All I want for Christmas. . .

If you’ve followed my adventures this past year, you know I spent a wonderful week with the most terrific family in Lebanon last spring. I tried to send them books for Christmas and only 3 arrived, a copy of Nubs and two titles selected for the two daughters. . .but not the book I sent for the youngest in the family (he’s a history buff so I knew he’d adore Rodman Philbrick’s The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg). I fell in love with this boy and would’ve snuck into my suitcase to bring home with me in a minute. (I would’ve had to fight his mother to do so, however!)

When I learned that the young boy did not receive his book, his grandmother in the states tried to reassure me. “These children are used to disappointment,” she said.

What kind of world is this where it is okay for children to be “used to disappointment”?

Here is my plea: does anyone out there have friends going to Beirut in the near future who would be willing to find room in their suitcases for half a dozen books?