Reading is something that I’ve done for as long as I can remember. I learned to read before I started school and I’ve never stopped loving it. I had a great example in that my mom read often. When I was a child she knitted a lot, but she read even more often. We would sometimes just sit together in the living room, each reading our own books. Or we would sit on my parents’ bed reading our books while Daddy watched TV in the living room. I hope I’ve set as good an example for my kids. I think we may be okay. The older one checks out 20 books every time we go the library and the little one cries if we drive by the library without stopping.
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Yes, I know you can’t read it. Neither can I.
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Book description: When Phil Jourdan’s mother died suddenly in 2009, she left behind a legacy of kindness and charity; but she also left unanswered some troubling questions. Was she, as she once claimed, a spy? Had she suffered more profoundly as a woman and parent than she’d let on? Jourdan’s recollections of his struggles with psychosis, and his reconstructions of conversations with his enigmatic mother, form the core of this memoir. Psychoanalysis, poetry and confession all merge to tell the story of an ordinary woman whose death turned her into a symbol for extraordinary motherhood. Continue reading