Archive | June, 2011

I Am a Page Turner

28 Jun

I am a page turner. At times it as though the intense joy that I get from reading comes from the simple act of turning the pages. I love the smell of pages and the feel of them flipping through my fingers. I am a person who always flips to the very last page of a book, not to read it (I would NEVER), but to see what page number it is. I need to know how long I have to go until the end. I do the same thing with chapters. How many chapters, how long until the next one. These are compulsions that define the way I read. I am a page turner and up until a couple of weeks ago I swore I’d never enjoy reading in any other format than a good old-fashioned book.

But, then my friend loaned me this:

Yes, my friend loaned me her Amazon Kindle so that I could read The Help (which is AMAZING) before the movie (which looks fantastic) comes out in August. And, in spite of myself, I think I’m actually liking my experience with the Kindle. I can’t turn the pages and flip ahead to the ends of chapters like I am prone to do, which drives me crazy. But, I do enjoy the pretentious snobbery of pulling it out of my purse. I enjoy how light it is. And, it really is easy to read; nothing like hours at a computer screen.

Another qualm I had about actually purchasing one of these little doohickeys is that I love to own the actual hard copies of the books I love. They’re little pieces of me which I proudly display on every shelf I own. I don’t like the idea of buying them on an eReader where no one can see them and I can’t loan them to anyone to help spread an amazing story around. But, more and more places (including my own library) are offering eBook rentals, so I could read the books on my eReader and then purchase a hard copy if I wanted to.

I think, basically, what this long and rambling post is saying is that I’d like an eReader. I don’t know yet if I want a Kindle or a Nook or even what the difference is (besides the brand name stamped on the front). But Mom, if you’re reading this, I think I know what I want for Christmas…


Scent of an Old Flame

22 Jun

A stranger wearing your cologne walked by me on the street yesterday. The smell hit me like a wall and embraced me like a hug. It’s amazing how one whiff of a scent carried in the faint and passing breeze can conjure up so many memories. It was only a split-second but my mind instantly filled with vivid sparks of a flame that died long ago. A futon we abandoned in favor of the floor, our song, circus peanuts and a fuzzy lavender sweater. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to smell that cologne without thinking of those things. Without thinking of you. In those moments, enveloped in your smell, I smile, and hope you’re happy.  

Writing – A Disclaimer

18 Jun

Writing, like most forms of art, is personal. When I write, I am sharing my thoughts, my ideas, my emotions and, sometimes, my experiences. I think it’s only natural, then, as a reader, to try to find bits of the author in between the lines of prose. It’s easy to feel as though we know who an author is on a personal level just from reading his or her writing. The big mistake readers sometimes make is to confuse Personal with Truth.

In Stephen King’s novels and stories, the wives he imagined up have been cheated on, psychologically tortured, and killed. Does that mean that Uncle Stevie’s wife of 40 years should be worried? I doubt it. Not everything that authors write is a message from our subconscious. The vast majority of the time, it is simply ideas brought to life with the magic of words and infused with vignettes, snapshots, of reality.

So this is my disclaimer. When reading this blog, when reading anything poetical or prose-y that came from my head and my fingertips, please don’t read too much into it. My writing is personal, and there are parts of me in every single letter, comma and quotation mark. But that does not mean it’s Truth.

9 Jun

When I was a little girl one of my favorite movies to watch over at my grandma’s house was Alice in Wonderland (the Disney animated one, not the creepy made-for-TV one). I used to love how Alice would lie in the tall grass and sing that song about talking to the flowers. It seemed so romantic, disappearing in that lush greenery.

What I know now, that I didn’t know then, is that the tall grass she was laying in was probably stiff and sharp. It was most definitely dirty, and when she stood up she probably had about 50 ticks on her. Or at very least, that’s what would happen to me if I were to lie in my own yard right now.

The part that freaks me out the most is the ticks. I am not, and have never been, okay with things sucking my blood. Mosquitoes – nasty and irritating. Leeches – give me the willies. And ticks…well I hate them. I hate them, hate them, hate them. This has, lately, been a problem for me because the ticks are rampant in my yard this year.

Maybe it’s the weird weather we’ve had this spring, maybe it’s the fact that I live next to a giant field of nothing, but whatever the cause, there are ticks everywhere this year. We’ve put two doses of the tick repellent stuff on Lucie in the past month, and every night when I check her she has at least two ticks on her. I’ve found them hanging out on my door. I’ve found them hanging out on the wall in my entryway. I’ve even found one on top of my garbage can in my kitchen. It’s driving me insane to the point where it took me two hours to fall asleep last night because I kept imagining things were crawling on me. Husband doesn’t know it yet, but I foresee a weekend full of him spraying pesticides on our yard. Either that or he’ll be digging a ditch three feet wide and three inches deep around our property and filling it with gravel, as one website suggested, because I cannot, and will not, live this way much longer.