Writing in Books

March 15, 2010 § Leave a comment

Once, a long time ago, I stopped to admire the Magic Marker doodles that my daughter, Maud, about a year and half old at the time, had added to the pages of one of her books, and my ex-husband, Andrew, got a little tweaked. He said he thought Maud shouldn’t be drawing in her books; he thought it was desecration, though he didn’t put it that way (these were chunky childrens books we were talking about, after all—something Maud had probably chewed on a few months before: Rhonestly). That’s when I realized that there were two kinds of people: those that wrote in books, and those that didn’t.

I can understand both sides—some people like things worn, others like them whole. But what I would have missed to not have found my college boyfriend’s notes to me in the margins of the books I was reading for class. And cookbooks! Andrew, that is the chili we made and the red wine we drank twenty-five years ago—right there on page 57 of Good Enough To East: Bountiful Home Cooking! Without those stains, I would not remember. And I want to remember everything.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Writing in Books at Deitch.

meta

%d bloggers like this: