BY DON PORTOLESE One of the many tender memories I have of my late mother was seeing her poised on the edge of the couch in our living room with one of the many tomes she read every evening. Regardless of the sibling disputes or the gunshots and chaos that erupted from the television, she could read through the apocalypse without being distracted.
The books were so varied, reflecting the breadth of her taste and character. They could be anything from a best seller by Scott Turow, a weighty Steinbeck novel, a medical text, or a detective story by one of her favorites, Robert B. Parker. Her interests were as broad and varied as she, demonstrating a mental dexterity that just doesn’t exist among our TV-addled generations of today.
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