It was May 19, 1990.
I was nine years old and back then an only child. That didn’t bother me though. As a true introvert I had no problems spending time alone — just me and my imagination. Writing little stories. Making horrible drawings. Acting out stories with my Barbies. Whatever I could do to get those creative voices out of my head.
So what was so special about that particular day?
It was when I received the Wrinkle in Time Trilogy by Madeleine L’Engle from Kathy, a dear friend of my parents. It was a box set, with elegant cursive writing on the front of the book holder; each book in a glossy jacket. In case you aren’t familiar with this science fantasy trilogy, it goes a little something like this (thank you Barnes and Noble!):