Out of curiosity I started clicking the "next Blog" button to see what other people are writing about. I have decided that they must group blogs by some unknown system whereby the bloggods have decided that a blog about joy is synonymous with a blog about babies and God. Every single blog that appeared was about the joys of parenthood or the joys of religion. I don't understand. I don't think I have really mentioned children (other than 18-21 year olds that sometimes act like children) or the big wo/man upstairs at all. The sociologist in me automatically sees bigger cultural messages that link the idea of joy to very specific cultural icons. As though I need to have babies to be joyful. I love babies. I think they are cute and hilarious. I would say that many of them bring me moments of joy. I am in love with my niece and miss her terribly...BUT...I am not connected to the idea that my life will be less full if I don't have a child of my loins.
I am also amazed at the number of blogs about children, G-O-D or both simultaneously. I guess blogs are the new family photo album. It is another thing I don't really understand. It seems scary to me to keep all your memories in an electronic medium. Call me old-fashioned but I like paper and tangible items. I like photo albums and framed pictures. I like handwritten letters. I won't buy electronic books because I think there is something wonderful about cracking open a book and turning the physical page of a book. I like the smell of library books. I like the yellowing edges of pictures. I like handwritten journals.
Don't mistake me...I am addicted to the technology of our lives. Facebook, blogs, digital pictures, itunes, television on my computer...etc. Those things all make sense to me. It is hard to remember what life was like before my cell phone and my email access, and for me there was a time before those things. That being said, I wouldn't give up books and letters and journals and photo albums. I want to someday have a library where every wall is covered in shelves and shelves of books. I want to be able to sit there surrounded by words written by so many different people from so many different times and places. I want to trail my finger along the spines of books and remember the amazing worlds they transported me to. I want my niece to someday open up a trunk full of my old letters and journals. I want her to run her hands over the pages that are yellowing. I want her to see how my handwriting changed over the years. Should I ever birth or adopt a child, I want them to get handwritten notes from me. I want them to flip through a baby book full of my thoughts about them and pictures of them. I want them to hold in their hands a tangible path of their lives.
Maybe it sounds ridiculous...but it is important to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment