Friday, July 15, 2011

The sanctity of books

In our house books are treated kindly, almost revered. We do not mistreat them, we do not write in them, and tearing them is punishable by law--children are not allowed another book at bedtime until they can prove that books are not confetti. So it goes without saying that books that are not our own should be held to an even higher standard. I even go so far as to put mangled books in the recycling bin rather than donating them. Nothing bothers me more than donated literature with torn pages or crayon marks.

In our single income state I've begun pulling from the library shelves more than usual. This week I collected an Elizabeth Gilbert ILL (Inter Library Loan--love the acronym). About a century in I gasped--okay I am appalled. Mind you, I'm not at all appalled by the content. . . . But the binding contains the leftovers, yes, I said leftovers, of someone's blueberry scone and the outside edges are marred by a cappuccino.

If I had so much as dripped a drop of tea on the book I'd have been embarrassed, even ashamed. If I had dumped a cappuccino on the edges and my scone was embedded in the ink I would have purchased a new copy for the library, and with a face full of shame, declared the book lost. But never would I have returned it to the library for it to be delivered to another and read in her bed with my scone crumbs falling out on her sheets.

Lord, help protect his or her tainted soul and banish them from all public libraries.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

If reading were an addiction . . .

I've picked up a disease of some sort. It's related to a trilogy called The Hunger Games. Oddly, those who really know me know that I love to read. I'm a self-proclaimed nerd and wear that badge (aka My Glasses)proudly. And while I've always had my favorites: Julia Alvarez, Barbara Kingsolver, Lucy Maud Montgomery, etc., I've always lived safely within the realm of fiction . . . until Friday.

I picked up The Hunger Games merely out of pure curiosity. I've heard that others loved the books, but knew nothing about their content. Suddenly I found myself flung into the future, into a world of Science Fiction. I was out of my box and had overstepped a boundary bigger than the Grand Canyon itself. In five days, I finished The Hunger Games trilogy--yes, that is three books in five days. (I played hooky with my bedtime and suffered for it, too.) And suddenly I've found half a dozen books within Science Fiction that I'd love to read.

This disease of mine is profound. What have I been missing?

Tuesday, July 5, 2011


Happy July.

We've already had a busy week and it looks like we'll be staying that way until school starts. On one hand it's a good thing because it keeps the kids occupied, but sometimes I wish they'd just rest. I know, they're 3 and 6. Who am I kidding?!

I have a modified work schedule for two weeks--I'm in week two. I start at 5 AM. I like being an early riser but technically starting work at 5 AM is not something this 34 year old body likes. I miss the resiliency of my late teens and twenties. I'm sure I'll be saying this for the next 60 years.

This weekend my mom and I got to escape to the fabric store without kids. I wanted to make a 4th of July wreath using fabric strips. It looked like something I could manage. I'm proud of my work--it took about 2.5 hours.

Mom and I got to spend at least an hour looking around and dreaming of projects we could make. While we were looking at the red-tagged remnants fabrics I started to "'ooh" and "ahh" at the textures, colors, fabric in general. I sighed, "I want this." My mom asked, "What are you going to do with it?" "I don't know," I replied.

Then she says, "Oh no, you have THE DISEASE."

Now I'll I need is a badge to wear in the fabric store that says "I have THE DISEASE." Every single patron in the store and the ladies at the fabric cut counter will congratulate me. . . . A girl can dream.

So I came away with fabric to make 3 pairs of pajamas for the girls, 2 scarf fabrics and a skirt fabric for me, fabric to make a 49er grill apron for Al, and a Mr. Bones life-size fabric skeleton for Halloween. Let the craziness ensue. My mom is going to regret that she has a sewing room and that I have a key to her house.