Titles, Inc.

China - No, Not Dishes

An alumnus of Gettysburg College in PA is helping his college library establish a formidable collection on all things China.  Last week the head librarian joined him here in Chicago where they visited all the book dealers they expected might have books to enhance this new intellectual passion.

They got to my store just before closing.  “I am so glad we caught you while you are still here.  I was so afraid we would miss you.”  (It would have been rude of me to say, “Why didn’t you phone? I would have waited.”)  They took all the books relating to China off the shelf where I cleverly keep them together, and played the computer to see whether these titles were already in the library.  They weren’t!

Getting into it, I suggested the young man hit the art section while I checked the childrens books.  The librarian drifted around looking at the fiction for Chinese authors.  This was fun.  As the books stacked up, I had another thought and pulled the lightweight ladder to the medical books way up high.  Yes, one more: The Opium Trade as Carried on in India and China, published in 1853.  Why was that shelved in Medical?  Why not?

The best part was putting them in bags to be carried away that night.  No, the best part was the librarian signing her name to the check at that moment.

The next morning a Chinese man and his wife walked into the shop. 

I couldn’t understand his question because I was so dismayed that I had not one book to show them.  He repeated what I finally understood to be, Medical?   Oh, no, not opium, my mind gasped. I pointed to the top shelves, and he asked another question.  One word, but again incomprehensible. I looked hopefully at his wife.  Ah, psychiatry.

Here, across the room at eye level is psychiatry.  Only at that moment did I realize those books should, indeed, have been in the medical category.  Will I re-shelve them?  No.  I find whenever I move something (anything at all) to a more logical place, I only remember where it used to be. 

“Ah!” he said, and the wife left for a moment to return with three other members of the family.  While the man examined the books, the wife sat in a chair, and the others roamed and looked. 

He brought two books to the desk, and in perfect English, pronounced the first words we are all taught before visiting a foreign country, “How much?”

I said, “$125 for this” and opened the second one, “$8 for this.”  What?  “Eight dollars?  Eight dollars?” I heard myself questioning.  I flipped the pages and saw the underlining.  I pointed at it explaining, "That’s why $8."   He nodded, took out his credit card, indicating both books. 

While I was bagging the books, I said to the woman while nodding at the young girl, “Beautiful girl.”  She beamed.  “Granddaughter.”  And she looked at the young man, proudly, “Son.”

We bid each other Goodbye, smiling. 

I enjoyed the juxtaposition of the China connection.  While we do get customers of all nationalities, including several Americans of Chinese heritage among them, these two back-to-back visits were so intensely Chinese that it was again a playful coincidence that makes life entertaining.

--- Florence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Sunday Visit

Who has a moustache and beard,  twinkly eyes, dimpled smile?  Fooled ya?  It’s Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) when he’s on his own time.  No razor, no shiny pate, no silky smooth skin.   Didn’t fool me for a minute.  Of course being skinny and 6’3” helps identify him.  I’m startled every time I see him towering.  “You’re still growing!” I accuse him.

Billy had been in LA writing music all summer and is back here now to produce the music. He’s been trying to drop into my bookstore to say Hello, but he’s been too busy, so, spontaneously, we made it a Sunday house visit.  Art’s been home recovering from surgery so the visit was a pick-me-up for him especially since Billy appreciates good photography and enjoyed looking at Art’s photos. 

I had told Billy that Art’s recovery diet seems to consist of chicken soup.  The refrigerator was full of gift containers of soup, the freezer too.  Since I hate cooking, I was delighted with this easy way of feeding the getting-better patient. 

Suddenly I realized that with all our easy conversation, some time had passed, so I asked, “Billy, you want a cup of tea? Or coffee?”  He said, “I’d like some soup.”  How can you not love a guest like that?  We sat at the dining room table slurping chicken soup with toasted English muffins.

We all had tea.  I accumulate mugs by their entertaining designs.  Here’s one with a music staff circling it, and tiny birds perched for the notes.  How appropriate.  I handed that one to Billy, and asked, “Is that a real song?”  He looked at it and said, “I think so.”  I said, “How does it go?”

He said – get ready for this, folks – he said, “I don’t know.  I don’t read music.”

WHAT?  

I said, “What do you mean, you don’t read music?  How do you write your songs?”  He pointed to his head.  “It’s in here.  I hear it in my head.”  I said, “I thought you wrote the music for all the other instruments?”  “I do.”

Wow.  He just finished writing, or more appropriately, composing 44 songs.  And he’s giving them away free.  On the Internet.  I have no idea how the music business works, but I didn’t think Free was a business word.   The part of the music business Billy likes best is performing on stage.

I don’t know the Billy Corgan persona on stage.  I do know that in personal life, he’s adorable.

--- Florence

 

 

 

Party and Sirens

What an adorable birthday party for a 10 year old.  The large front yard was full of barnyard animals –a sheep, a goat, a truly fat hog, ducks and geese and turkeys, a crate of furry yellow chicks with lavender beaks, tiny rabbits and bigger ones of exotic breeding. And a pony for pony rides in a tight circle. 

The most fun was when the tiny fluffy yellow chicks pressed through the small opening in the pen.  Oh the screeching of the crowd of little party people as they chased after the very elusive puff of yellow.  Incredibly no chick was hurt in this pursuit.  Many of the children walked around with a bunny cradled in an arm until each found out that bunny scratches.  Chicks were cupped in palms.  One of the dads, on all fours, butted heads with a small ram who clearly did not understand its role in the game.  Cute, though.

Unfortunately, a little girl got a severe allergic reaction to these creatures.  I heard that she was inside gasping for breath.  The mother was phoned to come with the inhalator, and caution advised to phone 911 also. 

Sirens announced the huge fire truck, and two men carrying equipment made for the house.  An ambulance followed a few minutes later, again with men carrying in equipment.  Then along came a police car with a lady cop.  She didn’t carry anything. 

I thought the children might clamor around these fascinating vehicles, but the pull of the animals was stronger.  Soon the gurney was rolled out of the ambulance and into the house. The mother arrived, bewildered.  The gurney, now with its teary passenger, wheeled past again.  We urged the mother to ride in the ambulance, assuring her we would bring her car to the hospital, and keep her very little boy at the house until things were settled.

The kids soon tumbled into the house to continue with indoor games led by big sister Natalie, then the traditional candle blowing, the singing Happy Birthday Dear Gabi, and the party goodies.

Outside, the “farmers” were breaking up the petting zoo, and putting the animals back into the trailer.  Jami got into the mother’s car to drive it to the hospital, while Dick followed behind to take Jami home.  The very little boy had an unexpected party cupcake and candy.

We hear the little girl has returned home, recovered.  The little boy was reunited with his family.  Gabi does not realize that she will have a story to tell when remembering her 10^th birthday party.

--- Florence

PS  I just heard that Gebi's birthday wish was, "I wish Marilyn gets better," and then she blew out the candles.

Surgery, and Back Home Again

Art has been out of the hospital for 3 days now and we are fast approaching normalcy.  He had diverticulitis which turned out nastier than anticipated.  And without warning. 

He made his Slide Show presentation to a large and enthusiastic audience at the Rainbow Club (a bar in Chicago) on a Sunday night, after which we went with friends (including a delightful couple from Italy) to a very late dinner.  When Art complained of a bellyache the next day, he assumed it was the salmon he ate.  I was dubious.  I ate the same meal and was feeling fine. When he phoned me at my shop the following afternoon, he said it felt worse than just a bad dinner. My call to the gastroenterologist got him an immediate appointment and sent him to our local hospital for tests. 

 A phone call at 1:30 AM sounded the alert – go immediately to the emergency room at Evanston Hospital, about 45 minutes away. In the black middle of the night, I followed some signs with a big H, leading me directly to the wrong hospital.  Rerouting ourselves we finally found the hospital where they were expecting him in Emergency. 

 He’s recovering very well and refused Rehab (which is a greater necessity for the partner than for the patient.) 

 An excellent friend showed up with a tub of chicken soup, and huge bowls of rice and chicken.  She thoughtfully brought two baked apples which happily Art doesn’t like and I love.  So we have enough essentials for days.  Another friend called to say she was bringing chicken broth, but I refused, saying we were all souped up.

 Hospital anecdotes:

1. Small world department.  Art’s nurse asked him whether he knew photographer, Steve?  Well, yes, he’s our son.  She was delighted.  She said she put one of the pictures he took of her on YouTube, and it got her a husband.  She wants him to take her wedding pictures, but he’s in Seattle.  She was especially attentive to Steve’s dad.
2. You gotta be kidding department.  The Physical Therapist cautioned me that because she was concerned for Art’s balance, that when Art walks up the stairs, I (little me) should walk behind him (to break his fall).  I had visions of me squashed under him.  I said, politely, “OK” while thinking, “Not very likely!”  But I find I am walking behind him as a precaution.  He is, thankfully, sturdy in his ascension.

 The Sunday Trib just ran a terrific article about Art’s photo presentation.  They did not know of the tribulation between then and now.

 ---Florence