Nooooooook

One of the girls I work with got a Nook Color from her dad for Christmas. Esthetically, the thing looks like the younger sibling of an iPad. Its specs offer five gigabytes of available hard drive space, a full-color, 7-inch touch screen to download and read books, newspapers and magazines, and has full wi-fi capabilities. The five gigs of memory can hold 6,000 books or up to 100 hours of audio.

I adore the idea of the ease and portability of 6,000 books. But the silly and practical side of me got to thinking about how reading, to me, and countless others, positively, is a multi-sensory experience. I love everything about reading. I know we've covered this a head-splitting number of time, but browsing the isles of book stores brings me an over-abundance of joy. But that is just the very beginning. "Reading" isn't just a verb to me, it's a mood, it's an ambiance. It's the smell of the pages, whether they're virgin or well-loved and read gazillions of times. It's the texture of the binding, and the crinkle of each turning page. It's a day off spent under the covers, or a Friday night in, taking a bubble bath so relaxing you fall asleep reading, allowing the bubbles to consume you and your papery companion.

Considering my tactile obsession, I think I will never get a Nook. Well, I shouldn't say 'never', because you know how that goes. I digress. But even more in the argument of traditionally bound books, I love the way all of these tactile things add to the mood of reading. In the throes of a deepening plot, I can't wait to turn the page and see what wise thirteen-year-old Anna says next in "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult. Or what Harry's next move will be in the battle against Voldemort in the last book of the Harry Potter series. I also very much enjoy basking in the construction of the artful use of the English language. In "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert (shameless plug number 229398483), I have come away reading that book each of the four times that I have feeling fulfilled, like I have just sat down and enjoyed a beer with a friend I haven't seen in a while. "Smoke Jumper" by Nicholas Evans is another solid example of literary artistry. He weaves the lives of three individuals so tightly in a very briskly-paced story that you have no time to consider the twist in the end. Authors that posses the ability to envelop your senses that entirely are really worth their weight in gold.

Or in the book I literally put down an hour ago, "My Sister's Keeper", Jodi Picoult skillfully maneuvers her way through the book, carefully crafting the points of view of the family members, officials of the law, and medical professionals traversing a difficult medical and ethical pickle. The youngest child of three, Anna, decides after thirteen years of being held responsible for her sister's health, that she no longer wants to shoulder that responsibility, and will be suing her parents for the medical rights over her body. Anna, by the way, is a perfect genetic match, genetically created by her parents to help keep Kate, Anna's older sister, alive through an aggressive and long-winded battle with a rare form of leukemia. The story is just plain believable because of the way Picoult draws out the details in her characters and progressive situations.

One last example comes to mind. Photography is another passion of mine. I don't claim to be Ansel Junior, I promise, but it's a hobby nonetheless. In the same way this Nook contraption is taking the world by storm, digital photography has as well. I see many benefits in its defense, but I also see film photography as something of a lost art. I understand, technology is forever evolving, and in most cases, I highly appreciate it. But I also know that I'm an old soul when it comes to some things. And my one favorite thing is the tangibility of a deliciously papered book. Preferably with lots of dogears and highlight marks and notes in the margin.

2011

I don't know what I'm going to do with myself..two blogs written in less than 24 hours? Who am I?

Quite literally, I'll tell you who I am. I'm a makeup artist. A sister, daughter, niece, and granddaughter. A friend. I'm a best friend. I'm a carb fanatic. I'm a girlfriend. A military girlfriend at that. I am strong. I'm stubborn, but sympathetic and sensitive. I am smart, determined, and hard-working. I am respectful, loving, and loyal. I am proud. I'm a gym go-er. I'm a dreamer and a do-er. I am dependable. I'm a writer and a photographer and a thinker.

The last year that Brian has been away has given me time to do me, to take care of the things that I want to take care of. I have made strides towards those things, and for what I have accomplished, I am proud. For the things that I have yet to achieve, I have plans. In the last year, I have had periods of loneliness, frustration and doubt. But I am thankful for those times. The grief I've gone through has made the swings of happiness that much more fruitful. I will always remember right after Brian left last year, I thought I would never genuinely feel happy until he came home for good. Time passed, I busied myself, and what do you know - I found myself smiling and truly enjoying the time I had for myself. I was shaken to my core, and brought to my feet. All of the perceived negative was readying me to be able to enjoy and appreciate the moments, both small and large.

I have also been allowed time to figure out who I am. I can relate to good ol' Liz Gilbert (the author of 'Eat, Pray, Love') when she's explaining that she just doesn't want to be married anymore. She hadn't been without a male counterpart for more than two weeks in ten years. This terrified her because she had no idea who she was anymore. I, also, have been in relationships for the last seven or eight years (at varying levels of maturity, of course). This realization didn't scare me to the depths that it did Liz, but I knew that if I would have to be separated from the man that I love, now is, without a doubt, the best time for that to happen.

After I got home from the trip, I was having a really difficult time being away from Brian. We had the most fantastic time together. The trip, I felt, brought us closer than ever before. We were inseparable for two weeks and it felt incredible. Then the time came for me to return home. I got home and immediately went back to work. What a stark difference of scenery and emotion. It was like quitting something cold turkey. One day, you're holding his hand and the next, you're wondering if it was all a beautifully cruel dream. I had no motivation to go to work, to work out, to eat right as I had been. I cried way more than I would have liked. I was so upset, and I didn't know how to 'snap out of it'. Finally, I realized that this period would very closely resemble his leaving last year and I would probably have to remind myself how to be without him again. How to be patient, strong and independent. The thought was unbelievably daunting. 

But here we are, 1 month, 12 days after the trip and I'm very nearly back to normal. I laugh a lot more than I cry, I am eating well again, and getting back into my normal gym routine. I'm generally a happier girl these days. It feels good to be back to the old me, and I'm honestly looking forward to everything the new year has for me. In true cheese style, I'll say this:

Damn, it feels good to be me.