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  • I remember learning to speak English when I was first came to the states. The English words were magical, the connection between the Italian words we spoke at home and the words the teacher spoke were a silken chain, links of separate yet interconnected words that joined my two worlds.

    Books lived at the library, too far for my mother to let us go after school. She never learned to read English so no one ever read to me like I did with my children or do with my grandsons. Books came to school once a week on Thursdays in the BookMobile. JOY... I looked forward to Thursdays like my birthday coming once a week. We were allowed 2 books each. They were devoured and then I had to starve for new while I reread the old.

    Once, I began to read the biographies in alphabetical order, other times it was the Laura Ingalls Wilder series... later I swallowed Jane Austen whole, Anthony Trollope, Jonathan Kellerman, JD Robb, anything I could pick up that held my attention was food for my brain and soul.

    This bookstore was near my home in New Jersey. I went there a couple of times a week to see what was new, what was used, what was left by the counter. Always looking for a new surprise, or an old friend needing to be revisited. And the bookstore never disappointed me.
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