Kumquat

And a balmy hello to you all (Mary, my father-in-law Peter, and maybe Ken)!

I have two things stuck in my craw at the moment. First, there was some bad weather last night, and the news channels dutifully broke into the evening programming to let us know that our homes and lives were in danger. They broke in when Dancing With the Stars and Glee were showing. Big, huge mistake. The local ABC affiliate said that they received mail with wording so strong, they couldn't read it on the radio! Apparently, people were irate that they had to wait awhile longer to figure out which washed-up has been was eliminated from a dancing show, or how the whiny kid on Glee would handle being nominated (or was it not nominated?) for prom queen.

Yes, how dare they give us warning to go to the basement, or let us know that our neighbors were in danger. What could they possibly have been thinking?

And this brings me to what's stuck in my craw: When did TV become so important to us as a society? What else could we be doing with our time? Seriously, people. With all the ways we can access our information, is it really a huge deal that the news stations decided to delay your TV gratification to give out pertinent and vital information? Is that worth a letter?

I'm not saying I don't watch TV. I do. Some days, I watch quite a bit. However, I like to think that I am emotionally unattached to the TV. If I came home and discovered my TV had been stolen, I wouldn't run out and replace it immediately. Sometimes I think that if I wasn't married, I might even go without owning a TV altogether. I would actually like to go a year without TV and see what happens. Maybe I'd write my novel (or at least a children's book), or take up hiking, or plant a garden, or at least read more books.

The main thing is that I'm afraid to bring children into a world where people write nasty letters to news stations for delaying the results of a stupid reality show, or an even stupider fictional show, in the name of providing potentially-life-saving information. That's all.

The other thing bugging me, sort of along the same lines, is that I'm afraid of bringing a child into a world in which they may someday see someone reading a book in an old movie and ask me, "Mommy, what is that man doing?"

There is nothing inherently wrong with technology, nothing at all. I owe a lot of the good things in my life--most importantly, the chance to have a relationship with someone halfway across the world--to technology. But I cannot express the sadness I have over what I think is the imminent extinction of the printed word.

A few weeks ago, Chris and I went to a Borders store on their last day of business. They were shutting down, presumably, because people are turning away from physical books towards e-books on Kindles, or their iPad or whatever. The store was a graveyard of literature. The woman working behind the counter seemed depressed about the closing of the store, and maybe a little shocked at how quickly it had happened. I was a little shocked, too.

So, I'm making a commitment. I will buy children's books now, and when my baby arrives, I will start reading to it immediately. Not from a Kindle, but from a real, tangible, colorful, paper book. And he or she will be able to turn the pages, and will appreciate the weight of a book in his or her hands. And if they stop making books altogether, I will make books for him or her.

I have about 7 1/2 months to learn how to make a book...
xo