I just grabbed a book from my office at the school, put it on the passenger seat of my car, and had to chuckle. I wasn’t chuckling because I expect the book to be all that amusing — it’s a literature anthology; I chuckled because it’s such a “grandma” thing to do. I give my mom direct credit for my interest in reading, but I give my grandma credit for my love of reading. She’s the one who would talk to me about the books that she read when she was young; she’s the one who would let me take old books home from her house; she’s the one who will listen to me talk about the books that I’m reading, and she’s the one who would always have a stack of books between the seats in her minivan. I think she always had at least two or three in rotation, books about natural remedies, homeschooling, politics. The content varied, but the stack of books was everpresent. And, today I thought, “Hm…grandma was on to something.” Now when the dog park crowd is thin, I won’t have to lament not having a book to read while Deogi runs around. When someone I need to meet is running late, I won’t have to get irritated because I can kill the time reading. The book is just an old collection of stories, so it doesn’t matter if it gets stuffed under the seats a few times, stepped on by the dog, or catches splashes of coffee. I’ll be entertained,and I’ll get the bonus of being reminded of my special bond with my grandma.