It is morning and I begin my daily ritual. Beside my bed, piled a bit unsteadily upon the

round marble-topped table that was my mother’s, is a stack of books. Nine books to be

exact! Why nine? I make no apology for my book choices, nor for the unwieldily pile.

The explanation is simple: one never knows which book(s) are a fit for what life is

dishing out on a particular day, season, challenge.