Titles, Inc.

Allegiance

Good for these 50 Boulder High School students.  They are protesting.  How nice to know that high school students still take an interest in politics, whatever their position.  At least they looked up from the video games. 

These student walked out of class to protest the inclusion of "One Nation Under God" into the pledge of allegiance.  This issue comes up sporadically, arouses a lot of indignation, and gets nowhere.  The issue they presented is the separation of church and state.   

I was listening to such an argument at our town board meeting, where some "activists" asked for it to be removed from the classrooms in Deerfield.  They said the original pledge unites; the additional phrase divides.  The VFW were there in uniform.  Heck, it wasn't even recited that way in the 1940s when they went to war.  The resolution to that dispute was to allow the students who objected to the phrase to remain silent at those words.

Each time I see the following fact, it surprises me:  The "Under God" phrase was added to the pledge in - 1954 !

It's a new-fangled, modern addition!  Not part of the sacred, traditional pledge at all! I wonder why Congress thought to add it in 1954.   Why did they think it necessary to change a national treasure?

--Florence

The Old Man and the Rolls Royce

He lumbered in and spent time looking at the books.  He wasn't buying, apparently he was waiting to catch my attention to tell me about a book that he owns. 

"I have a signed Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea."  "Signed?' I asked, to make sure, "and with a dust jacket?"  "Yes," he said.  I told him that was a terrific book to own, and asked where he got it.  He told me he bought it in Oak Park where Hemingway had lived at one time, from someone in the family. 

"It cost me the price of a car," is how he put it.  I thought that was a bit excessive for the book, but on the other hand, I don't know what kind of car he drives.  He added, "It is also inscribed, in Swahili."  That began to get interesting, so I prompted him for more details, like how did he know it was Swahili?  He said he knows a man from Africa who said he recognized a few words, maybe it was a local dialect, or that Hemingway didn't know the language well enough.  But Hemingway also translated it.

This is the story that goes with the book.  Ernest Hemingway lived for a time in Africa where he owned a Rolls Royce he loved very much.  One day, the hood ornament, that one with wings, was missing, and Hemingway was very upset.  He asked everyone in the village to help him locate the hood ornament, but it was never found.  The villagers liked Hemingway a lot, and were sorry he was so upset. So they replaced the missing hood ornament with a specially made statue of a dog.  It was the RCA dog Nipper, and it was in brass, but shined up to look like gold. 

Hemingway was so happy with the new dog hood ornament that he gave the villagers a copy of The Old Man and the Sea which he signed and also wrote in Swahili which he translated into English.  And in English it says, "Blessed be those who love dogs." 

That is the copy he has.  From his recitation I was sure he had told the story often. 

"Good story," I said, "really, really interesting."  Musing, I was sorry to hear myself say out loud, "I wonder if it's true."

He startled me by saying, "I don't know.  But I believe it.  And I love that book."

So here we are, adding another apocryphal story to the Hemingway legend.  Who knows?  Maybe it is true.  Some Hemingway aficionado is bound to let us know soon enough.

Wait, wait - how did the book get back from the villagers in Africa to Oak Park?  Darn, I wish I didn't read so many dectective novels.  It was much more fun believing the story.

--Florence

Thanks For the Memories

A friend commiserated with me, saying she shared the problem.  It's a big problem - remembering names.  She said, "That's why all grandchildren are called Honey or Sweetie or Darling or Bubbala or Angel.  Who can remember all these new names?" 

Someone will walk into the shop with a cheery, "Hello, Florence!" and I'll beam and think, "I know his name, I know his name," and I do.  I remember it ten minutes after he's gone - that was James.  I just now decided I will be more direct, and say, "I forgot your name."  Oh, I did that once, a long time ago, and the man was so insulted, took it as a personal slight.  Yeah, that's why I still try to fake it.

When I'm at an event with a friend, I warn them that if I do not introduce them, it is because I drew a blank on the approaching guest.  Miss Manners just offered a practical solution to that problem.  Apparently it is a common enough problem for her to address it.  She says the friend should immediately offer her hand and her name, and ask the other guest for his name.  This way she has revealed the mystery person's name to you, too.  Of course it doesn't answer the problem of the guest's remembering your name.  Let him work out his own games.

Thank goodness for name tags.  But they are placed too low.  They should be stuck to the forehead.  Then you can carry on a conversation eye to eye, instead of eye to bosom.

There is always the trick of association.  I met a big man named Marlon.  Easy one.  Next time I will think of Marlon Brando.  But the next time I met him I couldn't remember the name of the actor.  I whispered to my companion, "Quick, what's the name of the actor who was so handsome when he was young, and ballooned to an enormous man when he got older."

"Orson Welles," was the immediate rejoinder.

I stuck out my hand, and greeted him.  "Hi, Orson!" I said.

--Florence

The Gifted Book

Many of the pretty books are sold as gifts.  Pretty, meaning the binding is handsome leather, or in cloth beautifully decorated with elaborate gilt designs.  Pretty, meaning the illustrations are wonderful,  or the text itself is artful.  Pretty, meaning the physical book is appealing, regardless of the text.  Usually, though, the text is important enough to warrant the special "pretty" edition. 

Sometimes it is the text that makes the gift significant.  A favorite book in a first edition.  A story applicable to the occasion for the giftee.   A signed book of an admired author.

One of my customers buys a book as a gift for each special occasion.  She is thoughtful, and careful in choosing an appropriate book.  The latest purchase was a wedding gift.  The groom was the son of a dear friend.  She liked the young man - never met the bride.  She was pleased to be buying a cornerstone for their new library.

She visited several weeks later.  "That book I bought for a wedding present - I just got a Thank You note from the new wife."  "Yes?" I asked, expectantly. 

Her note said, in its entirety, "Thanks for the used book."

I was horrified.  "Were you terribly embarrassed?"  "Embarrassed?" she said, "Why would I be embarrassed.  She should be embarrassed."  Yes, indeed.

The moral is: Consider who is giving the gift.  Ask around, for Pete's sake, before making a fool of yourself.  Actually, a book is the ultimate compliment, dummy.

--Florence

My China Connection

He was a beautiful brightly glazed small figurine about 4 1/2" -  a bearded Chinese man, seated, holding an open fan. 

I was invited to a house to buy the books.  There weren't many books, but the house was filled with artifacts reflecting the passion of this couple for travel.  The woman, seeing my interest, explained that an auction house was coming that week to take it all away, and would I like to look around?  I surely did.  Shelves, and counters, and walls, every space filled with objects from everywhere.

I paused before the Chinese figurine.  "Could I buy him?" I asked.  She picked it up. "This is a mud man.  He's a cheap piece.  You can have him for $10."  I didn't care that he was cheap.  Of everything in the house, that was the piece I wanted.

I sat him next to my flower vase at the corner of my desk in the store.  I admired the curl at the end of his beard, the grace of his posture, the serenity of his gaze.  Sometimes I turned him to face the flowers, sometimes the door, sometimes to look at me.  He didn't look at me - his eyes were little holes painted black, and slightly off,  but by tilting and angling him, I could bring the eyes into focus.  (I don't have a dog or cat to fawn over, so I can put the same energy into little figurines that please me.) 

A customer recognized it as a mud man, and turning it over, showed me the hole and explained that the newer figurines, made after 1952, had round tooled holes, and were placed on rods for coloring.  Before that, the holes were irregular, and if you put your finger in, you will feel the shape of another finger that held the piece while shaping it.  Mine had the finger imprint of that Chinese person who had held this very same piece long ago.

I looked up "mud men" on the Internet.  They were made in South China, and were made individually,  painted by hand.  Some are standing figures, some seated, and scarcer ones are seated on the ground.  They usually hold something, a fish, a book, a fan.  The greater the details of the face, hair, clothing, the higher the value.  It appears that they are collectible, and my dear little man is probably valued at $100.  But you understand my interest in him was not monetary.

So you can guess how I felt when I looked towards him one day, and he was not there.  Gone.  Yes, stolen. 

My little Chinese mud man has been sold, again, I am sure, and is now among of group of others of his kind, sitting on a shelf.   Just another figurine.

--Florence

A Rose is a Rose is a Rose

At the Chicago Botanic Garden, as if seeing the magnificence of all the growing plants were not enough, there is aways people watching.  I was reminded of it again during my last visit.

Everybody from all over the world was there.  Well, representatives from everywhere in the world were there.  Every size, shape, color, gender, age.  Actually just like the plantings themselves.  And everyone moving in the same leisurely manner, pause and stroll. 

There were the beautiful toddlers. Twice I came across a tottering tot trying out her legs.   I leaned down to one scampering darling, and said with a big smile so as not to frighten, "Where is your mama?"  She responded with an even larger smile.  She was either too young to answer, or did not understand the language.  I repeated it, wondering what I would do if this child had, indeed, eluded her parent.  Fortunately, in each of the two cases, the mother came running up to claim her child.  Am I so paranoid that a child, unattended, alarms me?    I remember a newspaper item where an indignant person wrote abusively about a mother who had her child attached to a leash (around the waist, not the neck.)  Looking at these situations, it sounded like common sense to me. 

People watching will find the bridal party along with its cast of photographers.  I saw two brides this day.  One was in a bouffant aqua gown with a sparking crown in her hair.  There were no bridesmaids with that party, just six attendant men, elegant in their black suits with aqua striped ties.

The second party had the bride in traditional white, clinging to a fine body.  The equally lovely bridesmaids were bare shouldered in very dark brown dresses.  Brown?

The Garden offers an unlimited choice of backgrounds for wedding pictures, but the rose garden seems the most popular with the high spraying fountain and the romance of roses.  Yes, the photographer has the bride crouch down to bring her head level with the multitude of flowers.  The brides never appear self- conscious with the mulitude of gawkers, myself included.

What a wonderful place the Chicago Botanic Garden is.  Someday I may even talk about the flowers.

--Florence

Fishy Story

Spider Island in the glorious Chicago Botanic Garden is one of the lesser attractions.  The nicest part is the wooden planked bridge (very secure, no swaying) that takes you across.  And the best part of that is that you lean over and see the fish.  Smallish with one big fish that has a gaping mouth that perfectly imitates the mouth people make when they imitate a fish.

I noticed three years ago on my annual autumn visit as I strolled across the bridge looking down at the fish, that they followed me.  I stopped.  They stopped.  I walked slowly to the end and turned back. They swung around and followed me.  Awed, I continued until I got tired of the game and walked on.

Last year, I hurried to Spider Island and did not see the fish.

Today I went to Spider Island, and there were the fish, clustered below a family dropping popcorn into the water.   So much for my magical aura.  They are so domesticated, they follow anybody, looking for a handout.  Especially as I swung my hand in a come-along gesture.  I thought my hand was guiding them.  They were waiting for something to drop from that hand.

When the family left, I waited until the fish gathered below me, gestured to them to come along, and sauntered the length of the bridge, with my entourage gliding along with to me, turning with me as I walked back.  I did it several times, then picked some very tiny berries from an overhanging shrub and rewarded them. 

I am so disappointed that I don't have that intimate communication with nature after all.  But it's rather pleasant to be followed by a school of fish even is it's just in the lunch room.

--Florence

To His Credit

Yesterday I found a really good package deal on the Internet for two round trip tickets, plus two nights at a snazzy hotel, for $334. each.  Since I am not an impulsive person, and believing it too good to be true, I waited a day to be comfortable with my good fortune.  Not to worry - when I went back today to confirm, the price was up to $444 each. 

Philosophically, I figured it was like the stock market; you can't alway buy low.  I tried to lock it in.  We have a family card that had just expired and we were issued a new card.  When the Internet rejected one, I tried the other.  Rejected.  I figured we were on the cusp - was there a dead spot until the new one was activated?  Exasperated, I switched back and forth. 

Running out of patience, I used my personal card, which went through, as they say, like a charm.  I printed up the e-tickets, proud of my accomplishment, because I've always been suspicious of the computer. 

And with good reason.  Shortly after, my husband calls, distressed.  "Don't use the card," he says, agitated.  "I just got a call from Visa of suspicious activity.  Someone is trying to charge $888 to our card!"   He continues, because I am speechless, "So don't use the card, I cancelled it!"

I get my voice.  "That was me." 

I wish I could say it ended this amicably between us, but noooo.  I hollered, "Why didn't you call me before canceling."  He hollered, "Why didn't you tell me you were getting the tickets today."  I hollered, "I just got them, and do you know how much time I had to spend doing it."  He hollered, "Do you know how much time I spent with Visa setting up for new card."

Hollering is good.  We both feel much better.  We're even laughing about it now. 

But wait until tomorrow when he reaches into his pocket for his credit card.  Hoo Ha!

--Florence

Books From Here and There

Reading randomly through Internet book-related features, I find these items of interest:

Workers cleaning out a house in Palmyra, NY, found a box of books which they brought to an auction house.  The manager threw them away, all but the last one at the bottom of the box.  That book was the first edition of the Book of Mormon. 

About 5000 copies had been printed in 1830, in that same town of Palmyra, NY.  Only a few hundred copies of the first edition are known to exist.  Libraries and museums hold about 50 copies, and 250 copies are in private hands.  A collector in Missouri owns 75 copies of the Book of Mormon, which is only a part of his book collection valued at $20 million, a serious, if not compulsive, collector.

A Book of Mormon has already reached an auction price of $180,000, meaning the winning bid of $150,000 plus the 20% buyer's premium.  That's a clue to what this book at the bottom of the box is worth.

In China, a member of the Collectors Association in Beijing has a book collection of around 5000 volumes.  He talks about the care he gives them, and advises that you "put pieces of newspaper on your books for further protection."  Maybe he means to lay paper across the top to keep out the dust.  Newsprint stays inky for a long time.  I'd say that is not a good idea. 

He also says, "...you need to visit libraries and ancient book stores regularly."  I hope that was a poorly chosen word in translation. We are formally known as an antiquarian book store, although some days, ancient does seem the more appropriate word.

And in Scotland they are celebrating 500 years of printing.  The first printing press was introduced in 1508.  King James allowed the press to print books for government and church use.  The printers, however, started with small booklets of inspirational poetry. Then, still in 1508, they produced the first book, the only known copy now in the National Library of Scotland.  It is a novel by John Lydgate, called The Complaint of the Black Knight.

So what was his problem?

-- Florence

With All Improvements

Today the old, unused awnings over the stores came down.  When I had to move, I chose this store because it approximated the shape of the old store, and I wouldn't have to rethink where to put the bookcases and the furniture. 

I stood outside the shop with the two rental agents, and viewed the stretch of stores making up the building, five stores in all.  The structure was attractive to me, peaked timber roofs indicating its age before its current new face.

"Who is responsible for maintaining the outside?" I asked.  "We are; that is, our agency is."  "Hmm," I said, "You've got trees growing out of your gutters, which should long ago have been cleaned out.  And look at those rolled up awnings, with small rotted pieces dangling from them."

Then I realized, shoot, I'm trying to rent, and they may think I'm a trouble-maker (who me???)  They nodded in agreement.  Apparently a trouble-maker was better than an empty store.  We walked through the store, and they made a list of everything needed to make it habitable, starting with adding light switches at the front near the door, in addition to the existing ones at the rear exit - most reasonable, you will agree.  When the lease came, it said - you guessed it - AS IS. 

But one day the ladders were up, and the gutter greenery was gone.

Today, the awning structures were removed.  I grumbled to a friendly customer, "They charge for every fix-it job I need in the store.  I bet they figure out a way to make us responsible for this awning job."  We watched the men hoisting the rods to the truck.  "If I get a bill, I will tell them I did not authorize the removal, and I want mine back."

It does look a lot better outside.  But now the frame needs fresh paint.  I hope I don't have to tell them about that too.

--Florence