I don't own a Kindle and have never downloaded an eBook. I really doubt I ever will.
I am the little girl who sat under tall pine trees in a lawn chair during the summer with a library edition of The Melendy Family by Elizabeth Enright (which, by the way, I am still desperately trying to find a copy to call my own) and a Tupperware cup of lemonade and ice cubes I popped out of a plastic tray.
I have never lost that love. I truly cherish the feeling of turning pages and the smell of printed paper.
Call me crazy. Call me behind-the-times. Call me cheap. Or, you could read my essay at Club Mid. Turns out I am not alone.