I have a book for everything, tons stacked on shelves, ready next to my bed, vital voices everywhere guiding and guarding. If I want to make a soufflé (because every so often, one wants to make a soufflé), Julia is ready to help, mistress of the art of no-collapse. Become a better lover? Not possible, but just in case, diverse manuals proffer advice, presenting tasteful drawings of joyful possibility (though these are not in plain sight — relatives). Stories to frighten and stories to love — page-turning tales that taught me winning The Lottery isn’t always a good thing, sometimes one needs to stand like Atticus against an army of stupid, and yes, leaving the comfortable Shire means one will likely get burned, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. And speaking of burning: when I’ve made a mistake, when it’s time to make right with God, there’s a book for that, too. I’m happy. My world is secure. I’m as wise as the wise, confident that, should I ever want… something more, someone will happily show me what that is.