Magical Worlds and the gift of reading

I've built Ikea furniture. I've bruised my wrist holding pieces of wood together, then scratched my knee on a straying screwdriver. I've twisted, turned and hammered, leaned and fallen. And now my son's new home looks, well, nice enough to live in? Meanwhile I sit at a metal desk that was second or third hand when we bought it. I look at mismatched bookshelves gathered from random countries over the years. The elderly rocking chair mocks me with memories of when said son was just a babe. And...