Where writing begins

It's hard to stay enthusiastic when you wake before the light and have a long commute. 
Occasionally however things go well, students are enthusiastic about the material and there's a lively discussion about the beginnings of writing.  Where the love of words begins.  In the womb perhaps?  Ought we to read to our children before their birth? 
Do you remember your favorite book, your grandmother reading it to you, you all curled up in your bed with a soft blanket pulled round.  What was that book?  Can you remember the title?  Or the size, the weight, the content. 
For me there was a  large yet not too thick hardcover book of the tales of fairies and goblins and the the like.
With short poems and stories of the lives of these elaborately drawn creatures.  It was kept at my grandmother's house, where I know reside.  In the little room with two single beds one for me one for my sister.  Soft worn blankets, a room that just fit the two beds, a nightstand and a dresser.  The book was kept on the bottom shelf of the nightstand.  It was read and re-read by myself and my sister, and no doubt my cousin as well.  We added a bit to the already colorful drawings contained within.  I remember my sleep in this little bed to be magnificent, I liked the bed on the right of the room furthest from the window.  Maybe it was the sea air, maybe it was the fairies dancing in my imagination.
I believe this book has influenced me more than I know.  The short form of the stories, the integration of my own images into an already rich world, the imaginings the dreamings.  I see this now in my plays in my world in my notebooks full of scrawlings and words, designs and ideas, flowing in and out.


What are your early memories with books?  How have they influenced your life?