Friday, March 03, 2006
Baba was impossible to ignore, even in his sleep. I used to bury cotton wisps in my ears, pull the blanket over my head, and still the sounds of Baba's snoring-- so much like a growling truck engine-- penetrated the walls. And my room was across the hall from Baba's bedroom. How my mother ever managed to sleep in the same room as him is a mystery to me. It's on the long list of things I would have asked my mother if I had ever met her.

I prefer to find unpublicized, non-Oprah-endorsed gems to read, but this one was for book club and everybody has been talking about it, so I figured, "What the hell?"