I saw this on BoingBoing. It's amazing.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
First, possibly last, time for everything
What do you do with a worthless book? No, back up, first I have to determine whether there is such a thing as a worthless book. Having been raised to respect the printed word above all, above God even, I have a hard time overcoming the belief that no matter how wretched the prose or rancid the content, there isn't a book that isn't redeemed just by the fact that it is a book.
In all my life I've never thrown away a book. (Thrown away magazines, newspapers, yes, so why should a book be sacred? I've packed them, hauled them, sold them, donated them, given them away, left them behind.)
Yes, I dog-ear my pages, but I don't write in them, in pen or pencil or with a highlighter, or tear pages out, or even parts of pages. I can barely stand to write my name in a book - when I do the handwriting shows how close this is to me to real profanity. (Why is dog-earing okay? Don't ask me. I don't know. This is just how my mind works.)
I've burned a few books - bad ones - romance novels*. Not to prevent other people from reading them. Just to stay warm. But I don't throw them away. Until just now.
Yes, I know all about recycling. Socorro recycles. Tries to make it easy. I threw them away, even though I could have stored them a little longer until the next free recycling drop-off day.
There was something symbolic about it, because they were books belonging to my ex, who is not a reader. They were all crap, Tim LeHaye crap and things like it. They were in my house, and now they're gone. Yay!
The next batch I'll recycle. Okay? Okay.
____________________________________________
* My sister once survived a long journey cross country in a van by reading romance novels. She was desperate. Some one, not a reader, had given her a stack. When she finished each one, she threw it out the window. This was not a stellar time in her life.
In all my life I've never thrown away a book. (Thrown away magazines, newspapers, yes, so why should a book be sacred? I've packed them, hauled them, sold them, donated them, given them away, left them behind.)
Yes, I dog-ear my pages, but I don't write in them, in pen or pencil or with a highlighter, or tear pages out, or even parts of pages. I can barely stand to write my name in a book - when I do the handwriting shows how close this is to me to real profanity. (Why is dog-earing okay? Don't ask me. I don't know. This is just how my mind works.)
I've burned a few books - bad ones - romance novels*. Not to prevent other people from reading them. Just to stay warm. But I don't throw them away. Until just now.
Yes, I know all about recycling. Socorro recycles. Tries to make it easy. I threw them away, even though I could have stored them a little longer until the next free recycling drop-off day.
There was something symbolic about it, because they were books belonging to my ex, who is not a reader. They were all crap, Tim LeHaye crap and things like it. They were in my house, and now they're gone. Yay!
The next batch I'll recycle. Okay? Okay.
____________________________________________
* My sister once survived a long journey cross country in a van by reading romance novels. She was desperate. Some one, not a reader, had given her a stack. When she finished each one, she threw it out the window. This was not a stellar time in her life.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Next time will be better
We got a call at the office this morning. "We thought you should know that Ann is in the hospital and is not expected to live through the day."
I haven't known Ann long, and I don't know her well, but I like her a lot. She's steady and kind, and generous. She has a knack for quiet encouragement, the right word at the right moment. She's always ready to help out and always there to back you up.
Her son Sam is my daughter's age. He still needs her. A lot of people still need her.
I hope she's still here tomorrow.
In Forrest Carter's The Education of Little Tree, when Eastern Cherokees died, they would say, at the end, "next time will be better." I'm not really sure what it means, but it's comforting, somehow.
Next time will be better.
I haven't known Ann long, and I don't know her well, but I like her a lot. She's steady and kind, and generous. She has a knack for quiet encouragement, the right word at the right moment. She's always ready to help out and always there to back you up.
Her son Sam is my daughter's age. He still needs her. A lot of people still need her.
I hope she's still here tomorrow.
In Forrest Carter's The Education of Little Tree, when Eastern Cherokees died, they would say, at the end, "next time will be better." I'm not really sure what it means, but it's comforting, somehow.
Next time will be better.
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