I have a weakness for paper products. (Books, journals, pads, cards, sheets of paper, et. al.) In the last few years, I’ve realized this problem and put a stop to the ever growing burden of my shelves filled with empty journals and blank paper pads. The problem started in 1996 when TLBO, in an attempt to nudge me towards self-awareness gave me a journal for my birthday and it’s been spiraling out of control ever since. On last count, I had well over 30 empty books in which to write. The crisp pages silently calling out for the press of pen, some ink, and a story.

But there is one book that caught my attention last night. A simple, leather covered spiral notebook The Republican gave me back in another time and in another place.

Why this book?

This book is unique in my collection because there are words scribbled in it. Words from two people, a conversation, or rather, conversations, that have taken place over the years between two people that come together once or twice a year over dinner and a beer (or these days a martini, as I do love the martini these days.) There is nothing ground breaking in this book, nothing that will be of any interest, even to me. The words are not important, but the conversations are.

My friend, the other participant in this conversation is deaf and I do not know enough ASL to converse, so each time he comes to town, we arrange a dinner via e-mail and I grab the book from its shelf, slide a pen into the spiral rings lining one side and head off to dinner. The book is slid back and forth, words exchanged and stories shared. The truest form of conversation, without distraction from occupants of the neighboring tables. The very act of writing, the meticulousness of putting ink to paper forces the correct choice of words, forces the brain to work within constraints normal voice conversations do not.

After dinner, I add what little ASL I’ve picked up to my vocabulary, consider taking a class to learn even more before quickly discounting that idea and replacing the book to its shelf to await the next visit, the next dinner, and the next conversation forever caught on paper.