My grandmother Mazie (Nana, to me) read the Boston Herald newspaper every day, without fail. She bragged on being a good speller and having a talent for writing, which was, in fact, evidenced by a couple of articles she wrote for her high school magazine. She did not, however, read books – I don’t recall ever seeing her read a novel or a booklength work of nonfiction.
The one book I remember her buying, she purchased for its potential increasing value. Too bad what she bought was a second printing, which has meant “no big deal” in the biz, but she never knew this. I love the book—Richard Meryman’s Andrew Wyeth, a stunning collection of prints of his paintings and sketches. So, even though Nana would have been upset to learn her investment didn’t increase in value, now years later, she left me a great treasure.