PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

July 2009.

I’ve lost my Dorothy Parker book. Frustration rules the moment. I searched my bookcase with the glass doors. This bookcase is for books that are honoured and cherished. Well read, the writings of the Masters and those of whom made an impression on me.

Sometimes all it takes is for one paragraph or a sentence to warrant a place on its hallowed shelves, sometimes less. Here they’re free from dust behind the glass doors.

But today, my Dorothy Parker…she is not there. I was searching for her, because today is a magical day, a writing day, a smoking day. Ms. Parker is my sometime muse. In her absence, I fear I will flounder. How can I write about the sarcastic way that life takes hold and causes us to wonder, judge and discern others’ doings? Her story, But the One on My Right, is about her dinner companion at a table of many. It makes me giggle and smile each time I read it.

Another cigarette smoked as I contemplate Ms. Parker’s whereabouts. I’ve decided I will only smoke when I am writing or painting. That’s what I tell myself anyway as I try to stick to my newfound bad habit of not smoking.

I can see Ms. Parker’s book cover: A trade paperback book, white and black, with a sketch of a woman from the 50’s era, popping her head out of a bathroom door that has a “Men’s” sign on it. I love the cover of this book.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover” is a rule I choose to ignore. I‘ve bought a book simply because of its cover. Another bad habit I suppose. Sometimes, however, a simple picture of a tea cup, or an intricate design of using old world colours or the texture of the paper will draw me in, more than the words written inside. Perhaps these details capture my artist eyes. Either way, once I see a book that has grabbed my attention, the world stops. Lights, noise, people cease to exist and my focus is simply on that book and my relationship with it. I have to have it, need to have it. It may grace the shelves of the bookcase with the glass doors. Another bad habit or addiction I suppose.

I scour the recesses of my brain, every nook and cranny in hopes of a memory, a word, a picture, a sound, anything that will jolt the last moment I held her in my hand, into reality and thereby bringing her back to me. No such luck.

A thought does occur to me though; My dear friend, Miss Jude! She was the one who introduced me to Dorothy Parker. She may know where she is. After a 2 ½ hour phone call in which we discussed life, kids and wants vs. needs, the answer is “no”, she does not know where my Dorothy Parker is. She suggested that perhaps I lent it out to someone. I very rarely lend out my books. In the odd occasion that I do, I make a note of whom and the book that is borrowed. There are some books that are never lent out. Dorothy Parker is one of those books. I hoard my books. Once I read them, they are a part of me. On the off chance that I am convinced to allow some to go to Goodwill or a second hand book store, I have been racked will guilt and remorse. I have been known to go back and repurchase my donation…

It is because of this affliction that I abhor libraries. Libraries are evil places. They look innocent enough and draw you in. Growing up, I used to be particularly attracted to the older ones in downtown Toronto. They were grandiose, massive floor to ceiling wooden shelves containing books and more books. There were nooks and crannies and comfortable chairs to get lost in, while you read a book. And the smell of paper, old and new mingled with the silence that wasn’t silent, because you could hear the voices of the stories being read, the waves crashing, birds singing, the explorer climbing mountains in far off places. It was pure heaven…till you went to the desk to sign out your 6 or 8 or 12 books, only to be told by the LIBRARIAN that you have a 4 book limit and they are due back in 2 weeks. They want them back and the ones you have to leave behind, well how to choose? Fate always played out that when I returned the books I borrowed, (this in itself was a traumatic event as a child) the ones I hoped to take out, had been borrowed by someone else. I would have to wait my turn. I don’t do well with waiting my turn.

Another little unknown fact about the library is they have the Library Police. Stephen King wrote a short story called The Library Police. It is a very disturbing tale. I wonder if he hates libraries too. I have dealt with the Library Police. When you don’t return a book, you get a fine. After awhile they send you a polite letter reminding you about the book and the fine. If you ignore those letters, then they send nasty letters. If you ignore the nasty letters they call the Library Police: Enter a COLLECTION AGENCY. I lie and tell them I have lost the book. I am required to pay for the book, which is fine, because I could not, would not part with it. What is said book that got me involved with the Library Police? It was Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.

I know I could have bought that book at Chapters and avoided the Library Police, but I had a connection with THAT particular book and it was an older copy and I love the way older books feel and smell. Guilty as charged, but happy. I have not owned a library card since then.

I have another cigarette in contemplation of Ms. Parker’s whereabouts. I remember holding her and thinking it was time to reread her. Where did I put her? Another search of the bookcase with the glass doors does not reveal her. How will I write today? I need her inspiration!

I did, however, find another book that made me smile and then immediately feel guilty. The book is called God’s Debris. It’s written by Scott Adams. No, it is not about Dilbert, but is instead an incredible journey through a mind experiment that by its end will have you questioning everything about what you thought you knew or believed in. Why do I feel guilty? It is not mine. It belongs to my son Taylor. I should give it back…but can’t. You see, it’s out of print and until I can find a copy to replace it, well, it’s probably safer here, being behind glass doors and all. It’s probably the only book I have guilt about.

Time to check the other bookcases. Dangerous act that is. I’ve just opened up the doors to all the other books I have in the forgotten recesses of my mind. I will try to stay on task and look for Ms. Parker...

December 18, 2010.

Well dear reader, I didn’t find her that day. But today I found my Dorothy Parker book!

It truly is a magical day, a writing day, a smoking day!