The Friends of the Oak Park Public Library sponsored the used book sale this weekend. I so dearly love this event. The Village of Oak Park has three libraries, and this is their big fundraiser. Beginning right after the July 4th weekend, Oak Parkers start going through their bookshelves, deciding what to part with. It seems like the whole town gets involved, which gives the sale a unique personality and makes it a joy. There are so many people, and so many books, that it's held not at the library but at the cavernous OPRF high school.
Today is free, but last night … that was the event! Admission was $5, the doors open at 6:00. I got there at about 5:30 and the line was already around the block. I saw people with bags (I brought a sturdy oversized green plastic bag from The Body Shop), people with wagons, people with carts, empty suitcases, childless strollers and even one catless cat carrier. We were all ready to go in and scoop up some treasures. Hardcovers are $1, paperbacks 50¢. (I've often wondered if they would make more if they charged us by the pound, but the Friends have been hosting this for 35 years now, so I guess they know what they're doing.)
I made a deal with myself: I donated a bag of books, so I was limited to purchasing a bag of books. I headed straight for the mystery table and grabbed myself a Robert Parker hardcover I somehow missed and a terrific old Nero Wolfe paperbook with its original, lurid vintage cover. Then I perused the rest of the room. This fascinates me. You can tell which books were in vogue, but aren't anymore, by all the copies that have been donated.
John Grisham is always big at this sale, but he shouldn't feel bad. He should be proud. Year after year there are tons of Grisham paperbacks for sale. I believe every man, woman and child in the western suburbs must buy at least one Grisham each year. Besides, for the most part, Grisham is not really a writer you re-read. Once you know "whodunit," you know, and what's the point of going over the story again?
To the gals who wrote The Nanny Diaries, though: Sorry. Tons of copies of that book, in hard cover, were turned in. In theory, that's one that could be read again and again. I'm afraid your time is done, and your movie hasn't even come out yet.
Every year there's one like that. If not a single title that the public is just done with, then a topic. One year it was Princess Diana. About two or three years after her tragic death, it seems like the mourning ended and those big coffee table books about her clothes, her reign, her wedding and her funeral just weren't worth hanging onto. They could have filled an entire table that year, just with Diana. I don't know if that's sad, or just the way it is. Life goes on.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
After all, I was invited
I am not really invited to my neice's baptism. Place plenty of emphasis on the word, "really." Everyone in my family is. This is a perfect example of how my family works. (Or doesn't.)
I got word through my mother when the baptism will be. I was told that of course I'm welcome, but she wasn't sure I'd want to attend when I heard the exclusive little guest list:
My neice and nephew, naturally. My lunatic older sister, unavoidable since she's the mother of my other neice and nephew, who will be acting as godparents. And Jim and Joyce.
Jim is a relative who sees Becky and Nicky once a year. He is, however, a Good Lutheran and a Pillar of his Church. That's why he deserves a spot in the pew. He also molested me when I was in high school. He was between wives at that time, and I don't know if Joyce knows.
That molestation brought me years of pain beyond the confusion, revulsion and rage that came with being fondled. It's not so much that my mother and kid sister don't believe it happened. I suppose they do. They just don't know why I can't brush it under the rug. Why can't I just put it behind me and show up at family gatherings? It's so hard on them to have to explain why I don't attend anything with Jim.
Part of it is that he violated me and never apologized, never got help. He deserves jail time or couch time for what he did to me, not post-baptism cake and ice cream.
The other part of it is that it still gives him some kind of perverse joy to have gotten away with it. The last time he and I were together (at my mother's 60th birthday party) he kept standing too close to me, moving up behind me and leaning into me, whispering in my ear. I was holding then very young Becky on my hip and he asked me if I wanted one of those (a baby) and was I willing to do what it takes to get one. Yes, the pig actually said that to me. He was almost daring me to make a scene in front of everyone.
No more. He no longer gets the opportunity to humiliate me.
I would love to see Becky's baptism. But I love me more. I need to protect myself. Even it if it's from my family.
Besides, I believe in God and Jesus. I respect Christianity. We must remember that behavior like Jim's is serial, and I doubt I'm the only relative he fondled. (His second wife, Joyce, came with daughters.) To see him sitting there in church smugly, secure in his position as Super Lutheran, just makes a mockery of something very important.
So I'm sending gifts for Becky and Nicky to be opened on their special day. I got them each an age-appropriate book and made a donation to the local children's home in their names. I'm including a note with each gift. I don't know what I'll say to Nicky that he'll understand, but I've chosen to quote JFK in Becky's ("Here on earth we must make God's work truly our own").
And I may smile to myself when I think of Becky asking, "Why isn't Laurie here today?" And my mother and my sister exchanging "Damn that Laurie" looks as one of them makes something up that will begin with, "She was invited …"
I got word through my mother when the baptism will be. I was told that of course I'm welcome, but she wasn't sure I'd want to attend when I heard the exclusive little guest list:
My neice and nephew, naturally. My lunatic older sister, unavoidable since she's the mother of my other neice and nephew, who will be acting as godparents. And Jim and Joyce.
Jim is a relative who sees Becky and Nicky once a year. He is, however, a Good Lutheran and a Pillar of his Church. That's why he deserves a spot in the pew. He also molested me when I was in high school. He was between wives at that time, and I don't know if Joyce knows.
That molestation brought me years of pain beyond the confusion, revulsion and rage that came with being fondled. It's not so much that my mother and kid sister don't believe it happened. I suppose they do. They just don't know why I can't brush it under the rug. Why can't I just put it behind me and show up at family gatherings? It's so hard on them to have to explain why I don't attend anything with Jim.
Part of it is that he violated me and never apologized, never got help. He deserves jail time or couch time for what he did to me, not post-baptism cake and ice cream.
The other part of it is that it still gives him some kind of perverse joy to have gotten away with it. The last time he and I were together (at my mother's 60th birthday party) he kept standing too close to me, moving up behind me and leaning into me, whispering in my ear. I was holding then very young Becky on my hip and he asked me if I wanted one of those (a baby) and was I willing to do what it takes to get one. Yes, the pig actually said that to me. He was almost daring me to make a scene in front of everyone.
No more. He no longer gets the opportunity to humiliate me.
I would love to see Becky's baptism. But I love me more. I need to protect myself. Even it if it's from my family.
Besides, I believe in God and Jesus. I respect Christianity. We must remember that behavior like Jim's is serial, and I doubt I'm the only relative he fondled. (His second wife, Joyce, came with daughters.) To see him sitting there in church smugly, secure in his position as Super Lutheran, just makes a mockery of something very important.
So I'm sending gifts for Becky and Nicky to be opened on their special day. I got them each an age-appropriate book and made a donation to the local children's home in their names. I'm including a note with each gift. I don't know what I'll say to Nicky that he'll understand, but I've chosen to quote JFK in Becky's ("Here on earth we must make God's work truly our own").
And I may smile to myself when I think of Becky asking, "Why isn't Laurie here today?" And my mother and my sister exchanging "Damn that Laurie" looks as one of them makes something up that will begin with, "She was invited …"
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