This page asks you to have a friend destroy it. Heather did a nice job of it, which I am sure was very difficult for her. I did the same to her’s, in return. She wimpered and flinched at every crumple and tear. Too funny!
Last May I finally got off my “what the hell kind of sister are you” ass and went to visit Jenn in San Francisco. It was so much fun! I was really glad that I was able to spend time with her before she moved to Connecticut. We saw movies, and went to the de Young Museum to see this amazing exhibit on Vivienne Westwood. Incredible! I loved every moment we were able to spend together.
I love you, Nenny!!
Heather sent me a comment the other day saying that she cracked the spine of her book and that is was the hardest thing for her to do. That cracked me up. I love books that look like they have been carried with someone through all the days of their life. The crinkled, bent edges, the occasional finger print in the margins, the cover peeling apart; all these things tell their own wonderful story about the journey this book has traveled with its reader. I like to imagine the person flipping to their favorite passage, over and over, so that the book, eventually, opens to that page, automatically. I like to picture them trying to cook and read at the same time, because they just can’t put it down, and the pages get stuck together with brownie mix or spaghetti sauce. I love finding notes or comments in the margins of used books. Especially the books that used to be my grandma’s. I cherish those like they were bars of solid gold. I can imagine her discussing, very animatedly, the themes of greek mythology or Shakespeare. I like the memories of her these books bring to life. So I say, don’t worry about a bent corner or a torn page. These are the things that will be cherished. These are the things that will show that this book has been loved.
Heather and I bought these journals together, last night. I have decided to document the destruction, demise, downfall…what ever you want to call it…of this journal.
Here is the beginning.
Poor, poor journal. It has no idea what is in store.