I love books. Lots of them.
About all sorts of different things.
I have books stacked under my sofa bed in the floor. There’s the few that are stashed (sshhhh) in the cab area; the ones between the hamper and the wall; and finally, the ones neatly organized in the TV cabinet in the living area. I am an avid reader. When it rains outside or doesn’t. When it’s cold or isn’t. When I have time or don’t, you can find me reading something. I get stress relief and therapy. My thirst for knowledge is quenched. It’s multi-tasking at its finest. And depending on the situation, it’s free.
So what’s the problem?
I live in less than 300 square feet. Yeah.
Therein, lies my dilemma.
See, I’d like to think that I am a progressive traditionalist. Is there such a term?
I relish each Facebook message I receive from you. I’m eager to read my emails from you about the blog. I feel super loved. I like texting for its no nonsense straightforward approach, just as much as any other girl, and seriously don’t know how I’d function without it. But… there’s just something about personalized snail mail or a phone call from an old friend. The traditionalist in me wants to cling to the smell of a new book. I like the feel of the pages of a well worn book between my fingers while I think of all the people who might have owned it before me. This girl wants to read the last page first. She likes to dog-ear the corners of some of the best pages because bookmarks tend to fall out. She likes to see the color of the paper and highlight the text. This girl is unashamed to say that she writes in the margins and doodles oddities while she daydreams about what she’s just read. She is hanging on tight to the few books she has left that haven’t been forced into hibernation, otherwise known as storage.
I run to the book that reminds me in a crisis to put my big girl panties on and deal head on with what life is handing me. My child training book series is harbored safely in the back on the left and they remind me of when my babies were little. I can’t part with the cookbook that my brother gave me the Christmas before he died. All of these books and a few more make the cut. Period. I’ll make room. But what about new ones I’d like to read? A library card hasn’t been much of an option with my lifestyle. There’s a weight issue also. The RV’s, not mine :)
So, I’m torn between two loves: books and my need for technology. An e-reader was the best option. It’s lightweight (not necessarily light enough for my budget), but it’s worth it in the long run. And it will be a long run, my friends, because as long as this girl has her sight, she’s reading.
Capt. My Guy gave me a Kindle for my birthday in October.
I was a little apprehensive to download my first book. I mean, what if I didn’t like it? What would I say to my husband if I had to bring myself to admit that I liked books better? What if I missed the smell? Highlighting and underlining in the traditional sense was certainly translated during the migration to digital e-readers, but…
But. But. But…
I was running out of questions and excuses. There was nothing left but to give it a spin. And it hasn’t stopped spinning since. A plethora of reading material at my literal fingertips makes the luxury list, friends, no doubt about it. Digitally cheaper than a hard copy too.
Not like my Kindle?
Lo siento, Amazon. What was I thinking?
I can always go to a musty old library.
And visit a bookstore.
Or frequent an eclectic coffee shop…
If I want to sniff books.
But who does that kind of thing anyway?