I like my Kindle.
I like that it is portable, that it is light weight, that it hides what I am reading letting me read science or porn in public without having to explain it to people. I like that I can make the font bigger and give my eyes a rest.
I love books.
Really though. Love. Books.
I don’t just love reading. I mean, I love reading… but I really really love books.
Partly because of the, you know, reading.
Partly because of the sheer bookiness of books.
The way they look all stacked up on top of each other.
Or sliding down all over each other.
I love carrying books around in my bag.
It makes me feel like I am anchored to something beyond myself, connected to the other hands that have turned the pages and bent the binding.
I love knowing my the feel how much longer a book is… and therefore deciding if I am going to rush or linger.
“Read this when you have time”
“No rush to get it back, let it gather dust at your house for a bit… and give it a try if you ever have a moment.”
I love getting books in the mail. Or pulling them from slick plastic bags. Or unwrapping them from brown paper.
I love the way my shelves look for three or four days when I organize my books…. until I start pulling them out to show them to people or Ella starts pulling them out to play with them and they turn into random stacks on the floor of the wrong shelf.
I like reading books to Ella, having her help me turn the pages, having her point at the “cow” and the “moon” and the “clock.”
Ella and reading.
That is the main thing I currently love about books.
When I read my book and Ella sees me reading my book, she knows I am reading a book.
Not looking at a screen that could be Angry Birds, a FB thread about vaccines, work, play, or entertainment.
She knows I’m reading.
And she wants to be like me, she wants to read.
I love watching Ella “read” her books.
I love knowing that I have inspired in my daughter a sense of joy in reading.
A joy I could not have given her if I read all my books on my Kindle.