Anyway, I jotted down this and that on the last page of my red Moleskine. One of my favorite simple pleasures is to crack open a brand new, blank notebook. It gives a girl hope, you know? I have a few notebooks stored up in my writing room, but this vintage bird design from Cavallini caught my eye:
It'll be perfect for all kinds of random thoughts, quotes, Bible verses, and notes for my next Curator article about Hotel San José. You know, a notebook much like Abigail Thomas's:
"Call it a diary--it is less imposing than a journal, which sounds like an end in itself. I steer clear of the word journal--and its spawn, the verb to journal, as in, 'I have been journaling all my life.' If I were to call my notebook a journal I would probably write with the notion that it be published someday, preferably posthumously, and people would marvel. This would make me self-conscious. I would be trying to perfect each sentence before its time. I prefer notes; if I clean it up too fast I lose the spark. Everything goes in: grocery lists, things to do (so I can scratch them off) random observations, knitting patterns, recipes, overheard dialogue, everything. A diary isn't sacred. Think of it as the written equivalent to singing in the shower. I don't care what I'm writing and I don't pay attention to language. A friend wanted to know what I was working on; she was reading the paper and I was writing in my diary. We were having coffee at Bread Alone.
'Nothing,' I said.
'It can't be nothing,' she said, assuming perhaps that writers were always doing something interesting. She leaned over and read, 'It is taking a long time to get my sandwich.'
Today's really a good day for me - thank You, Jesus - but we do have to stop by the doctor this afternoon for a lil' blood test. Nothing major (or exciting), but it should reveal helpful information. Thankfully, their office is very close by, as is Katy Budget Books. I believe people of any age deserve a treat after a doctor's visit, so we'll see what the $5.00 bill in my purse can buy.
Either that or another copy of Peace Like a River. One of our pregnant friends is on limited mobility and goes through books like water. Who wouldn't want to read Peace Like a River?? I offered to lend her mine, but then I decided to write about L. Enger's book for The Curator (after the article due this week). Thus, I need another copy. It's time to check up on Jeremiah, Davy, Reuben, and Swede once again. Besides, our friend needs to own that book - it is simply that good.
* - [no Wendell Berry novels today, but I did find a hardback of Peace Like a River for $6.50 total. Beautiful, isn't it?]