..in the skies, out the window, and more precisely, more Grey Gardens. I posted about the original documentary a few years ago and I understand it is an upcoming HBO movie. I’m of mixed feelings about seeing it (if I ever do get to). There was something so compelling about the original mother and daughter duo, that I don’t think I want to see actors playing their roles, however good the acting. I realise most art is like that, and that I usually don’t tire of reading interesting renditions of previously written material, and in fact, for the Mayday project, I’m thinking of reworking something old into something new. Maybe I’ll suck it up and watch the movie if I get the chance, but then again, I’m prone to stubborness, so maybe I won’t.
On another note, two bags of books from the book sale later, I’m wondering about the realities of getting books signed. I’ve just purchased, very cheaply, many poetry books penned to the same person, G. B. and not only am I left wondering what happend to G. B. that he’s given up his collection (there were more than a few decent poetry books (all Saskatchewan authors, and more than one book by the same author)) but who he was and why/how did he collect these books. Would he be pleased I’ve recovered these? Or did he simply cull his collection–out with the old, in with the new? What good is being a collector, having the books signed to yourself, if they only get tossed in a bin at a second hand sale later down the reading road? I’d like to think I’m doing some service recovering some of these, but what will I do with all these books, and the ones that I collect, signed to me, that are worth nothing to the people I leave behind?
manageable imaginations 
Two bags of books!!! Nice!
Thanks B! Certainly nice, though I’ve given two away already, and just realised that I’m beginning to duplicate my collection, as I already have every Woolf book written.
I found one essay book on Fin de Siecle poetry and a few book length poem books. Should be a nice balance to all the editing I have to do at colony this summer.
I found my own first book in a second-hand (sort of) store. Was shaken. I hadn’t signed it, though. The store was the Hornby Island re-cycling despot and free store AND garbage dump. Just a shelf, really, above the trash. I took it to the office, where I signed it, and the woman who ran the place at the time decided to keep it as part of the office — what — furniture? Supplies? That woman was also the one who drove the “Blue Bus,” the only ever public transit on the island, and who drove me, in the Blue Bus, to my wedding. And it wasn’t even a bus. Now she sells vitamin supplements. It’ll all make sense one day.
Or perhaps Berni, as with most things, we’ll forget how things once were, forget what has gone before us, what has worked through us, and suddenly what is in front of us seems sensible. Or not.
“Prone to stubbornness”? You? Nah.
Hmm. Now you’ve made me suspicious of an ulterior motive.