Book Binding

"They came today,"  he said standing over me in the hall. It was Thursday evening and I was folded over on the floor outside of the children's bedrooms, waiting for them to fall asleep. They were almost there.

I reached up to take the thick hardcover book from my husband's left hand--one of two we were expecting from Amazon. He was holding the second in his right hand.

"Awesome. I'll be down in a minute." I opened the cover and was immediately sucked in.

Wes had come home from work just in time to say good-night to the kids and the two surprise baby fish that had appeared in Tyjah's fish tank. This had caused a huge stir at bed-time, with children running from bedroom to bedroom to relay minute-by-minute updates.

"One's behind the heater!"

"The big fish is chasing them!"

Tyjah's face brimmed with all the concern and pride of a new father.

Wes smiled at me knowingly as he passed by me again in the hallway and I listened as he made his way back to the couch at the bottom of the stairs. Even though I knew we would both be completely absorbed in our own books for the rest of the evening, I couldn't wait to be down there with him.

But sleepy children can come up with all kinds of ways of staving off the heaviest of eyelids. And, of course, the new fish didn't help. It took a while longer before I, too, made my way down the stairs. Shrugging off the option to have the second couch all to myself, I walked to the other end of the couch where Wes was stretched out. Without looking up from his book, he turned on his side and tucked his feet toward his chest to make room for me. 

We sat in comfortable silence, broken occasionally as one or the other of us offered up an interesting word from our reading.

"Affability" one of us might say aloud. 

To which the other would invariably respond, "that's a good word."

Sometimes I would look up wanting to share an impressive passage with him, but seeing him absorbed in his own book, I held back. 

" Are you going to read this book?" He interrupted. "Because I really want you to read it, too, so we can talk about it."

Ten minutes disappeared into the stillness.

"Ah!!! I REALLY want you to read this book!" 

I smiled from behind my own book at his lack of patience.

Ironically, the hardcovers held up between us do more to bind us together than separate us.

Chapter ten. Eighty-three pages into my new book, I thought I'd better check the time. I didn't want to because I knew it would lead to me putting my book down. But Wes's breathing had grown heavy on the other end of the couch and I knew it must be later than I hoped.

I sat up. His eyes were closed and his book had fallen to his chest, but the squeeze of his hand on my ankle told me not only that he was aware of me, but that he didn't want me to go.

I quickly went through the routine of getting ready for bed then joined him again downstairs.

************************

It was Sunday when he opened the book that I had just finished and insisted that he MUST read. See? It works both ways.

How Wes approaches a new book is nothing short of ART.

He sat beside me, turning the book over in his hand, respectfully inspecting its binding. He removed the jacket carefully, tenderly ran his index finger over the embossed title on the spine, then just as carefully, folded the book back into its protective wrap. He read the back cover, then opened the front cover and read the flap. Slowly he turned through the first few pages--the blank ones and the title page. He checked the date of publication and then finally...began reading the preface.

I am so happily bound to this man.

Mother's Day Morning

The first course of my Mother's Day breakfast in bed was leftover Asian Noodle Salad brought to me by my well-meaning and oh-so-proud five-year-old Halle.

It was delicious...three days ago...for dinner.  Did I mention the dressing was made with lots of fresh garlic? 

When Lyla woke up I scooped her up in her favorite blanket and brought her to our bed.  She grinned, held her arms out wide and declared, "Happy Halloween!"  

She curled up beside me for the next twenty minutes, periodically asking when it was time for candy.

After the others woke up, I was showered with homemade gifts, bagels and cream cheese, and a mostly raw orange roll.  Yummmmmmm.

There were two hours left before we needed to head out the door to church so I dove back under the covers and into my three new books.  Wes had let me pick them out the day before as my Mother's Day gift.  Truth be told, he asked me to pick out one book.  But as I sat there in that leather chair at the front of Deseret Book, my brow wrinkled, trying to choose which two books to leave behind, Wes snatched up all three and met me at the counter. I am spoiled.

Nestled in my bed, deeply engaged in the first of the three books, I heard water running in the kitchen, plates clanging as they were being stacked on top of each other, and the sound of the dishwasher door closing.  Wes cleaned the kitchen.

Happy Mother's Day to me!

Pinkalicious

If you've ever read this popular book,

you may have considered creating your OWN Pinkalicious day.  Okay, probably not.  BUT, if someday you ever WANTED to create your own Pinkalicious day, here's a how-to:

 1.  Leave the pink stamp pad out where your two-year-old can easily find it.

 2.  After she finds it, allow her to proudly show you just how pink she really is.  Everywhere.

3.  Clean up.  The sink won't cut it.  Just head straight for the bathtub.

And finally, be SO thankful that you took the time to record this little moment.  Because someday your little girl will be too grown up to cuddle in your lap with Pinkalicious.

Get Lost -

in a good book.

There's been a lot of this going on over mid-winter break.

The Magic of Harry Potter

Quote of the Day:  an exerpt from the chapter "King's Cross," in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

"Tell me one last thing," said Harry.  "Is it real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Reading is important.  Books are real.  The stories inside them might be made up, but for the time that our minds are engaged in the characters and their world, it feels real.

One of my favorite things to do with my sons is read.  We still read a picture book when I'm in the mood even though they're 10, 10, 12, and 16.  When the Skippy John Jones books came out, my boys gathered on the bed together as the oldest read aloud, and the others clapped along to the interactive part.  Even Miss Matilda (cat) wanted in on the action.  (She's trying to figure out if Curious George is more curious than she is.)

I was the first one in our family to read the Harry Potter books.  I'd heard about them at writer's conferences and the buzz around the bookstore, but what got me curious was seeing 6th grade boys lugging those big, fat books around, shutting out the world, even sitting long in a cold car in the middle of a Minnesota winter to finish a chapter.  Hmm?  What kind of magic is this J.K. Rowling creating?

From the first chapter of the first book, I discovered it.  Rowling created a character that we care about.  We're rooting for him from the start, the boy who lived.  We feel the injustice of him locked in the cupboard under the stairs.  We're annoyed at his so-called family.  We can't wait to ride The Hogwarts Express with him to a new school and a chance to discover who he really is.

In the end, this is a book about friendship, self-discovery, and good triumphing over evil.  And, the magic that Ms. Rowling created is wonderful, clever, and engaging.  Before the first movie was made, kids were dressing up for Halloween as characters from her book!  We were waiting in line at midnight for the next release.  We sat together and read the book.  We've passed our copies from family member to family member until they're tattered and torn.  The first one is under my bed.  The second one lost it's middle and had to be discarded.  Dust jackets are long gone.  But, the stories live on.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for your marvelous imagination and the magic you created in readers.

Journaling Prompt:  What books or stories do you pass around the family?  Or, tell your Harry Potter stories.

Reading Deprivation

Quote of the Day:  The oldest books are still only just out to those who have not read them. - Samuel Butler

During my trip to the West Coast, we visited this used book store.  My heart beat a little faster as I moved up the walk and anticipated the treasures that I might find inside.

I was not disappointed.  This place is huge, several rooms and extensions on rooms and rows and rows of books stacked on books and shelves bulging out and more books in the aisles.

A writer in a bookstore is as happy as a kid in a candy store!  Look, here's one called Cooking and Improvisation!  From the cover, musical score paper and food, I thought the book might be about blending music with new recipes, or some kind of new song/veggie medley.

The irony of loading my arms up with new-found treasures during this trip was that I was on a Reading Deprivation assignment from The Artist's Way that I'm working through.  During week four, we are told to shut the books, put down the newspapers, unplug from our computers, and deprive ourselves of the written word. The intent is that it creates a void that you fill with other creative energy and get you to observe life. I wasn't sure if I could do this.  I mean, I was traveling.  I like to read.  When I find myself in places where I have to be patient and wait, or am feeling closed in by too many people, I bury my face in a book, shut them all out and escape into the lovely words and images of a talented author.

I didn't do that on this trip.  Instead, I told myself I would play by the rules, keep an open mind, and talk to people and observe life as it moved around me.

This was actually a good thing.  I asked people about themselves, "Are you coming or going?  Where are you from?  Were you visiting relatives?"  One woman had been in my area visiting an old friend.  A bunch of military guys were going home one last time before they're deployed again.  My travel companion/cousin Angie and I had some great conversations.  I watched Invictus on the flight (thanks for you headphones, Ang!).

But, the rules weren't really defined.  Even if they were, could I really cut myself off completely from the printed word?  When I thought of not reading at all during this trip, the experiment took on a new perspective for me.  What if I couldn't read?  I mean, all I had to do was look up and see exit, Delta, baggage claim, etc.  I thought of how cut-off I'd be from a major form of communication.  I looked for other clues in signs and menus and travel directions that didn't require reading.  I knew that if I truly could not read, I'd have to ask for help, follow the crowd and hope they were leading me in the right direction, and I'd develop other coping skills.  I thought of people who can't read and are ashamed of it.  What lengths do they go to in order to cover up their secret?

At a restaurant they could ask the waitress what she recommends, look at the pictures and point or describe what they want.  They could wait until others have ordered and say, "I'll have what she's having."  We ate at a Moroccan restaurant.  I wanted to lean over to the next table and ask them what was on their plates.  It looked good.  Plus, that menu was really hard to read with it's tiny print in poor light.  I needed my reading glasses!

I think the only way I could truly experience being cut-off from the written word is to travel in a country where I didn't speak the language and they didn't have English readily available.  Not an easy thing. We Americans have it easy that way.

I have always had compassion for people who can't read.  When I watch A League of Their Own, I get weepy every time during a scene where a player is standing at the roster.  She's swaying back and forth, her brow is furrowed.  She's breathing in and out wondering if her name is up there.  The manager says, "If you don't see your name, you have to go home."  But, she can't even read her own name.  Finally, another player steps up.
Can you read, honey?
She shakes her head.
What's your name?
Shirley Baker
The helpful player runs her finger down the roster and stops.
Here it is. She looks at Shirley.  That's your name, Shirley Baker.  You're a Peach.  You're with me.
And, the tears flow down from Shirley's eyes and my eyes, and I feel her pain and shame and relief at knowing what she can't read for herself.

Later in the movie, May (played by Madonna) is teaching her to read.  The line they have her saying, her milky white breasts.
A look from another player.
May:  Just turn around, she's reading, isn't she?

During my journey home, I was done being deprived.  I pulled out a great find from that bookstore, Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas by Maya Angelou, first published in 1976, but new to me.  I nearly wept when I read the opening sentence, Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the spaces between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. And, I curled up in those words and images by the gifted Ms. Angelou and all was again right with the world.

Journaling Prompt:  Try going for a given amount of time without the written word.  What does that do to your interactions with the world?