There was a period of years when our daughter was growing up that we followed a tradition of reading aloud to one another every evening after dinner was finished.
If memory serves me correctly, I think we started doing this even before she felt comfortable taking her turn at reading. But she inherited her dad's and my love of reading and quickly entered into the rotation of reading aloud herself.
One person would do dishes, one would read at the kitchen table while the third would either just sit and listen or in my case, most likely listen while doing some handwork.
Of course, I can't begin to remember all the books we read. If it was a hefty one, it took many, many nights to get through because we probably read only 15 to 30 minutes each night.
I do remember making our way through all of the James Herriot Books.
What could have been more enjoyable than that?
My all-time favorite that we read together would have to be "The Land Remembers," by Ben Logan. We all sobbed, choked and hiccupped our way through "Where the Red Fern Grows," by Wilson Rawls.
Each holiday season, I insisted we read two of Truman Capote's books, "The Thanksgiving Visitor" and "A Christmas Memory." Admittedly, my other two family members were never quite as enthralled with these two stories as I was, but they have always struck a cord with me. The house where Capote lived as a child with his aunts and uncle was in my mind's eye my grandparents house and I could picture his characters existing there as clearly as my family did.
I miss those years. Hubby and I often talk about making the time to sit together at night while one of us reads aloud, but it never seems to happen. But we have the memories of when our daughter was growing up and the three of us did read aloud together. And that is a very good thing.
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