Two obituaries caught my eye this morning as I read my Boston Globe on the way to work because both women's love of books was highlighted:
Joanna Griscom spent years volunteering at the Cary Memorial Library in Lexington, MA (where my former author Cynthia Johnson is a librarian - I keep meaning to call her) among other activities. The library director was quoted in the article, describing Ms. Griscom as unsung hero for her work on the board of the library foundation.
Another obituary, for Candy Jenkins, a historical preservation professional and Smith alumna, stated that she was "[a] voracious reader. . . [she] had three library cards, for Belmont, a statewide network, and libraries on Cape Cod." Books "came in and out of [her home] in wheelbarrows."
It is comforting that the friends and family whose memories inspired these obituaries recognized how important books were to these women. I hope when it's my turn people can describe my books without mentioning messy piles on the floor (perhaps by then they will be shelved with beautiful Dewey Decimal precision).