The past few weeks have been hard for me and my family. Half of us had COVID earlier this month. My youngest daughter is 10 and was therefore unvaccinated. She brought it home from school despite wearing a mask and trying to be careful. However, she is only one of two children in her class that wear one. Masks protect others more than yourself, so it didn’t help much when one of her classmates that sits at her table brought the virus to school. I, my wife, and my mother also contracted the virus from my daughter. Thankfully, we’re all vaccinated and experienced only minor symptoms. My mother is 70 and had worse symptoms than the rest of us, but still nothing bad enough to require hospitalization.

I like books. And reading. And shopping for books to read. I love the smell of books. My mother planted this seed when I was young since she also is a hopeless book romantic. She taught for 20 years in Detroit, the last few years acting as a librarian. It was a stressful job, and she would muse occasionally about opening a used bookstore. Had it come to fruition, she likely would have specialized in religious and romance, or, even better, religious romance books. Now that I’ve gotten to around that same age, I too have thought about what it’d be like to own a bookshop. I would call it Other Worlds: A Speculation.

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you’ll notice that I share quotes. A lot of quotes. Several every day. Quotes of different kinds (though many contemplating mortality) from different people throughout history. What’s wrong with me? No one asked or complained yet, but I’m curious about why I am so obsessed with quotes.

Trigger warning: This post discusses the events of 9/11/2001. Twenty years ago today, two planes crashed into the Twin Towers. I think a lot of