Longing

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I'm a huge bibliophile. I would buy books before food if I didn't have kids. I would buy books before just about anything.

Sometimes, I don't even want to read them, I just want to have them. Because someday I might need to know something about embalming. And coffee table books? Please. They are like crack to me.

Even though I purge periodically (and it causes me great pain to part with books, even those I didn't particularly enjoy) because we have limited space, I still have far too many books to store properly. I have several large moving boxes in the garage full of books. They are too heavy to move, so they have been sitting there for years. I really have no idea what is in them anymore.

I couldn't part with any of my boys' books either. I adore children's books that are cleverly written or have beautiful illustrations and there were only a few that I could actually bring myself to give away. I collect vintage children's books and have several that I dearly loved as a child; most notably, "Miss Suzie" and "Never Tease a Weasel".

So anyway. Yeah. I'm hardcore. It's a sickness, really.

Today I was at the grocery store trying to spend as few dollars as possible to feed us until Monday, which is payday. With the accident and several other unexpected expenses, it's been close.

And what should I happen to spy in the greeting card/magazine/literary aisle? The long awaited sequel to one of my favorite books of all time Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett.

I gasped and plucked it off the shelf. I felt a mixture of longing and trepidation as I caressed the slick dustjacket and savored the delicious heaviness in my hand. Sequels are always a crap shoot. They are either transcendantly satisfying, or surpassingly disappointing.

The cover price of World Without End was $26.95.

$26.95 buys a lot of Beenie Weenie and Chef Boy Ar Dee. But dear Lord how I wanted that book. I hesitated a moment and then, with a pang of guilt, placed it gently in the front of the cart where it was cradled by the pliant leather of my ridiculously large and floppy handbag.

I wheeled that book all over the store like a cherished infant. I appreciated the pleasing cover art. I skimmed the forward several times, hoping to dissuade myself. I studied the author's picture, looking for wisdom in his bemused gaze.

As I travelled through the store, more and more items found their way into my cart. Oh yes, we need orange juice. Goodness, I forgot we're out of butter. Oh my God, they make birthday cake ice cream? Hmmm...dill relish 2 for $3? That's a good deal and we go through it like crazy. Oh and...SIGH...Pre-Pubescent One needs poster board and Diminutive One needs a new composition book because his fell under the bus.

As my mental tally reached the meagre limit of our distressed checking account, I was forced to admit that the book had to go back on the shelf.

Two days. Two days until payday and then I can go back and buy it.

But I want it nooooooowwwww!

I coud hear the petulance echoing inside my head. But adults aren't allowed to throw I want it nows. And so, I took it back to the shelf and placed it in the neat row with its companions.

I remembered back to the days when my money was my own. I started earning when I was just 10 years old. First it was a paper route, then babysitting, then a job cashiering at Shopko. I could spend my money on designer jeans, swatches, albums and eyeshadow. I never gave a second thought to what anybody else needed, or what bills had to paid. It was all about what I wanted.

And I thought to myself that sometimes being a grown up blows chunks.

And then I felt guilty. Because I can buy food. I can buy dill relish that's 2 for $3, even though we don't really need two. It's tight this week, but not always. And I know we'll make it okay.

And I wondered what it would be like to wander these aisles and not be able to afford ice cream and dill relish.

That. Would blow chunks.

And suddenly, the longing is gone. The book is nothing because I can buy Chef Boy Ar Dee if I need to.

Funny how perspective comes out of nowhere sometimes.