As a very young child, my grandmother gave me the Peter Rabbit books, which I loved. She also gave me tiny books with great pieces of artwork in them from Monet, Degas, and Cezanne. I don't have them anymore, just the memory of a painting of a little girl that looked kind of like me on the cover of one.
As I grew, the books' content grew too, but it's funny that I only remember my first ones. I still have the Polar Express with her handwritten note inside the cover, and I've saved the books she gave my son. My grandma was the perfect grandma, and her books reminded me, and remind me today that I was, and am, loved by a very special person.
