A new word for something I don’t do.

Twice this week I have heard the term “marginalia” used to describe the notes scribbled in the margins of a book.

Even though the dictionary says it has been used since 1832, I’d never heard it before and now it’s one of my new favorite words.

Marginalia. Marginalia. Marginalia.

Go ahead, try saying it. Don’t you love the way it sounds?

I may like the word, but I don’t do it. Write in the margins, that is.

Books as sacred to me, something to be kept pristine and respected.

I don’t write in them. I never fold the corners of the pages down. I even take the jackets off hard cover books when I read them so they don’t get dinged and dented.

There are a lot of bibliophiles who would disagree with me, believing that a dog-eared copy of a book is a sign that it is well-read and beloved.

And since most books are written to make people think and feel, it makes sense that marginalia is a compliment to the author.

But I can’t bring myself to spoil their appearance like that, especially books I treasure.

They’re just too beautiful to mess up with my silly thoughts.

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