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It’s chilly in our bedroom, a problem with the heating circulation in the house. I wake up each morning unwilling to stick a limb out from beneath our four blankets or take that shivery run toward the toilet.Warmer days seem to lift me out of bed but on these dark winter ones, I stay huddled, click on the lamp and read. This past weekend, covers pulled over my chin, I finished John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden.”A week later, I still want to hug the book to my chest like it, too, offers heat.What a week it’s been.I watched football. I took ballet classes. I paginated newspapers. I do all these things every week. But after finishing a truly great book, a person absorbs some of the greatness and, especially right afterward, feels the thrill of those closing lines like an exclamation point after every ordinary thought, like a refresh button clicked during every mundane experience.Life is now Steinbeckian.It’s all because of “timshel.”The word, Steinbeck writes, is the original Hebrew verb in the Bible’s Cain and Abel story.
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