But, my flimsy household accounting (and even flimsier excuses to my husband) aren't particularly what this entry is about. It has been, as you might have noticed, a shit week here at the Spits. (and I'm using that word because my mother told me I was having a shit week, and if she says it, surely. . .)
And while I was at Audrey's, there were day planners for 2010. And I realized, that I have not had a dayplanner in a few years. I tried using my Palm, and these electronic bingley-beep dealies are not for me. These dayplanners were Moleskin, which strikes me as the sort of thing I would like to use. Ernest Hemmingway used Moleskin, and I think I might be more like Hemmingway if I could use Moleskin. I would derive a visceral pleasure in using the same sort of thing he used. It would be traditional and historical, and every good kind of thing. It would be a connection to the past, unlike the new-fangled bingley-beeping things.
Every so often, Mr. Spit indicates that I should get a Kindle. And don't get me wrong, I think the Kindle is great, nifty and cool. But. . .
It's not paper. It's not ink on paper. You can't turn pages, you can't leave it open at a paragraph, underline something that speaks to you. And you certainly can't throw it across the room when a line makes you very angry. There's nothing permanent about a Kindle, or an electronic bingley-beepy thing.
A kindle is a device, and I like books. I like paper. I like the feel of a perfect pen in my hand. I like ink. I like a good pen. I like blue ink on paper, the feel of it as it leaves the pen. The slight indentation a good Cross fountain pen puts on nice cotton paper. I like the heft ink gives to words. I think about these things, I like permanence.
And all of this is a particular way of saying that I've had enough of this week. This week has been a soul sucking morass. I've written it down, and I'm glad that some of you commented to share it with me, and all of you read it. I'm glad that I have words, and I can turn my thoughts into them. And like all books, all things with permanence, I've had enough of this chapter, for now. I'm turning the page, to see a new title, and new events.
And were it not for a book, I would likely have lost my perspective on optimism entirely.
I picked up Madeline L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time Quintet two nights ago. And in typical Madeline form, she reminded me of the power of permanence:
There are still stars which move in ordered and beautiful rhythm. There are still people in the world who keep promises. . . That's enough to keep my heart optimistic, no matter how pessimistic my mind. [And you and] I have good enough minds to know how very limited and finite they really are. The naked intellect is an extraordinarily inaccurate instrument.
Madeline L'Engle, A Wind in the Door.