"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible." ~ T. E. Lawrence
My mom instilled a love of books when I was a wee lass and read to me daily. I’ve been an avid bookworm ever since. Books have been my poor man’s time machine to explore other cultures, learn history, and get lost in fantastic worlds. I was the girl that packed more books than clothes in her suitcase for week-long vacations.
J has helped me to move twice since we started dating 8 months ago (yes, I might just be part nomad mixed in with the Scottish and Mexican heritage). During these two moves he broke it to me gently that I have far too many books (there were probably over a dozen boxes, but who’s counting?) and that moving me was an act of pure love and sacrifice. Only a man truly enthralled with me would possibly be willing to break his back under the weight of my precious volumes and tomes not once, but twice. And I was then forbidden from making any further literary purchases, an agreement which I failed abysmally to keep.
In light of J’s back strain and our plans of marriage and house purchasing in the future (which inevitably include another move), I thought it best to ask for an e-reader for Christmas, in the interest of domestic tranquility. I must have been on the “nice” list because the Kindle Fire HD that J bought me has far exceeded my expectations. It’s lightweight, convenient, and I have a veritable library at my fingertips. No more do I worry about if I can squeeze a book between the cell phone and compact in my tiny purse. Gone are the days of globe-trotting with multiple trilogies that were deemed more important than shoe options (and you KNOW how much I love shoes). I’ve become a monster and gone over to the dark side.
Years ago when e-readers were making their debut, I swore vehemently that I would never walk the path of digital literature. The touch, the smell, the bliss of printed paper in my hands could never be replaced with a cold screen. The wonder of pages will forever hold sway over my heart. And yet, my hands ache to hold that heartless gizmo now. My breaks at work are spent nestled in a corner of the lunchroom with my tablet. I am a Benedict Arnold to my beloved books, but an unrepentant traitor. Though I’ll never get rid of my printed friends, I don’t plan to buy anything less than beautiful hardbacks that MUST be part of my collection now. This coming of
age technology was the last thing I expected as a devoted reader.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just downloaded another dozen books and they won’t read themselves. At least I’ve gotten past the denial phase of this addiction. Adventure awaits!