Books

It's why I'm late, instead of yesterday, writing today. Moving. Whoever said 'you can never have too many books' never had to move them all themselves. No way was I going to go out again or turn on the computer just for this, and that's saying a lot.

I'm sure there are exceptions, those who would do it multiple times, even. Though I might not be out of line in saying having fulfilled one fantasy of having a wall of books has been a bit encumbering. I've gone through the transition of giving away, acquiring, and losing, with, like a cockatiel who has eggs stolen or broken, makes more to compensate the loss so that the same amount is maintained. Not that I've ever counted them all mind you: just so they take up all of the spaces on the bookshelves.

Back to the encumbering. I was an athlete; would like to be one again. Thought I was unbreakable physically during younger days and pounded my body to its limits even through my child's early years. Diagnosis 2011: 'routine' pre-op chest x-ray. Scoliosis. Now this is something that's usually found in childhood; I didn't have it before, though I had 'always' been 'pre-disposed'. Diagnosis 2014: "extreme spinal deformity" (and three inches shorter; my son got taller than me earlier). Great. Not to say I wasn't feeling it; it was more than just aging. It was a combined toll of things that should never co-occur to any human at the same time.

Now life is a 'before' of what it will be like after 'treatment'. I could be the bionic woman, or not. We'll see. I researched not too many doctors for the first time I ever went under a knife; I was terrified, but it had to be done. I was having trouble sleeping and couldn't wear regular shoes; it was bad. Finally one said casually he could do it, and he did, well. Grateful forever for that, almost like having a new life, being able to wear sandals again, and walk further, until now, which makes the first trepidation look like a picnic.

Anyway, I think I'm (essentially) done with books. Have some great ones. The collection will go through a few minuses and pluses as is life, and I hope someone else will be doing most of the schlepping next time, and not because I can't. Because I don't want to.

Game On

I can't cry lately, too busy to be exposed to what triggers tears.  Much to feel fortunate for, however empty at the moment.  Not having to leave the house every day is one small blessing.  It's taken a long time to get here.

A book, more than one, sits in its most raw form tucked away in a bag, awaiting being united with its illustrator; at least one for children, more for the older ones.

Now, a vision lies in wait as well, more brushstrokes to the picture every day, until it becomes something others can see.

'Necessity is the mother of invention' applies.  'Don't try this at home', is what I may tell an audience someday, after yet another season's 'adventure'.

To care about what anyone else thinks would only slow the process; this is for a child, always has been.  What they choose to do when the painting is complete is up to them.  The investment has been made; the time has been put in.  The garden has been watered.  Now it's time to go over the fence until it's harvest time, coming back to pull weeds a few times in the interim, letting the rabbits graze a little; there's enough to go around.

Age

Was sincerely attempting to write last night and the internet didn't want to work.  Two major storms followed (only a couple of yard ornaments knocked over that were easily put back with nothing broken).  In the past I've gone out for the specific reason to write 'on time'.  Last night, 'the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak'; couldn't fathom going out 'just' to write.  It's age, or aging, or a combination of things too personal to go into now. 

This entry was going to be Books, Part II.  It's a month later and still not everything is in its place.  Many of the shelves that had seen their last days were left behind, not worth bringing along due to wear and tear, and there was no space for them.  I kept one, in my son's room.  He was just about a year old when I brought them into our first home together, one at a time, walking fifteen blocks from the closeout store where they were.  A long box in one hand, my bag on the other shoulder, and my son in a front pack, facing forward, for a total of six times.  He was between walking and crawling; the babysitter saw his first steps. 

I'll never forget when I unpacked the shelves he helped me put them in place by patting them with his little hands the flat part of the shelf so the ends would go all the way into the end grooves or spaces.  Every time the shelves were transported and set up again, the memory returned.  He had watched me from the higher shelves how it was done, so by the time we were down to his level he made sure the bottom shelves were in place as they should be himself. 

He was to be here almost two weeks ago.  We're still waiting.  It's been four months.  The massive library for an apartment that took up all of the six shelf units is now essentially 'shelfless'.  I'm on my way to the first donation dropoff with ones I know will be of use to someone else well before I'll ever get to the utilization of their content. 

My son noticed my lifestyle didn't match the titles awhile ago.  When I was much younger, maybe.  Now there is too much to do that tiny crafting tasks do not seem remotely part of the picture, even while recovering from an illness, in the remaining years of my life, which could only be half over.  With what I've experienced the first half century the world needs more than making jewelry with seed beads, however beautiful.  It's for someone, just not me. 

Beauty has been redefined of late: from the calming effect of feeling the weight of beads in the process of creating adornment, to watching small hands help finish setting up a new bookshelf.  There is no comparison.  Nothing compares.

"The Life of Harry Houdini"

"On or around 1883 a boy named Ehrich Weiss and his brother, Theo, started a little circus.

Ehrich called himself The Prince of Air. He did the trapeze. All the kids in the neighborhood went to see it.

The trapeze was made of broomsticks and rope. Ehrich’s mom made him a trapeze outfit. One of his tricks was picking up nails with his eyelids from the trapeze.

The brothers quit grade school, but kept their show going. Ehrich had always been into magic.

He and his brother had a magic show at the same time Ehrich was working in a locksmith shop.

He could pick any lock in the shop.

Ehrich’s favorite magician was Jean Enguene Robert Houdin. So Ehrich thought he could get his stage name from Houdin. He would add an ‘I’ to ‘Houdin’ to be ‘Houdini’ and change his nickname, ‘Ehrie’ to ‘Harry’, and ‘Harry Houdini’ was ‘born’.

Harry and his brother called themselves ‘The Brothers Houdini’. When they were performing in Coney Island, Harry saw a woman who was also performing, named Bess. Harry met Bess.

They fell in love and got married. He started performing with Bess instead of his brother, who kept performing, but never grew as famous as his brother.

Harry and Bess moved to England and Harry got work as a magician and escape artist, for a week. Harry’s employer said there were too many escape artists, but if he could break out of Scotland Yard, he could have six months of work. Harry never let a challenge go by.

Harry knew that most of London’s handcuffs could be opened with only two types of keys, and he owned both of them. At Scotland Yard, he was put in a cell naked with cuffs chaining him to

a stone pillar. The guards checked anywhere that he could be hiding extra keys, but Harry was hiding them where nobody thought to look. He was holding them in his throat.

Superintendent Melville assured Harry that he wouldn’t be getting out any time soon. But Melville was amazed, as seconds later, he heard chains and handcuffs clatter to the floor. Then Harry’s employer gave him six months of work.

When the six months were up, Harry and Bess moved to New York. They had two kids and Harry became very famous. They bought a huge house with a library with over four thousand books on magic.

Harry learned how to escape out of a straightjacket, but later on performed it with an added twist.

He would perform it hanging from a five story building. One time he performed, there were strong winds and he got pushed into the building and badly bruised.

In 1926, Harry was performing in Montreal, Canada, when two schoolboys confronted him backstage. Both of them had heard that he could take any punch. Before Harry had time to clench his muscles, one of them hit him hard several times in the stomach. Harry had a strong pain in this stomach that night. He went to the doctor and the doctor said his appendix had burst and needed to be removed, but Harry chose not to do it right away.

Harry should have cancelled his next show, because he was sick and injured, but he still performed the next day. He went onstage with a temperature of a hundred and four degrees, but during the intermission he collapsed backstage. He was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. He was dying.

Harry died the next morning on October, 31st- Halloween. Harry was buried in the coffin he planned to use for his “Buried Alive” escape. He had fought death many times and he was used to winning, but this time he would lose.

I chose Harry Houdini for my book report because I’m into magic and Houdini is my favorite magician. He set an example for all magicians that followed him."