Libraries and Bookstores

I own and have read an obscene number of books.  I share and I donate many to my church for our annual bazaar but I still have too many.  Another weeding-out project awaiting me in the new year.

As habits go, it's not a bad one but I must be frugal.  No more strolling through the bookstore and buying whatever strikes my fancy.  So, today I dusted off my library card.  Did you know that you can practically check out an unlimited number of books?  Seriously, I asked.  The limit for one visit is something like 125 books.  I want to interview the person who does that.

It's not the same as cracking open a brand new book and enjoying the tactile experience.  But it's pretty darn close.  (And free.)  I found several titles in my favorite categories.  My nightstand stack is full.

Now I must learn not to dog-ear the pages or write in the margins.  I can't afford to have them revoke my privileges.

Defining The Successful Life

An attorney I know recently recommended a book to me. He's familiar enough with many of the issues in my life so I took his recommendation to heart and checked it out of the library. The book is "Living A Life That Matters," by Harold S. Kushner. The subtitle is "Resolving the Conflict between Conscience and Success." This is the same author who wrote, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," which I also read.

I wholeheartedly recommend this book. It is an interesting mix of history, biblical tales, psychology and human interest stories. Anyone who struggles with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other will identify with many of the examples. (If you are not one of these people, please let me know your secret.)

It is a great testament to the impact our lives have on others, even when we are unaware of it.

Finding Stuff Everywhere

My church bazaar is coming up. This is our big event of the year. I may or may not attend this year because the husband will be recovering from surgery. He's a pretty strong guy so maybe if I drop him at the club, I can pop over there for a while.

I've filled up my dad's truck with donations and I still have more to come. I've requested boxes from my local drug store and taken them to church. (I'm sure the church appreciates that they're all liquor boxes but hey, they are the sturdiest ones.)

Yesterday, I ran into a friend in the parking lot. Our cars were parked side by side. I commented on the stuff in the back of her SUV. She said, "I'm headed to get rid of it at Goodwill." I have no problem with Goodwill -- I give them tons. But now, I'm in bazaar mode. She gave it all to me to add to the bazaar.

A couple of the things are so cute that I may have to try them on before I decide if they go to the church. I'm trying to be a good steward but I am not a saint. If those pants she bought in Rome fit me, I'm keeping them.

My drug store manager friend is saving more boxes for me. I have been accumulating piles of more stuff to add. I'm trying to do my part.

I've been doing this for many years and one of the biggest hits seems to be my books. Some church members go through them before the bazaar and pick what they want. (They pay for them.)

I walk for charities. I donate to various causes. In honor of my oldies, I support many veteran organizations. For the next ten days or so, I'm all about the bazaar.

I hope I get to go.

My Favorite Shopping

I do not care to shop. I find grocery shopping a huge pain and shopping for clothing is depressing. They make nothing for women my size or my age. Either I must settle for something designed for a teenager or a dowdy old woman. I am neither. Plus, I'm cheap so I refuse to pay astronomical prices.

I like to shop at Target. I can usually find everything I need and a few things I didn't know I needed.

When we go to Phoenix, I like to shop at Last Chance. I stock up on tanks and usually find some cute shoes. I own more coats than any human being should have but I always find great bargains in Phoenix.

My favorite shopping is the bookstore. I hoard my gift certificates and save them for a few trips each year. Just walking through the door, all my senses come alive. I love the sight of my favorite authors' names on a new release. I love the feel and smell of new books.

Then I bring all of my new friends home and prioritize them. I restocked yesterday and I've already chosen the ones I will take to the lake.

Six-Word Memoirs

On one of my many treks through the bookstore, I stumbled upon a little book, "Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure." This is from the introduction:

Legend has it that Ernest Hemmingway was once challenged to write a story in six words. Papa came back swinging with, "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." Some say he called it his best work. Others dismiss the anecdote as a literary folktale. Either way, the six-word story was born, and it's been popping around the writing world for years.

I'll share a few of my favorite six-word memoirs from the book:

Aging late bloomer yearns for do-over. Sydney Zvara
Thought long and hard. Got migraine. Lisa Levy
Wasn't born a redhead; fixed that. Andie Grace
Came, saw, conquered, had second thoughts. Harold Ramis
Followed rules, not dreams. Never again. Margaret Hellerstein

Of course, I had to play along. I wrote one for me:

You alone will not defeat me.

Then, I wrote another one:

Rose-tinted glasses color my world.

Then I wrote one about the husband:

Big ego might hide true pain.

On to the oldies. I started with the Belle:

My South is my perfect paradise.

And for Hangdog:

Looking for Belle. Now and forever.

I've written many more. What would yours be? It's a fun exercise but I must caution you, it's addictive.

A Love of Reading

While doing some research today, I stumbled on some statistics that shook me. Just because there's that old joke, "Statistics prove statistics are true" doesn't stop the fascination.

Here are a few that caught my interest:

1/3 of high school graduates never read another book for the rest of their lives.
80 percent of U.S. families did not buy or read a book last year.
70 percent of U.S. adults have not been in a bookstore in the last five years.
Each day in the U.S., people spend 4 hours watching television, 3 hours with the radio and 14 minutes reading magazines. (Books didn't even make the survey.)

I love to read. Anything! The last time I was in a bookstore, which was just a couple of days ago, my friend said, "Should I get a UHaul?" I have stacks and stacks waiting for my attention. They are my friends.

It's not just books. After I hit the "on" button for coffee, my next priority is the newspaper. I must read certain magazines. (I don't know half of the people they're profiling as stars in People Magazine but I still read it.) I actually like reading business plans. I miss the days when the teenagers in my life wanted me to read and comment on their essays.

Like all of you, time is short. I don't have a lot of reading time. I try to schedule it before bedtime and then I fall asleep without getting far. Maybe that's why I love to be on a plane -- cell phones off and a book to enjoy at leisure.

Thinking About Tomorrow

I usually read novels when I go on a trip. But last year, I picked up a book, "Thinking About Tomorrow -- Reinventing Yourself at Midlife." The author is Susan Crandell. I read it on a plane and put it aside.

It's haunting me.

We all need to evaluate and make sure the choices we made yesterday still work for us today. So, I am trying to do that and it's hard. I can't figure out how I blinked and the daughter is grown and thriving in another part of the country. I can't figure out how the toddler who used to snuggle with me is grown and off to college, with bigger adventures to come. I can't comprehend that we just buried the Belle. I can't get over the sadness of Hangdog in the Home. He hates it and I hate it for him, yet, it is the only solution we seem to find.

There's a blank page in front of me. The decisions are mine and mine alone. The husband has dreams and aspirations. He thinks I've lost mine but they're still there.

I guess that's the dance of marriage.

What I Hate about Christmas

I prop little books on my kitchen window sills. I've swapped out my normal ones for Christmas ones. One is Christmas Joy by Susan Branch. One is Christmas Miracles by Jamie C. Miller, Laura Lewis and Jennifer Basye Sander. They're both lovely and inspiring books.

But my personal favorite and the one that gets the center spot is: Ethel Burke's What I hate about Christmas. It's a little odd that it's a man (Ed Strnad) writing as a woman but once you flip through it, you tend to forget that bizarre fact.

It's filled with hundreds of little things to hate about Christmas. I'll just give you a random sampling:

Puzzling over a card with no return address and a first name only signature.
When your tree resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
People who send cheap gifts in Tiffany boxes.
Trying to locate the one dead bulb that knocks out the whole string of Christmas lights.
When you tell a religious person that, technically, December 25th was not Jesus' birthday and they get really upset.
The song, All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.
People who drive around while wearing a Santa hat.
Nostalgia for the days when children were overjoyed to get an orange.

Here's what I hate about this Christmas:

Oldies are still falling like acorns off the oak tree. I'm terrified they won't take their trip to Texas.
Our impersonal tree. (I love the tree; I just miss the ornaments. I'm attracted to clutter.)

I can get wrapped up in the stress and silliness of the season. Yes, it's over-commercialized. But I rally myself and I still enjoy (most of) it. When I get a little frustrated or gloomy, I browse through this book and have a chuckle.
The other day, the mother-in-law said about the book on the window sill, "This doesn't seem very nice." I said, "Don't touch it."

Since I'm starting to speak to them like the dog, I should've said, "Paws on the ground!"

Baby Stuff

The baby has almost completed his first semester at college. His room remains untouched. The mother-in-law goes in there to play on the computer. A couple of nephews have slept in there while visiting. Other than that, it's just the way he left it.

Closets and drawers are stuffed with items that no longer fit or he has no interest in. Stuffed animals that he could not sleep without have been moved to high shelves. They're left like little orphans. Their time is over. The bookshelves are a trip down memory lane. His favorite childhood books mixed in with some of my childhood books. All of his golf trophies and certificates from church are displayed. My baby shoes were bronzed and turned into bookends. Big Daddy's baby shoes were bronzed and they're propped on the top shelf. (Does anyone bronze baby shoes anymore?)

There's a pretty solid collection of VHS tapes -- everything from the Disney Classics to pre-teen favorites. I'm thinking I should put them on eBay. The video game machines are stilled plugged in.

I'm working up the emotional stamina to go in there and start the purge. What to save? What will be important to him later?

As long as we live here, it will always be his room. But, it's time for the clean up to begin.

I'm pretty sure someone will have to wring me out like a dishrag.

Bad Dogs Have More Fun

Any dog lover worth his or her salt has read the runaway hit book, Marley and Me, by John Grogan. Especially if you own (or have ever owned) a Lab or any Retriever.

Grogan has a new book out titled, Bad Dogs Have More Fun. It's a collection of articles he did for The Philadelphia Inquirer. The topics go beyond dog stories and it's a fun little read. Here's an excerpt:

The current Lab-in-residence at the Grogan house thinks "Come!" is a suggestion she is happy to take under advisement and get back to us on. She's never met a rustling leaf that hasn't been worth barking herself hoarse over.

... Gracie's unique gift is her eye-tongue coordination. This allows her to leap into the air and smash her snout into our faces at the exact moment we are opening our mouths to speak, allowing her to jam her tongue where no canine tongue was meant to go. We call her the Phantom Frencher.

Beyond the fun stories, the title makes me laugh. Plus, the cover shot is precious. I have given the book an honor spot on my kitchen window sill so I will smile every time I do dishes or stroll through the kitchen.

I threatened to send Gabby with the oldies. She's still right by my side. So, I'm going to load my bad dog in the car and take her to the lake for the season's last hurrah.