Patella. It’s not a word you encounter often unless you’re an orthopedic surgeon since it refers to the kneecap. But it’s a word that conjures a specific memory for me.
I was five years old. A kindergartner at a school book fair.
Books, ya’ll. It probably surprises no one that I’ve always loved books. Before I even knew how to read, I used to stare at the pages of a book, fascinated by how adults were able to discern words from the symbolsÂ on the page. It seemed like magic to me. (more…)
I have finally entered the new era of readership. Ladies and gents, I own an e-reader. A Kindle Paperwhite, to be exact. It’s fabulous. Or he, rather. His name is Sir Roderigo (20 points if you get that reference), and he entered my life on Christmas.
Yeah, I used to be one of those book-in-my-hands type. (Honestly, I’ll always haunt used book stores for a good deal.) But one day, I realized that any time I travelled, my bag was stuffed with a “just in case I get bored” book and a “in case I’m not in the mood for the other one” book and a “in case I finish one of the others” book. (So I hate to be bored, all right?) (more…)
If books have the power to challenge your worldview, what do your first books say about you? (I didn’t force that rhyme. It happened naturally. Promise.)
There’s something magical about learning to read. I was so desperate to read as a kid, I used to stare at books, hoping the scribbles would transform themselves into a message I could understand. It didn’t happen instantaneously like I wanted, but eventually letters ceased to be baffling scribbles.
I was thinking about this a few months ago, trying to recall some of the first books I ever read. There were four that came to mind. And I realized those books explain a lot about me. Like, a whole lot. (more…)