Bookmarks

The other day I noted that I have a copious collection of bookmarks. I have bookmarks that children have made for me in Sunday School; bookmarks that were placed inside books when I purchased them from Barnes and Noble or Borders; bookmarks that have been made out of card stock or cloth. I even have a book mark that my grandmother made more than thirty years ago.

Among the more embarrassing bookmarks I have used are:

A bookmark from Oprah's book club, in which I am invited to "become the best woman I can be" or to "nurture my inner woman." I don't go out in public with that one. Not a good beach bookmark for me.

A bookmark that is, actually, just a cereal box top . . . must have been an emergency bookmark at some point but got placed in my permanent collection.

A custom-made bookmark that someone gave me--has my name on it. Kind of cutsy, but I don't take it out in public either. I'd hate for someone to see me reading a book with a piece of paper sticking out of it that reads: "This book belongs to Todd Outcalt. If found, please return to Todd Outcalt. Signed: Todd Outcalt."

Of course, I only use bookmarks because I hate folding down the edges of the book to mark my place. (Book reading Pet Peeve #1.) I have to keep my books in pristine condition--sort of like my mind. Uncluttered, unmarked, used one time.