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Harry


Shane and I are reading the last Harry Potter book, like children again. In the beginning I snubbed Harry, assuming my literary merit far superior to a hyped up "children's book". My self righteousness abated during a particularly rocky period of life when my mom handed me the first book with the suggestion that I 'lighten up'. I read the first book and fell in love. Now I joyously vacation in the marvelously magic world created for us by J.K. Rowling. Together, Shane and I emerge from each reading to discuss plot lines, scenarios, connections, twists and predictions with the enthusiasm of complete dorks. Occasionally, we even commiserate over our sorrow that we are reading the final book, knowing that soon we will have to return again to the world of muggles permanently, or at least until we can share Harry with our boys. If this all sounds ridiculously sentimental or contrite, please accept my apologies and condolences, as for us, we will be reading.

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