Over the weekend I’ve been doing some sorting out. It’s not a job I enjoy, the dust and mess is something I avoid like the plague. But nonetheless it had to be done. I love books in all forms, digital, paperback and hard bound books, their pages reveal the world and you can be there in an instant. Well written descriptive books are very intimate they melt into your mind and subconscious and shape your thinking and view of the world.
People have lost their lives to produce and distribute information in the form of books and pamphlets, whether it was aimed to preserve the Bible’s writings or fighting for a cause. The written word is powerful.
“A drop of ink may make a million think.”
~ George Gordon Byron ~
So with that thought in mind, books were the focus, old books with yellowed edges and smelling of dampness. This is the only downside to books if you live near the sea, they just absorbed the moisture in the air and before long they start to deteriorate.
This particular book was an old copy of ‘The Untold Story – Howard Hughes’ I remembered reading it, quite a fascinating read. I opened the yellowed pages and to my surprise I found three pressed flowers distributed through the book.
I had a habit when I was younger of putting flowers in books to preserve them, usually it was of a special event or someone I really cared about gave them to me. My dear old Mum would do it and I believe Granny Lewis (my mother’s mother) did it too. So the habit has been handed down. Some don’t like the thought of a book being used for such ends but a book becomes personal after you read it. At one time I would put money in books for safe keeping, but stopped that habit years ago.
And with that thought in mind, I instantly remembered why I had put the flowers there. I couldn’t believe that I had forgotten them. It’s fascinating how the mind works, many times I’ve looked at that book and thought I should throw it out or take it to ‘goodwill’ but something always stopped me.
I scanned the front matter of the book for printing dates; there it was… First Printing, March, 1996 the year my husband died. Up to this point I have been very comfortable writing about it, after all it’s over nineteen years ago.
However when I typed the year I found tears were filling my eyes, that’s one reason I hate sorting out stuff, memories surface… happy and sad.
“Remember me like a pressed flower in your notebook. It may not be having fragrance, but will remind you of my existence forever in your life.”
~ Unknown ~
But I’ll glad I found these flowers and the book, I might just read it again or maybe download another copy onto my Kindle Reader…leave the original in a time warp.