My father was an avid reader and great storyteller with a rare ability to spin the facts he acquired into tales. His imagination and his own sense of drama made life interesting. During school vacations and frequent travels, we sat in the evenings together and he would hold us spellbound.
His objects of study were woven into our lives. Generations of cats had been named Sheba and Hephzibah. Hundreds of books lined the shelves in his rooms the titles as diversified, as my father’s many interest. I remember sitting in these rooms reading. As I remember his love of books, I feel close to him. There is a special geniality about places were discussions and perhaps storytelling takes place, nestled before a fire in comfortable chairs.