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Happy Birthday Kindle

My Kindle just celebrated her first birthday. She’s all grown up with nearly a hundred books in her library, several read and stacked away in the archive. Oh how she loves books. I downloaded three in one night as a present for her. She was pleased and so was I.

We have established a solid relationship, close to a symbiotic tie, I’d say. In fact, so coupled are we, that I sometimes need “space.” Much to her dismay, I’ll read a book from my still over-tall 3D TBR stack. Then I’ll return to her. She never berates or judges, complains that she has missed me, or that I have neglected her. How fortunate I am. And how guilty I feel when I shut her out for a few days. I didn’t tell her, for example, about the sensory deprivation I’ve been feeling of late or my trip to Barnes & Noble last week. It was her birthday; I didn’t want her to be upset. I felt guilty and disloyal. I wandered the store without a clear purpose. No, not true. I did have a purpose. One of the birthday presents I’d downloaded was Marilynne Robinson’s “Home.” The prose is poetic so I wanted to slow down. This is a bit hard for me to do on my Kindle. I don’t know why.

And I missed the paper, the smell of the paper, the artwork on the cover, the turn of the page. I rushed to Barnes & Noble like an addict to her dealer, an alcoholic to her bar. I picked up the book and bought it. Ecstasy.

So now I have the book in two places: on the Kindle and in my hand. Please, Kindle, forgive me. And Happy Birthday.

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