No Gate, No Lock

Read to Grow

"Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow."

~ Lawrence Clark Powell

Forgotten Bookmarks

I opened an old book at a used-book store and a hotel cocktail napkin with a room number printed on it fell out from between its pages. I imagined someone reading a book, being interrupted, and reaching for the nearest thing at hand to mark their place. What story did the napkin tell? I purchased the book solely on the basis of this forgotten bookmark.

Michael Popek runs a used and rare book store in New York. He began to collect the odd things left behind between the pages of the books he bought and sold. He describes them as treasures within treasures, like bits of random ephemera left inside books, often untouched for decades, which leave him with a misplaced sense of nostalgia.

He is the voyeuristic force behind a fascinating book, Forgotten Bookmarks: A Bookseller’s Collection of Odd Things Lost Between the Pages. In it and on his website, he shares his collection, offering a glimpse into other readers’ lives that they never intended for us to see, while withholding the full stories they tell.

I adore finding left-behind mementos in books. And to those who have ever left something behind in one, as well as to Mr. Popek for sharing with us his finds, I am indebted.

Touched By Books

"A library should be like a pair of open arms."   

                                           ~ Roger Rosenblatt

Bricolage

I love the beauty found in castoffs and things discarded. And I’m often compelled to repurpose and find function for mundane and quirky objects that become symbolic of something bigger simply in their arrangement. Anne Morrow Lindbergh understood this: “That had been their fourth time. She put four diamond buttons in an exact row on the windowsill.”

The French call it bricolage: making artful use of objects at hand in a way that instills new meaning or upholds a legacy or story.

I’m especially partial to objects in sets of threes, which is likely tied to my precious relationships with my three children. But what really takes my breath away is when I happen upon a “treasure of three” unexpectedly, either naturally occurring or something placed and forgotten by someone who came this way before. There seems to be a deeper significance than random arrangement would explain.

These kinds of items become sparks of inspiration, reminders of times past, and lovely connections to caring relationships. When I hold them in my hand, they feel relevant and seem to take up more room in my heart than I can explain.

I can think of a million reasons to look for significance and meaning in nature and simplicity, but I need only three.

Stars and Dreams

Last Wednesday I spent an incredible morning at the beautiful Frauenthal Center in Muskegon, Michigan, watching my brave autistic 10-year-old son perform with the West Shore Symphony Orchestra. When he got up the morning of the event, he didn't think he could handle it. He was concerned about auditory over-stimulation and performing in front of people. But he decided to give it a try.

And I'm so glad he did. It was an amazing experience, and I sat there for an hour with tears in my eyes, knowing it was not easy for Corban. I listened to him accompanying the orchestra on Mendelssohn's Nocturne, A Midsummer Night's Dream and singing the Toreador chorus from Bizet's opera Carmen.

Afterwards, I asked him what made him decide to go for it. He said, "Because I know how much you've always wanted to play with a symphony orchestra, Mom." It's true; that was always a dream of mine. Did my dream come true last Wednesday? Close enough!

National Grammar Day

National Grammar Day is Sunday, March 4th this year.

I can’t let this day go by without some sort of tribute to the importance of grammar. So to celebrate, I’m posting last year’s winner of the Editor Mark National Grammar Day Haiku Contest, which features the always entertaining homophone!

Spell-checkers won’t catch
You’re mistaken homophones
Scattered hear and their

                           ~ Gord Roberts