Do you have a passion, or something that you're particularly drawn to, but you have no idea why? Me too. I have a girlfriend who has a "thing" for frogs and another who collects clown dolls. She has them everywhere! Whatever floats your boat, right? Me, I've been collecting book and writing paraphernalia for ages. Over the years, it's turned into a wonderful collection of books, journals and bookends that I've found from all over. The books are many. They line my shelves and desks as do my prized bookends; one of my favorite, a pair of wonderful Foo Dogs that my husband picked up in Japan Town, when we were in San Francisco two years ago for World AIDS Day.
And then there are the journals... I love journals. I've been collecting them ever since my sister bought me my very first one as a gift for my twelfth birthday. I've never told her, but that very thoughtful gift changed my life. You see, growing up, I was an almost painfully shy child. It was very difficult for me to express myself, or speak up even. Writing became a wonderful outlet for me; a way for me to release all the feelings and thoughts I was too quiet to share. As I grew up, and my shyness faded, the desire to write never left me. Putting words and stories down on paper–it has become as natural and necessary for me as the air I breathe.
A few months back, with most of my journals and notebooks full, I started searching for one more to add to my collection. I'd been especially drawn to one in particular. It was without a doubt the most enchanting journal I'd ever laid eyes on; deep, emerald green with an embossed cover, and hundreds of blank white pages just begging to be filled. Every time I'd walk through that B & N door, I'd go straight to it hoping that it was still there. Naturally, it was too much money, so I'd just gaze a bit, then move on.
I never made mention of it, so you can only imagine my surprise when, Christmas day, I unwrapped a box with a beautiful gold ribbon, and inside it lay the journal. What a wonderful, unexpected surprise! Christmas truly is a magical time. It is late now, and as Christmas comes to an end and the sky outside grows dark, I turn on the table lamp that sits on my writing desk and reach for my new journal, its blank pages waiting to be filled with the magic of words, and stories too important to be forgotten...