Erica and I gossiped our way through a lunch of Sezz Medi pizzas the other day and then ducked in to the TC bookstore to look for, as Erica so perfectly put it, a "fat pencil." (She's tutoring a child sadly lacking in fine motor skills and was on a mission to find a bigger, better writing instrument for him.)
The lovely bookstore ladies helped us find what we were looking for and then, though pressed for time, we both paused in the notebook section and stood there for a moment running our fingers over the covers, up and down the spiral bindings.
I started to explain to her my longtime love for notebooks, the different colors, the different covers, the single and multi-subjects, and how very grown up I'd felt when I made the switch, back towards the end of elementary school, from wide to college ruled paper. She nodded seriously and said, "Yeah. Didn't it make you feel like you just knew so much?"
Yeah, it did. And it took a long time to figure out how little I really knew, even if I did write only in college-ruled notebooks after that.