Books. A simple five letter word. I cannot remember a time books have not been a part of my life. Living in rural Montana in the 1940s and 1950s was connected to earthy living, no telephone, no television. However, we had radio and my mom. Nightly, she read aloud to us. We heard classics and the Bible. Little women was one of my favorite and I vowed never to be selfish like Jo and take every other bite of food when feeding the poor. I have to say I have never done that. I was horrified when baby Moses was put in a reed basket and floated away on the Nile. I haven’t done that either. My babies were safely guarded. So I learned from my mother’s reading. The books she read to us made a difference, but the gift of sharing and family is what I really learned in our partially finished living room on a cold winter night when Dad and we five kids listened to Mom’s calm clear voice.