She doesn’t think the books I read fulfill her requirements for good literature. She doesn’t believe they live up to the books she read as a girl.

I maintain that this is because she hasn’t read any of my books. I claim that if she read them, she would see that they are excellent.

One thing we do have in common is that I anticipate, or look forward to, a trip to the library just as much as she does.

We both also enjoy books of high caliber, so we both look for worthwhile reading material, even though we take home completely different books.

Sometimes we choose books that are designed to distract us. For example, we occasionally like to read humorous books because they take our minds off of our problems.

My mother is quite eloquent when she speaks about the books she read as a girl. She describes the stories so well with her words that I can picture all the characters.

Another thing we have in common is that we both go through phases in our reading. Right now I’m in a period of really enjoying detective fiction.

We both love to while away a placid, peaceful Sunday afternoon with a good book.

Last Sunday I finished an Agatha Christie novel. There was a woman on the cover who looked like a fragile porcelain figurine my grandmother has on her mantelpiece.