It appears to me, the art or act of reading has been lost on younger generations. They seem to be profoundly consumed by computers. If something, in an abbreviated form, doesn’t show up on their tablet, it can’t be worthwhile. How can this be? What parental indiscretion has produced such a limited outlook? When turning the pages of a written piece is entirely too difficult, then this world of ours faces unlimited problems. If during your lifetime you have never sought the satisfaction of someone else’s history or imagination, what are going to do with yourself, when your eyesight and mobility desert you? Sit at home and wonder where the TV guide has gone? Or try to walk from here to there without falling down? Oh my! Surely there is a book, lying undetected for how many years, still waiting for an anxious reader, ready to dream about a yesterday, or even the future. What remains for us is a passion, a dress rehearsal for upcoming events, all written down for you, a guide to tomorrow.
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