In my former life I read books.
I read book after book, practically inhaling each page. Over time the stories have come together, sometimes overlapping, pieced together in my memory to form a haphazard version of a literary quilt.
Looking back, I can see that there was a franticness about the way I read. As if I subconsciously knew what was to come.
What came were babies. Two babies. Ten months apart. A virtual whirlwind of diapers and formula and onesies and bottles. This storm I live in is beautiful. Somedays I marvel at it's magnitude. Somedays I cower.
I find, lately, that my literary quilt is getting holes. Parts of stories are gone. Names of characters and dates and places are eroding.
I think it is time to patch things up. I think I will pick up a book.
I should have done it sooner. The best way to weather a storm is with a good book and a comfy quilt.