When I was younger I remember my mother would read to me on the couch, in front of the fireplace. She had a very soothing, story-telling voice, and I would often fall asleep as she stroked the top of my head, listening to some line from a Virginia Wolf tale. She would tear up when she got to her favourite parts, in a way that bewildered me. I was too little then to understand that love for stories and different art forms. I'm not that young anymore. And that's not the only thing she taught me.