My Pisces birthday is coming up
in a few weeks. And I've been working
all week on a memoir/cookbook for my children,
which involves lots of old family photos.
I'd been thinking about my grandma a lot--
the fun we had as she taught me to cook,
and I was missing her and my mom.
I mention these things only as preface
to a slightly mysterious happening yesterday.
We probably have around 3,000 books
in our house, scattered everywhere--
on bookcases, tables, in boxes, etc.
I was standing in front of one of the bookcases
while waiting on someone to arrive and,
without forethought, reached out
and took a random book from the shelf.
As I opened it, several cards fell out of it.
I was surprised, because I don't usually
put cards in books, but there they were--
a card from my children when they were small;
a tag such as received with flowers,
from my husband;
a card from my beloved grandma,
who's been gone over thirty years,
and one from my mother
(card pictured above), which read
this wish is for your birthday,
the love is for always...
Clearly, the cards had been in that book
for a long, long time.
As I read them, tears came to my eyes...
and then I noticed
the title of the book, by Ayn Rand:
We the Living...