As much as I love well crafted leather notebooks, or the bits and bobs that come with mixed media art making, there’s something refreshing about relying on humble tools like a yellow note pad and a pen that was liberated from the local bank.
“You can’t get too precious about these things, deary.“ That’s what my inner Granny says to me when I stare at the rows of empty, albeit beautiful, notebooks in my room. If I’m being honest, I think she’s right.
I’d me remiss if I didn’t mention the other voice in my head who has also made her opinion known. Yeah, yeah, yeah, so I have multiple voices in my head. Is that really a surprise? Let’s move on, shall we?
Gertrude is the “precious” one. She embodies the part of my brain that knows how messy life can be and does everything in her power to organize and clean LIFE, all of it, just in case that ends up being the secret sauce to life. Not only is she afraid of spilled ink. She’s afraid of messy unfiltered comments, like the ones Granny makes, loudly, and often.
“Best to be prudent about these things,” Gertrude tells Granny, “allow those gorgeous perfect notebooks to remain unsullied.” Granny rolls her eyes but Gertrude continues anyway. “They’re too beautiful to muck up with stray thoughts. Surely you understand that.”
Without making eye contact, Granny counters, “Gertrude, dear, wouldn’t you agree that those notebooks are worthy of a more worthy existence than to become dust collectors or table top tchotchkes?” Gertrude blinks a few times before she begins dusting, again.
I’ll be honest, we all know that Granny is right. Some of us are just more comfortable in denial than others.
Granny, unwilling to be ignored, clears her throat. She’s gearing up for the punch. Peering at us from over her half moon spectacles she annunciates every syllable. “Either use them, or lose them.”
Suggestion time is over. It’s time to take action. There’s just one problem. I can’t seem to say goodbye, or hello for that matter!
So for the time being, I’ll move the most beautiful of notebooks to my writing table. Whether I do anything with them is still up for debate. At least on my desk they’ll be safer from Granny, and who knows, perhaps their gorgeous covers will inspire the words I’ll write down on my $2 yellow note pad with my commandeered pen from the bank down the road.
Time will tell.
P.S. Do me a favor. Don’t tell Granny about my fountain pen collection. 😳
Recordings will resume when I’m back at my desk!
