The Diary of Anne Frank. Death Be Not Proud. I read both when I was eight and they made me think about my life. So much went on that year, we moved to the country and had chores plus working on the house every weekend. We carted rocks for a retaining wall and finally found the septic tank. And I realized that pulling weeds, setting bricks, painting the house meant nothing when it came to what Anne Frank and Johnny Gunther lived, who both died in their teens.
It puts everything in perspective, even if you don’t know it at age eight. I’ll never claim to know it all any day, even if I’m 90. You should know I’m the “book lady.” I always get new brides and new mothers books appropriate for the situation.
OK, The Velveteen Rabbit still brings me to tears. You’ve got me on that one. Thanks for asking, WordPress. Dee
Cooking with Dee 