Why I love notebooks

We have been waking up to the canyon dampened with moisture from the Marine Layer. When we take Mango for a morning walk, the ridges of the mountains are partially invisible behind the mist. What we can see is slowly turning green after the torrential rain we had a few weeks ago. I pass by some of my favorite oak trees along the trail, their leaves a deeper green against the veil of the fog, with sturdy trunks and branches that resemble wise elders.

I return home and hang the just-washed clothes from our laundry machine on a clothesline. I am greeted by the steam rolling upwards from the freshly cleaned towels as I line them up neatly on the cord. Before my BK work, I wrap up my morning routine by feeding a school of goldfish. I toss a handful of their food into the pond and sit nearby to watch the floating flakes, yellow and red, disappear as goldfish glide across the water.

In the evening, I step outside for some fresh air before going to bed. I decide to linger around a bit longer, wondering where the sound of something falling consistently comes from. How odd… I wonder, “Is it the sound of the larger-than-my-hand sycamore leaves as they fall from a few hundred feet above?” Then I realize that it’s the sound of a faint drizzle hitting the canopy of our ancient oaks and sycamores above me, barely touching the ground (or me) underneath the trees because the overlapping leaves are so thick above our garden. Then I look up the other direction, where there is an opening in the canopy, and I see a moon brightly lit. I can't comprehend… How can I have a clear enough sky to see the moon yet hear the drizzle of rain? I find a sit spot just to be… tossing the questions around in my mind until I get a sense that perhaps I am in the presence of the moisture transforming into dripplets.

“Here too. The invisible turning into something I can see and hear”, I think to myself.

My thoughts wander to all the notebooks I've used in the past and stored in a vintage trunk, the one I am about to finish, as well as the ones I am currently binding by hand. They are also a kind of magical medium, just like moisture in the air. Whether I am trying to wrangle with the time I have in my day through my planner, letting the subconscious emerge through a stream-of-consciousness writing, capturing ever-fleeting thoughts that come to mind while I walk on the trail, or adding a family photo to a spread to remember special moments…, they are all my ways to turn the invisible into something I can hold in my two hands.

That is one of many reasons why I personally feel obsessed about notebooks… and continue to feel incredibly passionate about sharing them. I want to be a bridge between the visible and invisible world through a notebook as a medium - to help those on the other side of the notebook experience awe.

As autumn slowly gives way to winter in the upcoming months, and our internal clock starts to slow down, I hope you'll join me in continuing to explore the depth that notebooks bring to us. We can think of them just as a stack of paper bundled together, or something a little more… for us to witness the metaphorical moisture transforming into a water droplet.

It’s magic… and it’s beautiful....

-wakako

always a metamorphosis in progress...

Topanga // November 6th, 2025

P.S. Have you had an experience of witnessing those moments when moisture transformed into a water droplet in your world? If you feel called to, please share your story with me. It can be literal or metaphorical, and there is no right or wrong answer to this.   (wakakotakagi@gmail.com)

Where Art Becomes Language // Erin

Messages From the Darkroom // A.C.

Special Delivery // Frido

Thank you, Nerine & Eunice! // wakako

More stories from Recipe of Baum-kuchen via Substack