Another Friday afternoon, another seat in the sun. This week I am not sitting at Powell’s (although yes, I did stop by there this afternoon) as I write this blog post. I am sitting on the seat of our tiny little front “porch” and the sun is still out even though it is almost 7:00pm and I do not hate it this time. I do not hate it at all. I am a delightfully normal temperature and the sun along with the recent spring weather has been kind of a life changer.
Although it snows a lot more in Maine and rains in Portland, I have decided that I think Maine and Oregon winters are more similar than most would like to think. There is the same grey weariness. The same feeling of extreme jubilation when the sun does finally come out again. I remember sitting outside on Colby’s campus soaking in the sun during the spring not just because it felt warm but because I actually felt as if my body was absorbing some much needed nutrients. It was regaining life again.
As I was sauntering back to the bus stop after my Powell’s visit on this beautiful, sunny, spring Friday afternoon I was feeling the usual “I’m-Leah-and-I-just-bought-a-new-book” self-satisfied smugness. I just get unbelievably excited to open a new book. There is so much anticipation, so much build-up. So much potential. I feel jittery inside.
I am realizing now, as I write this, that these are all things most normal people might use to describe their feelings about a new relationship. Unbelievably excited. Anticipation. Potential. The jitters. The fact that I equate these feelings with the relationship I have with my books is potentially extremely odd but also speaks to the magnitude of my feelings for them.
A new book is just a beautiful thing. As I was standing at the bus stop waiting for the 8 bus to arrive (another inanimate object with which I have a relationship, albeit one that is not nearly as clear cut and adoring), I pulled out the new book to start reading. I just couldn’t help myself. It was at this moment that I realized that whenever I start a new book, I do four things.
1) Run my hands across its cover. Look at the front, look at the back. Take a moment to feel its sheer physical presence in my hands.
2) Quickly glance over a few of the quoted reviews featured on the back cover or the first couple inside pages. This really helps add to the build-up and anticipation.
3) Do you remember way back when we learned about using books as resources in the library at school? There is this little index on the page with all the publishing information in a book and there you can find a section that has numbered categories specifying the different genres or themes that that particular novel fits into. I don’t know why this is something that I even remember exists, and I really don’t know why I always read it but I do.
4) I always always smell my book. Today at the bus stop I had a brief moment where I thought “maybe you should hold off on the smelling since you are in a public place and there are people around” but I did it anyways.
Sometimes we just need to sit in the sun and say thank you for existing, thank you for coming back into my life. And sometimes, you just need to stick your nose in a book and inhale. It’s the little beautiful things.