella Larsen's Passing. Meanwhile my WTR list for library holds grows longer and longer.

Books are part of my body, I'm sure. They were my background, growing up, and my foreground, read all day every day. My mother had English in one of her college majors, my dad read and read and wrote and wrote. 

Mom still reads and reads and reads, 5-10 different books at a time. She just added Simon Winchester's Land: How The Hunger for Ownership Shaped the Modern World to my list. She also introduced me to The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society a couple years back.

We grew up with Little Bear, Greek myths, and then Friday night visits to our local library, where we watched Laurel & Hardy and came home with as many books as we could carry. Friday night was reading as late as our eyes could stay open, and the books were traded out the next Friday.

Books are interactive house decor.

Books are escape.

Books are connectors.

Books are entertainment.

Books are first philosophy teachers. Thank you Joe the Bear and Sam the Mouse for always eating ice cream together, every day at three o'clock, even though you lived in different houses, rode bicycles differently, and liked different things.

Books are brain expansion.

Books are relaxation. As are cats, apparently, with their purr therapy.

Books are destinations. 

Books are outing companions.

Books are part of the battlefield

and necessary in cafes.

toys

always travel companions

along in case of down time

and still always there