Every night when H is done reading I hear the book hit the floor with a thud, the snap of her bedside light switching off, then she calls to me, "Goodnight, Mommy; I love you!" I reply, "I love you, H; goodnight!" because palindromes amuse me.
Last month I looked up something I wrote about Handel's Messiah because I wanted to share it with the music director who orchestrated (heh) the whole thing. She's being treated for cancer that's come back and metastasized and could use all cheerful distraction and reminiscing she can get.
Tonight I was reading through the fat binder full of pages I wrote while in college, mostly, and ran across a few things about my then 8 yr old cousin that I texted to that cousin who is now in his 20s.
If I like reading back over things I've written then I should write.