the things we leave behind

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“Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack”
- Virginia Woolf



 Ever since I started reading I have been entranced by the things I have found within books.  These have included pressed flowers, postcards, receipts, lists, monopoly cards, and tickets.  The books I have with names and inscriptions are outnumbered by those which are not my own, though I have a few Shel Silverstein books inscribed to me from my parents, and a few others from dear friends.  I try, when gifting someone a book, to put in a book mark, a book plate, or something of that sort.  On rare and special occasions I have been known to fill lovely books with related ephemera-- such as a copy of A Very Long Engagement filled with associated postcards and photographs placed in just the right pages.

This article lists things found in a secondhand book shop in Oxford.  There's something romantic, mysterious, nostalgic, about these items.  At least that is the way I've always felt about what I find in books.  There were a job lot of one woman's collection in my local used bookstore, and I was so taken with her taste and her bookplates that I was tempted to buy up whatever I could of her collection, just so they weren't separated.  I am, obviously a sentimental fool.  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I couldn't afford to at the time, and the books went to their separate homes.

I do love new books, don't get me wrong, there is something amazing about being the first person to own a book.  But there is something even better about being one in a line of book owners.  (I have to say that when a book comes to me I am often the last person to own it, at least in my lifetime.  Though I do try to pass books along when I can.)  I guess I will take my books any way I can get them, preferably in paper.

Back to the point...
Not only is there an article, there is an exhibition.  The exhibition features writer Wayne Gooderham's collection of books inscribed with personal messages of all kinds.  Information about the exhibition here, and Gooderham's blog full of the book dedications here.

And, a little song about secondhand stores, sort of.

Jeans are a type of trousers

Today's trousers: unsuitable for work, but I am wearing them anyway.  I'm a rebel! 
They are green, with patches.  PATCHES.  (I did not, despite my sewing prowess, install the patches myself.  They came pre-installed.  A strange concept.)

 

Now, part of my quiet and insubstantial rebellion at work is that I am in pain.  I'm in a little physical pain, and a little emotional pain, and a little existential pain.  I'M IN A LITTLE PAIN.  And so I express my pain in a healthly manner, like wearing inappropriate clothing and turning up for work JUST on time (not early! take that, work!).

This is a face in pain.

And not just because of the birds' nest hair going on. 

Anyway. Mr. Cereal has a sewing project for me-- something I have not attempted ever!-- jeans.  I'm a bit worried, but more because I see it as a challenge.  Luckily there is a ton of help on the internet.  And Mr. Cereal seems to believe I can do it.  (Though his words last night were less encouraging-- "you're my only hope!")  Ah, worth a try.  And I do like to have a project.  Plus, success would be incredible.  And jeans are, after all, a type of TROUSERS....

(I just can't say PANTS.  Pants = underpants.)

The saddest monkey in the world

nie moj cyrk, nie moje malpy-- just to remind you.

This is the saddest monkey

ever.

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Not my circus, not my monkey.
This is one of the saddest things I have ever seen.
Thank god he's got a coat!

Building things

I keep finding myself stuck in a rut in front of my computer, making notes on projects I find interesting and I'd like to accomplish instead going ahead and accomplishing them.  I'm very tired of this.

I want to go ahead and build things, write things, and make things instead of making a library of notes on the things I will one day build and make and write.

 Notes from when I was working on my thesis- part of my "library of notes".

I made a list, either last year or the year before, of vague projects I wanted to accomplish, like painting something that I wanted to hang in the house, sewing a piece of clothing I liked to wear, things like that.  Goals that are within reach.  The thing that I did not foresee is that by becoming involved with Mr. Cereal, those things are actually more of a possibility instead of less of one.  I have never had a boyfriend who is so encouraging of my goals while providing inspiration for new ones-- and not in a weird or creepy or overbearing way.  It's difficult to explain.  Since we have become serious I have become involved in martial arts (on the bunny slope-type level), which I am enjoying so much more than I ever would have imagined.  But I am also enjoying the things I do by myself even more.  I can talk about any of my projects or ideas with him-- publishing my thesis, creating Cornell-type boxes, embroidering a representation of a mass grave... and he has ideas on some of them (good ideas!), and ideas for other things I can do.

I am not used to this kind of thing.  This seems like what people have been talking about, about what relationships could be like, but which I have not had.

Anyway.  I'm making a plan to accomplish more. And I like that.
Oh, and I plan on keeping Mr. Cereal around too, if he lets me.  He makes my life a bit better all the time.

Made this for a friend a few years ago. She and her husband wanted fish, but had no room.  Viola!  I created a few fish they could hang from a bookshelf (I guess a fish-mobile of sorts) that would sparkle as they turned around.

yeah, it's corny...

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Elf Socks?

Today's socks: so-called elf socks.
Now, normally I hate compliments at work. HATE THEM.  When most of my workmates compliment me they say "oh, you look nice."  And instinctively I think:
"I don't need nice!"
I don't need "nice." I don't need myself to be it, and I don't need anybody else to be it at me.

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(This does not mean you, Stella and Jessi.)  Partly because I am not trying to look NICE.  I am trying to look AWFUL.  And my preferred compliment is something along the lines of "Oh, well, you look homeless, and from the 1970s."

But today a few co-workers have complimented my socks.  excellent.  They have not said they were nice.  Even better.   One even made fun of them, calling them "elf socks", but even that is beginning to grow on me.  Elf socks.  heh.

Today's outfit is a bit librarianish.  Topped off by very librarian hair, even. 

And, to sweep away the cobwebs of yesterday I will (I am hoping) very soon be getting into my stupid gym clothes and going to the stupid gym.  Bleurgh.

Here's some Andrew Bird.

Work Trousers

Today's trousers: green, subtly herringboned, super-static-making
Today's M:

There's some days you wake up in a mire of overpowering sadness.  And there's others when you wake up and things are awesome and then work tried to kill you and suck out your soul.  Today is the latter.  Even if my trousers had been awesome they could not have saved today.  Bugger.

However, tomorrow is a brand new day.  I have spent all evening cleaning my room (it's an ongoing project- like cleaning an oil spill).  Currently I have 4 bags of clothes to go to the charity shop (my sister will be very proud!).  I'm tired, and I feel as grumpy as Grumpy Cat looks.  It's the kind of day I call "wombat".

Post script: the good news is this: "When I am attacked by gloomy thoughts, nothing helps as much as running to my books.  They quickly absorb me and banish the clouds from my mind." Michel de Montaigne
I am running to my books, and even the thought of it makes me feel better!