My mother was a school librarian for many years and always brought home wonderfully written stories, many of them set in other eras. My grandmother worked at the Library of Congress during the 1940s and later owned an antiquarian bookshop.
I had a dozen favorite places to lie reading. The house sat on three acres of land dotted with fruit trees and outbuildings. It had a huge brick fireplace, a screened-in porch where we ate and sometimes slept in summer, a "secret" recess in one of the bedrooms where Easter nests were always hidden, and dozens of built-in bookshelves. The house I lived in was a big, eccentric place, built in part by my father and his friends. When we moved there I was five years old, and the valley was filled with fruit orchards.
I grew up in California’s Santa Clara Valley.
0 kommentar(er)
