Twice a year an event occurs which eclipses all in my world, the Exclusive Book sale. The universe in its eternal wisdom has placed the first sale just a day before my birthday and funny enough the second 2 weeks after my husbands. A month before it starts my body craves books; I go into a bookstore just to smell the ink, a mini fix before the real event.
As a member of the Fanatics club, I get to go to the preview on the night before the official start of the sale. A week prior to that children and husband are organised, nothing left to chance. Only another addict can comprehend how I’m feeling. My heart pounds, I don’t sleep, I’m jittery and I mention the sale at least once a day. The sale starts at 5pm and by 4pm I’ve reminded hubby to come home on time, I don’t want to be later than 5:30 and trust me that’s a huge compromise. If he’s late I’m unusually irritable, even angry.
By the time I get there I feel calm, I take a deep breath and start browsing, my fingers slip over spines, feeling their smooth un-creased virginity. Old friends call to me reminding me how much I enjoyed their company, new authors promise a better thrill. ‘I love you long time’, they purr.
I’m a methodical shopper. I start on one end and then slowly shuffle along making sure I don’t miss a book. There is solidarity with the other browsers, we recognise our fellow addicts. We dance around each other, getting closer and trading places with a quick step. Our eyes never leaving the tables, we don’t want to lose our place. Within half an hour, my arms are full. A man who is an obvious a newbie asks sarcastically if I want a trolley and then just looks at me when I say yes please. I have this silly demented grin on my face and he backs away slowly, aware of my madness.
I’m not an indiscriminate shopper I don’t buy everything I grab, I have a system, but that doesn’t stop me from spending too much as usual.
I normally go alone but this year Selina joins me. She’d arrived early and had already bought her books by the time I got there, but as a fellow addict by the time I’ve finished more titles have caught her eye and once again her arms are full too. I see the gleam in her eye at finding that novel that she’d wanted, but didn’t want to pay R250. The darting looks from table to table wondering what she’d missed. Finally, with a sigh we pay, and go have something to eat, ragged and weak from our ordeal, coming down from our high, bags laden.
I know that I’m not alone in my mania. We may not have the same addictions but I recognise the look on my sister’s face when she goes past a shoe shop, my husband’s glee at walking into a hardware store. It’s ok to have a little hit every once in a while as long as you don’t make a habit of it.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
A Jewish tale.
Tomorrow is A.K. my Tai chi instructors birthday so after class a few of us went for breakfast. Shelley, a Bulgarian Jew, who reminds me of an eccentric Italian mama, told us a story on why man lives for so long. Imagine it being told in a heavy Bulgarian accent to appreciate the full effect.
When God was creating the earth, He gave every animal a lifespan of twenty years and that included man. When mans twenty years were almost up he went to God and begged for a longer life. He had loved his life so much that he wanted to live for more than his allotted years. God shook His head and told man that it wouldn’t be fair to all the other animals if He made an exception for man. This made man very sad.
A few days later horse went to God and asked if He could make his life shorter. All he did was work and twenty years was too long to pull a plough and the cart. Please could he live for ten years and donate the other ten to man. God said He’d think it over.
Later donkey came to God and asked if his life could be made shorter by eight years and if he could donate the rest to man. Donkey was tired of carrying goods from place to place and he couldn’t bear to work so hard for another eight years.
Pig also saw God and asked for his life to be reduced, all he did was eat and he was bored, but God could give his remaining years to man. Rabbit asked the same thing, he was scared of the world, there were too many problems, and once again, he offered man his excess years.
A few more animals did the same and after God had added all the years’ together, man would get to live to 120 years old. God decided to grant them their wish. That is how man learned to live his first twenty years, with no cares and happiness. His next one hundred years; he worked hard like a horse, carried many burdens like the donkey, ate like a pig and was scared of life like the rabbit.
I loved the story even though it’s cynical like most Jewish tales.
When God was creating the earth, He gave every animal a lifespan of twenty years and that included man. When mans twenty years were almost up he went to God and begged for a longer life. He had loved his life so much that he wanted to live for more than his allotted years. God shook His head and told man that it wouldn’t be fair to all the other animals if He made an exception for man. This made man very sad.
A few days later horse went to God and asked if He could make his life shorter. All he did was work and twenty years was too long to pull a plough and the cart. Please could he live for ten years and donate the other ten to man. God said He’d think it over.
Later donkey came to God and asked if his life could be made shorter by eight years and if he could donate the rest to man. Donkey was tired of carrying goods from place to place and he couldn’t bear to work so hard for another eight years.
Pig also saw God and asked for his life to be reduced, all he did was eat and he was bored, but God could give his remaining years to man. Rabbit asked the same thing, he was scared of the world, there were too many problems, and once again, he offered man his excess years.
A few more animals did the same and after God had added all the years’ together, man would get to live to 120 years old. God decided to grant them their wish. That is how man learned to live his first twenty years, with no cares and happiness. His next one hundred years; he worked hard like a horse, carried many burdens like the donkey, ate like a pig and was scared of life like the rabbit.
I loved the story even though it’s cynical like most Jewish tales.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Addicted to book clubs?
I am a book addict (a bibliophile) and somehow I’ve become involved in three book clubs. I don’t really know how it happened they just sucked me in! Being part of these is another way to feed my habit, I am introduced to authors I never would have thought of reading, and they are fun too.
The first one that I joined was at my local library and it’s members are mostly over sixty, only Gwynneth the librarian and I are under fifty. It’s a comforting book club to belong to, no judgements, nobody competes for status we are all just there for one another. When Willie went to hospital, the ladies knew it was all right to call and ask me to drive them there for a visit. These women take one another at face value and are willing to go the extra mile. They are super supportive and always quick with encouragement. We talk about books, kids and grandkids, growing old gracefully and the hobbies they do to keep busy, which is mostly knitting. When I grow up, I want to be just like them.
I joined the second book club through an acquaintance, we started chatting about books during Joshes swimming class and she asked if I would like to join her for her ‘Books and Wine’ book club. I generally don’t drink so I was reluctant to go. Most of the book clubs I’d heard about involved mostly drinking and not much about books, and this one was no exception. Most of the members are German and we all know they love to go large when it comes to alcohol. Their redeeming factor was that despite the overindulgence they have fantastic personalities. Each girl (in true role reversal I’m one of the oldest in the group) is a professional, among them there’s a pilot, a nurse, a graphic designer and a teacher all are intelligent and competent. Most of us have children around the same ages so despite the cultural differences we have that in common. We talk about what’s happening in the world, our husbands, families and money. Sometimes I think we’re a little jealous of each other’s lives and the status held by some but our commonality holds us together. Plus they’re great fun, I laugh a lot when I’m there. After a while, I started to notice something strange, most of the girls at this book club seemed to have an older, better twin in my library book club. They are like the same people living in an alternate older universe.
My last and third book club was actually started by my friend Nisa and I, we wanted to get together some of our buddies and read something of substance. I have eclectic tastes and I tend towards the contemporary. It is here that I met the closest I’ve come to a literary soul mate. Selina and I love to read strange stuff. She’s challenged me with unusual novels and I hope I’ve done the same with her; she’s not as adventurous as I am but we’ll get there. Nisa is only just starting to get into the literate swing of things but we can count on her to say, “I haven’t read the book but I loved the movie.” We’re mostly Portuguese, which means we’re loud! It’s a peppermint tea and coffee book club, no alcohol. Funny I laugh as much if not louder with this bunch of girls and they’re just as professional as book club 2.
I think I belong to these because I needed to meet wonderful characters, great strong women who vary in age and class, all willing to give of themselves and have a lot of fun doing it.
The first one that I joined was at my local library and it’s members are mostly over sixty, only Gwynneth the librarian and I are under fifty. It’s a comforting book club to belong to, no judgements, nobody competes for status we are all just there for one another. When Willie went to hospital, the ladies knew it was all right to call and ask me to drive them there for a visit. These women take one another at face value and are willing to go the extra mile. They are super supportive and always quick with encouragement. We talk about books, kids and grandkids, growing old gracefully and the hobbies they do to keep busy, which is mostly knitting. When I grow up, I want to be just like them.
I joined the second book club through an acquaintance, we started chatting about books during Joshes swimming class and she asked if I would like to join her for her ‘Books and Wine’ book club. I generally don’t drink so I was reluctant to go. Most of the book clubs I’d heard about involved mostly drinking and not much about books, and this one was no exception. Most of the members are German and we all know they love to go large when it comes to alcohol. Their redeeming factor was that despite the overindulgence they have fantastic personalities. Each girl (in true role reversal I’m one of the oldest in the group) is a professional, among them there’s a pilot, a nurse, a graphic designer and a teacher all are intelligent and competent. Most of us have children around the same ages so despite the cultural differences we have that in common. We talk about what’s happening in the world, our husbands, families and money. Sometimes I think we’re a little jealous of each other’s lives and the status held by some but our commonality holds us together. Plus they’re great fun, I laugh a lot when I’m there. After a while, I started to notice something strange, most of the girls at this book club seemed to have an older, better twin in my library book club. They are like the same people living in an alternate older universe.
My last and third book club was actually started by my friend Nisa and I, we wanted to get together some of our buddies and read something of substance. I have eclectic tastes and I tend towards the contemporary. It is here that I met the closest I’ve come to a literary soul mate. Selina and I love to read strange stuff. She’s challenged me with unusual novels and I hope I’ve done the same with her; she’s not as adventurous as I am but we’ll get there. Nisa is only just starting to get into the literate swing of things but we can count on her to say, “I haven’t read the book but I loved the movie.” We’re mostly Portuguese, which means we’re loud! It’s a peppermint tea and coffee book club, no alcohol. Funny I laugh as much if not louder with this bunch of girls and they’re just as professional as book club 2.
I think I belong to these because I needed to meet wonderful characters, great strong women who vary in age and class, all willing to give of themselves and have a lot of fun doing it.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Gone to the dogs.
During the fireworks season my 12-year-old Daschund, Ally goes berserk. In previous years I’ve tried other things to keep her calm that haven’t worked, and this year I went to the vet to get something.
Who tests those little pills? Do they actually test them or are they just extremely expensive placebos for pet owners. You are lulled into a false sense of security that your pets will be drugged into a stupor and sleep through the whole explosive night. Recalling the conversation with the vet, he did say that each dog has a different reaction and that some don’t get affected at all… ahhh the plot thickens. Make me pay for the examination of two dogs, he wouldn’t give me medication without checking their hearts (R500) then give me sugar pills (R30 each). When they don’t work say, “Well I told you this might happen.” The start of a conspiracy theory, I think I should call Carte Blanche.
The vet recommended that I give the doggies the pills at 10pm, which meant that I’d have to leave the party, give them the pills and then drive back. My Dad was worried about drunk drivers and suggested I bring the dogs along, Dad can be very convincing, I agreed. The party started, the company was great; the conversation brilliant, the food tasty, the laughter and drinks flowed. Before we knew it, midnight struck and the fireworks started. My parents have a fantastic view of the city and suburbs and so we get the 360-degree visual display with accompanying stereo sound experience. It drives the dogs in the neighbourhood nuts and I was one of those doggy moms who stressed the whole of the New Year’s party.
Not only did Ally not become a calm, anaesthetised canine, even though I gave her both pills, she managed from the time we arrived at 8pm until we left at 3:30am to disrupt my evening. She scratched at the door so much she managed to remove the weather-strip. She barked, whined and tried to lick her gummy toothless way through the window. Mostly the guests ignored her and just put the music louder. My other daschie, Scratch accompanied her the whole night with his barking, locked away in another room. More stress for me.
My friend Selina, the psychologist would say I did it to myself; I chose to stress about how I thought people would react. At 11:30pm I grabbed her leash and we were attached to ourselves for the rest of the night. We made an odd twosome when I kissed hubby and the kids Happy New Year. Thinking back, the only people affected were my Dad and I. So that’s where I get the worrywart gene from!
Who tests those little pills? Do they actually test them or are they just extremely expensive placebos for pet owners. You are lulled into a false sense of security that your pets will be drugged into a stupor and sleep through the whole explosive night. Recalling the conversation with the vet, he did say that each dog has a different reaction and that some don’t get affected at all… ahhh the plot thickens. Make me pay for the examination of two dogs, he wouldn’t give me medication without checking their hearts (R500) then give me sugar pills (R30 each). When they don’t work say, “Well I told you this might happen.” The start of a conspiracy theory, I think I should call Carte Blanche.
The vet recommended that I give the doggies the pills at 10pm, which meant that I’d have to leave the party, give them the pills and then drive back. My Dad was worried about drunk drivers and suggested I bring the dogs along, Dad can be very convincing, I agreed. The party started, the company was great; the conversation brilliant, the food tasty, the laughter and drinks flowed. Before we knew it, midnight struck and the fireworks started. My parents have a fantastic view of the city and suburbs and so we get the 360-degree visual display with accompanying stereo sound experience. It drives the dogs in the neighbourhood nuts and I was one of those doggy moms who stressed the whole of the New Year’s party.
Not only did Ally not become a calm, anaesthetised canine, even though I gave her both pills, she managed from the time we arrived at 8pm until we left at 3:30am to disrupt my evening. She scratched at the door so much she managed to remove the weather-strip. She barked, whined and tried to lick her gummy toothless way through the window. Mostly the guests ignored her and just put the music louder. My other daschie, Scratch accompanied her the whole night with his barking, locked away in another room. More stress for me.
My friend Selina, the psychologist would say I did it to myself; I chose to stress about how I thought people would react. At 11:30pm I grabbed her leash and we were attached to ourselves for the rest of the night. We made an odd twosome when I kissed hubby and the kids Happy New Year. Thinking back, the only people affected were my Dad and I. So that’s where I get the worrywart gene from!
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