oh, albatross: the card catalog

surely heaven is a library

July 10, 2013

in what is surely a sign of insanity with an upcoming move and all, i seem to have acquired several large and rather heavy books lately. but there is little i love more than the touch, feel and experience of a book. (i shall never be a kindle convert, as one of the best parts of packing for a trip is selecting the books to go along with it. usually an old friend, and a few new.) between the covers of these books are some truly exceptional pages.

what i really want is to sit side by side on the couch with you, a volume across our laps and flip slowly through the beautiful pages so we can feel them between our fingertips. books are for sharing, natch. but i will settle for sharing a few glimpses of my favorite pages. i wish i could truly translate the texture of the pages, the near reverence these books evoke.

from right to left (and in the same order below)

1. alice - as illustrated by leonard weisgard
2. the annotated alice - a lovely compendium of notes on the author, era and illustrator, along with segments from his original manuscript. (and here i must confess a bit of guilt, as i haggled a ridiculously low price for this volume for the reason that i already owned a copy. once i opened it, the paper stock almost makes my fingers shake and it's nothing less than pure joy to read. i shall not dicker over my next find from that dealer.)
3. mother goose - passed down from a good friend. gyo fujikawa illustrated one of my favorite childhood books and i still love her work today.
4. wildflowers - huge illustrated plates on paper that is both heavy and vaguely translucent all at once. this is the kind of book people part out plate by plate... but that would clearly be a tragedy of epic proportions.
5. and 6. beautifully illustrated bird books filled with full color plates. i consider these a necessity as they are such a great reference when i'm working on a particular bird species.

i hope you enjoyed these. i hope someday we can reach up on our tiptoes and make a gorgeous mess pulling all the books of the shelves. with cups of coffee balanced on the stacks, of course.

r

the never ending story

April 4, 2013

a picture book report by chuck groenink

i like this quite a lot.

xo. r

i'd like to meet you

September 14, 2012

this is the second in a short series where i imagine where and how i'd chance to meet my favorite authors.
the first can be found here: i'd like to meet you

madeleine l’engle. i’d meet you on a plane. we’d be seatmates, squeezed tightly, winding our bodies into that narrow little space. we’d both be calm, polite, reserved. somewhere on the plane, inevitably, someone will behave badly. and you’ll say something in response. but it won’t be snarky, or derisive. this is what will catch my attention. it will be understanding, accepting of human nature. and kind. so wise and kind. and perhaps we’d begin to chat. it would flow easily; you are interested in so many things. science and religion and faith and they way they’ve never lived easily with each other. when the plane landed, when we’d gathered our belongings, when we’d safely ducked the bulkheads, you’d reach to pat the back of my hand. your hands are powdery dry and softly wrinkled. and you’d say something, but it wouldn’t be goodbye. i don’t think you believe in goodbye.

xo. r

i'd like to meet you

August 20, 2012

i often lunch with a friend, a book by a favorite author. spearing salad or twirling noodles with one hand, absorbing the words from the book held by the other. and i found myself wondering just where i might meet my favorite authors. how would we meet, what might be said? i couldn't get the thought out of my head. i wrote a few down. it made me feel better. i rather felt we had met...

roald dahl... i’d meet you while i’m sitting on a bench in a park, or waiting for a bus. i think you’d amble by and slowly, awkwardly sit, old knees creaking, a pancake cap on your head. i think you’d speak first. a remark in passing, perhaps on a passerby. you’d use a word like frumptious or gloozy or grobscroppling, you know the way you make your words work for you. you may not smile, not once during the whole conversation. i don’t picture you smiling, i don't think you often do. but by the time we part ways, i’d surely be grinning, a rumbly chuckle threatening to well up and over. it would stay with me all day.

xo. r

sacre bleu

August 14, 2012

sacre bleu by christopher moore.
clever word play aside, he brings the impressionists alive.
they become so very real, relatable and infallibly human
something never quite achieved in the lecture halls and history books.

xo. r