Now, I have an e-reader as well as an app on my IPad, and I love using them, especially on holiday or in waiting rooms. They are so handy and I keep plenty of reading material on them.
But then I had a series of events that showed me how much I prefer an actual book in hand. I moved to a new home and then faced a spate of renovations. As a result my furniture has been moved here and there and my books consigned to boxes under the stairs.
Yesterday I unpacked them into their new bookcase residence and was overwhelmed with a sense of homecoming. These books are my tried and true companions-ones I will read and re-read. They include old Agatha Christies, Ruth Rendells, biographies, anthologies, reference books probably outdated now, as well as old textbooks, ditto. But to me they are true friends that I would never think of discarding any more than I would a human friend. They will always give rise to a feeling of comfort and home.
So last night, I curled up in a chair, opened a book, smelled that special old-book smell, then lost myself in another dimension. Of course I won't give up my e-reader; there is a place in my life for both. But I do have a favourite child.