Patty Lou, a friend of my parents’ when I was the magical age of eleven, was a reader. She was also a smoker, a drinker, an intellect and had one of the driest wits on Lookout Mountain, or maybe even in the southeast. I have no idea where she is now, but I do know she did one thing that made the difference and will forever separate her from most of my parents’ other smoking, drinking, fun friends — she gave me a copy of A Wrinkle in Time.
And maybe, perhaps, assuming we are not just some genetic being, but also beings of the light, air, and literature around us, that book made me who I am today. So, thanks Patty, wherever you are.
Hopefully all of this explains why I have tears in my eyes this morning when I read that Madeleine L’Engle died at the magical age of 88. So, thanks to you too Ms. L’Engle, wherever you are. Thanks for teaching the world that love can overcome almost anything.
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