I'm home nursing some kind of stomach issue, moderately miserable and feeling mindless. I go see somebody on Tuesday and hopefully they can help me figure it out. One bright note however---I got a goblet in the mail. Yes, I know perfectly well that the last thing I need is a new goblet but it made me feel better and it was an embarrassingly cheap price. I felt obligated to rescue it. Leo helped me unpack it and I was utterly delighted to find it more beautiful than I had imagined. It's got a lovely flint ring and is a gorgeous example of 1870's mold-making to my eyes.
I made myself get up out of my little blanket covered nest in the living room and go upstairs to pull a glass book out. I found it in one of the Metz books. Damn, those books look so OLD to me these days. My copy is from 1975 but it's a later edition...from the 60's I guess?
As I stood in the bedroom looking at shelves of books I had to laugh when I peered at the one that gets hidden behind the door. It's a haphazard mishmash of books and it's totally me, in a nutshell, or a book shelf I suppose.
There are some music books, No Depression and Women in Country Music; there is the dictionary, now lacking a spine that I requested for my 12th birthday, there are two books by loved ones no longer here, the Therapeutic Recreation text by my sister and Deconstructing Pop Culture by Van Cagle. There's the Complete World Bartender Guide that Chuck Tripp gave me for my birthday many, many years ago, directly below The Cat in the Hat and on top of an early encyclopedia that was my father's. There are some antique related books, some architecture related books, including a copy of my beloved Learning From Las Vegas, a worn copy of Goodnight Moon, a book on herbs, a few books illustrated by Arthur Rackham, and David Lee Roth's autobiography.
Except for the lack of glass books and cookbooks (they're not hidden behind a door) it's Cynthia in a bookshelf. I shake my head as I look at it.
When I don't feel well I turn to things of comfort so I sit paging through the Metz book, wishing I had the energy to pull my first love, Ruth Webb Lee, out to peruse.