So many books, so little time!
Yesterday morning – rain, wind, a slight chill in the air – I walked totally wrecked and at snail pace towards the bookshop. Voucher in hand, lots of titles written down on paper just in case my memory checks out on me again. For a while now I had been looking at certain books, longing to buy them someday. That day came yesterday. Proud as a turkey and all dolled up, I went to Chapters in Dublin and kept pushing the elevator buttons to speed up to deliver me the second-hand part of the shop. As I left the elevator, right in front of my eyes stood Friedrich Nietzsche. He looked proud and dapper in a new jacket, and I had to agree he looked better than I did. I ran towards…
Orderly William Butler Yeats
Divine words
Yes, I do have too much time on my hands. Only said so last night when contemplating my favourite-English-words-list with another history enthusiast. I love lists, the only problem is that I forget either that I ever made a list for so-and-so, or I simply forgot where I put it. Nevertheless, yes… I suppose I really do have a lot of time on my hands. Waking up, taking my meds, attempting to huddle myself downstairs for that much-needed cup of strong caffeine and waiting for an online call from my mum is a religiously followed daily habit. I then try to plan the remainder of the day mindfully but living with MS means that masterminding a day is often like solving a puzzle without having all the bits and pieces…
Back with a bang!
I am. In Dublin once again after a short stay with my mum. She moved houses last week but instead of having me pack boxes with her with lots of… well… you know yourself when you move houses and how much you gather in the space of about 60 years or so. I stayed in her new apartment by the marina, 5 minutes from the beach and 3 minutes from the main shopping street – my mum knows how to pick her favourite spots – so she chose wisely. And while I stayed by the marina for a week before her moving in, my mum was slaving over packing boxes in her old place, doing admin related to the move and so on. For a week I had no internet…
The imperfection of books
An old book is lying next to me, and it begs me to pick it up and read it. The imperfections of it make me feel as if this book has lived, and that it wants to be cherished for a long time to come. The cover is wrinkled, the pages discoloured and I sense that a lot of time thinking about the content has happened. It is beginning to have that old book scent, the scent only loved by true bibliophiles. It makes me want to revisit my old library, imperfect because all available space has been filled by other books, yet cherished because I know every corner of the library and what hides in them. The old, creaking seats I used to sit in, to fall under another book’s…
Haunting Joyce
Words. Letters strung together to form sentences filled with thoughts, ideas and emotions. I thrive on them, books and communication in general included. I am a true bibliophile. After library studies, I ended up working in libraries for years before moving to Ireland. Books were my life as a kid, a teen, a young adult and they are still my life right now. I cannot begin to guess how many books I have read or how many I handled while working in a library and each one was special. According to Wikipedia, a bibliophile is someone who “loves to read, admire and collect books, often amassing a large and specialized collection. Bibliophiles do not necessarily want to possess the books they love; an alternative would be to admire them in old libraries.”…
What about it?
3.30am. Eye pain and headaches have taken an option on my sleep, wanting to do better than each other. In addition to that, ideas for a blog post keep flying in my head. My mind is busy compartmentalizing thoughts while my eyes are in charge of my sleeping patterns. Nice! And now my hair also hurts. Seriously, it does! The frequent – if not chronic pains – have prevented me from blogging much lately so I am slowly turning into a state of anarchy. Several attempts of writing happened but none were finished because either sleep came knocking on my door, or I have to analyze a few episodes of James Joyce’s Ulysses for the reading group I’m in, or I have other things requiring attention. So if I do…
