Vade Mecum; a book for ready reference or something regularly carried about a person. Vade Mecum is a latin phrase meaning go with me. The first known use of the phrase VadeMecum dates back to 1629, in which the item it was named after could also be called monk book. Imagine this book in all its leather-bound and stained glory. An item which emits a pleasing leathery scent and holds within its casing a collection of fibrous pages. This beautiful book piece can be made into high quality – one so great that it can throw the beholder back in times of castles and churches, where robe-wearing believers spent their time scripting away in candle lit rooms. Where the only other light source was that of the suns rays shining through the stained glass, illuminating the portrayals of religious scenery of love, life or horror.

A journal like a Vade Mecum could prove to be the perfect gift. A gift which takes its form but holds a sort of treasure within its sentimental utility. The value of this book could also prove frightening for those who are unfamiliar to writing, for its journaling purpose chronicles the passing of time that ultimately concludes with the writer’s death. Yet here this treasure lied, resting upon a plastic table around a hundred others, only waiting to be purchased away from its creator – a middle aged woman sitting upon her lawn chair, behind the table, happily shaded away from the summer sun by her booths tent.

In a somewhat humorous contrast, there I was, on the opposing side of this woman’s table. I stood on that downtown Portland road where I was left vulnerable to the sun’s heat. The pits of my arms had already stained my shirt, and the crowd of people behind me – who flowed through the streets of this fair like a steady stream – emitted a gross collection of body heat which only further developed the production of sweat drops under my hairline. One could easily imagine the discomfort I could have felt in that time, yet my mind did not bother for such physical pitties; for, you see, my mind was fixated solely on the depth and beauty of this leather bound book.

In these similar moments I could also feel the woman’s own sight fixated on me, through her large, egg-shaped sunglasses. Perhaps this vendor was only on her toes to make a sale, but I had always enjoyed imagining that she could see my soul – one so often enchanted by ideas of mysticism and escapism. Perhaps the piqued curiosity I portrayed only screamed to her how much of a potential customer I might have been – if not for the fact that I was a broke high-school student at the time (not much has changed since then). Alas, the continuation of my Portland trip had returned, and it was only because of the price of a Vade Mecumm that I had left the city empty handed.

TIme passed by leading to the entry of a new year. It was January 18th, a day of dreary weather, however the greyness of such a day had no effect within the atmosphere of my home. That day was one in which my eldest brother had visited me, and in his hands was a gift as easily receivable as his likeable personality. This brother of mine had dropped onto my lap the familiar shape which I had seen so many months ago. I looked upon the gift, in all its leathery goodness, and immediately opened it to smell its pages once again. I had recieved my first monkbook, my own Vade Mecum, and I had applied my pen to it as soon as I was once again alone. Little did I know at the time of the experience that would follow the next year.

The receiving of this gift was my own turning point. I had not journaled before, yet I knew it as traditional to start each entry with the date. The process of filling these pages had turned into what seemed like the unravelling of my own story. I had scripted my life’s ups and downs and before I knew it, when coupled with this program, I was in the middle of an existential crisis. However negative it may seem, such an experience is enlightening, and I had developed a level of self-consciousness that had never been there before.