Confessions

I'm not confessing to murder, fraud, illicit sex or anything like that. Sorry - what I'm confessing is far more boring.

Confession1: For years, I turned the upper corner of a book's page to keep my place. Worse, I even did it to library books.

In my family all books were sacred. My grandfather, who was a grouch except with me, with a new book would open it page by page by running his finger down the inside spine. 

Confession 2: Once when angry with my grandfather, I tore a page from one of his books, tore it in tiny pieces then hid them. I lived in terror that he would find out, but he never did. 

Fast forward several decades. My husband and I were at the Montreux Christmas marché. Montreux is on the lake with Alps in the background. The stands sell a bit of everything including packets of Canadian Poutine gravy mix that Rick loves. Making it in Europe is cheaper than traveling to Montreal.

The back of one the stands looked like a library, filled with diffèrent colored leather books, but they weren't for sale. The vendors made bookmarks, not any bookmarks, but beautiful golden metal ones. Designs included animals, flowers, but the one that caught my eye had a book on a feather.

In the past, when I tried to use paper bookmarks they often fell out or went missing. I would then go back to my corner-folding evil ways. 

However, if I paid 35 Swiss Francs ($45) for this bookmark, I was sure I would take care of it. 

Three years later, I still find a pleasure, when I'm reading in bed and almost asleep and even if I want to read one more chapter, I reach for that bookmark and get a shiver or pleasure for the memories of the marché.