The Smell of Meaning

As you may know, the past few days I have been holed up in my house since roads have been hazardous with all the snow and ice. For two days it was impossible to go anywhere. My own driveway was an empasse. Yes, I did get out and walk. It was quite beautiful. But, I spent a lot of time in the house admiring the winter scape from the window.

I watched some tv, but most of it looked like manic self-indulgence unchecked. The recent Grammy Awards being more akin to a meth high than a celebration of the arts, by way of example. So, at last, I resorted to comfort foods, a blanket, and a book. And it was as I lay there reading one of my favorite authors, Borges, it occurred to me how much I love to hold a book in my hands. It has a certain weightiness in my hands. I have to adjust my laziness on the couch in order to keep holding it. I have to turn the pages. And then I wanted to lie on my side and read. I have to adjust the way I hold the book. It was a wrestling match I found so familiar, and actually comforting.

I realize this is the way I grew up. I held books. I escaped into them. I wrestled with them. I loved to walk through the university stacks and just smell books. It was like a perfume to me. Maybe a mixture of the paper, the ink, the glue binding. Old books smell like the past they came from.

Young people, perhaps make the transition to cyber-space easier than I. I was born into a world of heavy, smelly books. I loved laboring to hold them and turn the pages. There is something special about holding a book. Turning its pages. I suppose a rose by any other name might smell as sweet; Borges, on an IPad may resonate as well as on paper. It's a generational thing. I grew up loving the book.

Some are old school. Some are new school. Some, like me, ride the fence. Cyberspace has its own kind of richness. I have made some friends there, that's for sure! I try to keep up, although I am woefully behind my children. I am their pre-digital parent, trying to keep up. I am amazed to see the things they do. I love the whole idea of cyber-space. But, I must confess my covert, guilty pleasure is to hold an old book in my hands. To lay it down sleepily upon my face. And fall asleep smelling the meanings I would read about tomorrow.