dog-ears, no. 1

I’ve never really been a bookmark person. I’ve always tried to be, I think. I always take the free bookmarks from museums, from libraries, from random Shakespeare in the Park fundraisers that I drive to on a whim at which I recite the Henry V prologue in front of strangers (you mean you don’t do this, too?) One of those bookmarks is actually sitting in my copy of Wuthering Heights right now, precariously marking my progress about one-third into the novel. We’ll see how long it remains in use.

But no, I’ve never really been a bookmark person. I’ve always preferred the more low-budget, low-stress, high-impact technique: the titular DOG-EAR, folding the top corner down, using the book itself to remember your place in it. It leaves a crease, and it looks sloppy if you’re not careful, I suppose, but I’ve always used it and probably always will. What likely started as simply seven-year-old me trying and failing to find a bookmark to mark her place in whichever number of the Boxcar Children she was rereading on a give afternoon has become, now, a habitual practice. Somehow I feel like I’m not supposed to dog-ear, like people who love books are supposed to care for them in a way that does not include dog-ears, but I sort of love the feeling of opening up a book I’ve reread over and over, maybe Bloomability by Sharon Creech or Theater Shoes by Noel Streatfeild, and seeing the places I’ve left off before. It gives the book a sort of history. We all love used books. Dog-ears create used books, people!!

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my salad days (summer in the hills 1.2)

I write this sitting beneath a quilt in my Pittsburgh bedroom, cross-legged at the end of the bed so I can be right in front of the open window. It’s been open all night, since around midnight or so when I gave up on an early night’s sleep and needed, suddenly, to see the sky. It looks different here, in Pittsburgh, than it does in Wheaton–here, stars are visible, trees are taller, and I could see last night’s little half-scoop of a moon just by sitting at the window.

I write this sitting in my bed on a Saturday morning. It’s just past nine right now, and I think what woke me up early enough to be able to write coherent prose at this hour was a phone call from my workplace, but I can’t be sure because I haven’t put the number in my phone yet, and if they told me yesterday I wasn’t needed this morning, and I didn’t know if that phone call was their number, and I was still sleeping when they called, it’s okay if they meant to call me in today and I neither answered nor showed up. Right? Of course right. I hope.Read More »