First Edition
When my grandmother died a couple of years ago, my grandfather asked me and my sister to take Grandma's books. I took all of her Pearl S. Buck, an amazing old copy og Evangeline, some collected works of Ibsen, and a copy of Ernest Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls.
I have been reading that last one for at least four years now. I only make a couple pages' worth of progress each time I pick it up because I invariably have no time for fiction, but it's always on my nightstand, and I'm going to finish it someday.
I noticed that I had made a water ring on the cover from leaving a glass of water on it a couple of nights ago, and as I was examining the damage I opened the front cover and saw the stamp my Grandma always put in the books she bought. Then I turned another page and saw that this copy was published in 1940. The book was published in 1940. Huh.
The book is just a little more special to me now, and I don't think the fact that it's a first edition is a good reason why. I think I miss my Grandma a lot, and I don't think I think about her often enough.
In fact, I don't think about anyone I know or knew enough. When I go home, I don't even think about visiting members of my family who are not my parents, nor do I call people I was close to in high school. I don't like talking on the phone, and writing letters takes too much time and I can never figure out what is important to say, but I think this is a deficient way to deal with people. It really upsets me, and I can't help thinking about it... and I don't know why this of the book is making me so sad.
I don't know what's going on with me at all.
I have been reading that last one for at least four years now. I only make a couple pages' worth of progress each time I pick it up because I invariably have no time for fiction, but it's always on my nightstand, and I'm going to finish it someday.
I noticed that I had made a water ring on the cover from leaving a glass of water on it a couple of nights ago, and as I was examining the damage I opened the front cover and saw the stamp my Grandma always put in the books she bought. Then I turned another page and saw that this copy was published in 1940. The book was published in 1940. Huh.
The book is just a little more special to me now, and I don't think the fact that it's a first edition is a good reason why. I think I miss my Grandma a lot, and I don't think I think about her often enough.
In fact, I don't think about anyone I know or knew enough. When I go home, I don't even think about visiting members of my family who are not my parents, nor do I call people I was close to in high school. I don't like talking on the phone, and writing letters takes too much time and I can never figure out what is important to say, but I think this is a deficient way to deal with people. It really upsets me, and I can't help thinking about it... and I don't know why this of the book is making me so sad.
I don't know what's going on with me at all.