I always love bringing home a new book. Always.
There is something about the crisp pages, the unbroken binding, the promise of a captivating story and poetic writing.
When it’s a book by a favourite author, it’s even better.
And when the book has been purchased for you by your nine-year old daughter, it’s a precious gift.
There is something about the quiet of a library.
It is a quiet filled with possibilities, with stories, with learning.
Neat rows of books on the shelves, categorized and alphabetized and numbered. Order in a chaotic world.
I stopped at the secondhand store to pick up materials for my mixed media project.
There is something nostalgic and charming about old books. I spend most of my time picking up hardcover books, opening the flaps, and looking for interesting covers.
I was not disappointed. The colours and patterns were artfully aged. The pages were wonderfully discoloured.
I love new books with their crisp covers and never-opened pages, the promise of another world. But I ❤ old books, too, with their untold stories and their vintage character like a tattered and loved teddy bear.
I’m a teacher, but now I’m also a librarian.
I took a leave of absence a year ago, and have been doing some casual work since. Until recently, I was only on the substitute list for teaching. But I also have experience with office work (so I asked to be added to the admin. assistant list), and I have always thought I would love being a librarian (and so I also asked to be added to that list).
For a few weeks, I am now a part-time librarian. I spend a few hours a day in a quiet room filled with books.
This makes me very happy.
I am absolutely captivated by Elizabeth Gilbert’s new book, The Signature of All Things.
It required a real effort to tear myself away from it to get some house cleaning done, but I managed it (all the while thinking of the book). My kids have been playing together fabulously for the weekend, allowing me many quiet moments absorbed in my book.
This book has quickly risen to the top of my all-time favourite books, along with Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible. It is the perfect literary mix of adventure, romance, and travel, and I am loving every word.
This is where my stories and poems live.
I create them on the computer, but I keep them in a notebook. In black ink, I hand-write each one, then place the journal on my shelf with all my other books.
This way, I can’t lose them with a computer breakdown or a lost USB. They are organized and (sort of) published. This way, I make them a part of my book collection and I give them value.
I love to write. And I love books.
This way, I get both.
Sometimes, it is the words on a page that give me pause.
I love to learn from books, to gather ideas from books. At the moment, I am reading Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. I am slowly beginning to think of myself as a writer, aiming to have published work. But here is always that tiny inner voice, that is cause for hesitation.
This book makes me believe that I can, that I am.
It is the definition of inspiration.
There is nothing like spending time with a good book.
I grab a few minutes whenever I can: With my coffee in the afternoons, while the kids watch tv, even while supper is cooking.
I love being surrounded by books – they line my shelves and give me comfort. I am not myself unless I have one to read.
My sister posted this quote on her Facebook the other day: “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, the man who never reads lives only one.” How apt. (I believe it is from the book A Dance with Dragons, although I can’t be certain.)
And now I must go escape with my book…