Memories of camping in the upper peninsula of Michigan have been with me all my life. I was just three when I went with my parents to a clearing on the shore of a lake where there was nothing but a narrow dock, a rowboat, an outhouse, and trees.
We slept in the canvas tent my dad used for deer hunting. The tent smelled of mildew, had no floor, and large flaps that tied closed.
At night our cots creaked when we moved. Continue reading “My first seeing”
In the book “A House of my Own” by Sandra Cisneros, she writes: “At sixty I want a house pared down to what nourishes my spirit.”
Also: “What I’ve longed for is a refuge as spiritual as a monastery, as private as a cloistered convent… a fortress for the creative self.”
I read these words recently and identified strongly with them. Continue reading “A Fortress for the creative self”
While we are having some repair work done in our home office, I have temporarily moved my books to various locations around the house, leading me to wonder, once again, why I continue to own so many, especially considering how often we move.
I am a constant reader of books, but it’s not just their content I enjoy. I am a fan of books themselves. The actual objects. I love holding books in my hands, feeling the weight and texture of them, touching the paper pages, and riffling them with my thumb.
I enjoy studying the front and back covers of books, appreciating the design that has gone into creating them. Artful cover designs are one of the pleasurable things about owning a collection of books. I might not ever reread my books, but I will certainly look at them from time to time. Continue reading “Book Lovers Lament”