I belong to the group of people who love books. Nothing brings me as much joy as receiving a book as a gift. Believe it or not, not even diamonds. That’s right, not even diamonds.
I love stationery, I love office supplies. Legal pads, notebooks of any kind, paper, lined or plain white. I love them, I want them, I need them. I like to shop for them, buy them, smell them, rearrange them, use them and make lists for more. I like pens and pencils, mechanical pencils, fountain pens, specially those that fill from the bottle, and ink bottles. My late husband, may he rest in peace, knew this.
Maybe I am crazy. That’s what my colleagues and friends used to think anyway. They used to think I needed help, and that I should see a therapist. Crazy! Except my late husband. Being the artist that he was, not only did he believe in me but he also understood me so very well. I didn’t have to ask for anything or say anything, somehow he knew. He was the only one to get me a pen, a special edition pen, on our wedding anniversaries and make me crazy happy.
And now when I am overwhelmed with grief and feeling down I go to a stationery or a bookstore. Roam around and try to smell and touch and look and feel everything around me. That’s where I feel comfortable most, that’s where I feel I am in my element as I feel him with me and somehow everything seems to be different. Somehow life and the world seem to be better.
Margaret Young wrote:
“Often people attempt to live their lives backwards: they try to have more things, or more money, in order to do more of what they want and so that they will be happier. The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then, do what you need to do, in order to have what you want.”