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The first Christmas we were together in Memphis, before we were married, before we had children, Bernard gave my mother a puppet named Book Worm which he purchased from a local bookstore. Book Worm was a green velvet – well, book, that had a place to put your finger in the underside so when you opened the front flap you could wiggle the bookworm. I’d show you a picture, but I put Book Worm in a safe place and now can’t find him. You get the idea, I’m sure.
Book Worm was the perfect gift for my mother because my mother was a book hoarder. Our house was the Hotel California for books, as had been both of my grandparents’ houses before us. Crappy Nicholas Evans book, received as a get-well gift? Keeping it. Dog chewed the spine off Webster’s Dictionary? Yep, keeping it, too.
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