Yesterday I took five Guelph Public Library books to Mrs. B, my voracious consumer of large print mysteries. She accepted the new books joyfully, and let me take back others.
Her little room was filled with books! I rummaged through assorted piles and found that she had also borrowed several from the retirement home library. I eventually removed about 20 books in all-- more than enough to have kept her busy for a week. Much more.
I wondered if she had actually read them. But as we looked at the books one by one, she told me which she liked, or had read already or which were rejects. Perhaps she does read them. Even so, what does it matter? She is 96. I think she just likes to have a lot of reading choice and gets panicky at the thought of not having a good book—or several—on hand. It is a feeling I completely understand.
So I’ll keep bringing her mysteries by her favourite authors as long as I can. She will invariably pat my arm and say “Thank you! Thank you! I don’t know what I’d do without you. You are an angel, an ANGEL!
Not too many people call me that.