Getting reacquainted with reading
For a couple years now, I haven't really read a book - as in properly - as in with the respect it deserves. Without distraction, with a cup of tea, without my mobile in close proximity, but with my favourite cushion giving support to whatever part of my body that needs it. It was not due to a lack of books. Indeed, I have a healthy pile of all sorts of books waiting to be read: mysteries, self-help, thrillers, classics - you name it. Was it perhaps a lack of will power? Whatever it was, this tiny mountain of books would nag at me whenever I'd open the cupboard to grab an extra pen. Sitting pretty on the shelf, they would seem to nag at me, jeer at me and taunt me for being weak. The door would quickly and adamantly be shut and that would be that. Then it all changed. Unexpectedly. With my young niece and nephew having recently moved in with us, and with me being an English teacher (trumping me being their aunt in this matter), it was incumbent upon me to instil within ...