Double Delight

I am addicted to reading.  I always have at least two books on the go.  One is usually non-fiction and the other fiction but I read (happily) from most genres.  And cannot imagine going a day without reading.  I once worked with a woman who had a stroke and lost, permanently, her ability to read and write.  And still consider it an almost impossible disability.

However, I am also addicted to books.  Old books or new.  I love their texture, their weight, their smell.  Which is probably at least part of the reason I am not happy with e-books.  I will read them when I have no choice, but...

Essentially I am an unashamed bookaholic.  And here in the blogosphere both sides of my addiction are more than catered for.

There are many talented writers, and I receive (and welcome) recommendations about their books, and other books that people have enjoyed.

In addition there is a talented group who MAKE books.  Which often starts with making the paper which is used.  I am in complete awe at their imagination, drive and technical skill.  Collage, printing, photography, embossing, origami, and the list goes on...

A little while ago this blog alerted me to an exhibition of hand-made books to be held in Canberra.  You can read a little more about it here. 

Today was the day.  Oh how I loved it.  And the expertise on display.  My role as an appreciator got a big, big work-out today, and I am still smiling.

So much talent.  And I was lucky enough to be there.

I took photos, but sadly they do not show any of the books to their best advantage.  The display cases were made of reflective glass, and the light wasn't the best.

Just the same, here are some of the ones I fell in love with.

Wow, wow and wow.

And the double delight?  I met up with one of the people who organised the exhibition, a talented blogger who I have followed since I first landed here.  I feel so very guilty that my photo of her book (another I loved which made my eyes leak) was too blurred to share.

And to indulge another of my obsessions I am also adding a photo of a the flower on a tree just outside the library.  I suspect it is a member of the bottle brush family - but it is very, very pretty.

Sunday Selections #143

Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files. 

The meme is now continued by River at Drifting through life.  The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent.  Post some photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to River.

Like River, I generally run with a theme.  This week we had a mini outing.  Driving past Albert Hall I always admire the trees - so I asked for an excursion to a) share their beauty with the skinny one and b) take photos.  Albert Hall was opened in 1928, and I assume that the trees were planted for the opening.  They are certainly old, and their lower branches run along the ground - and then reach for the sky.

As far as I can find out the trees are Atlas Cedars.  Whatever they are - I love them.

As always clicking will embiggen.

And this is a nearby tree.  I am not certain what it is, but loved the texture of the bark.

A pointless gesture?

This post is prompted by one of the books I picked up from a book fair on election day.  It is a biography of an Australian poet, Shelton Lea, about whom I knew nothing.

I expected to be intrigued, I expected to learn things.  I did not expect to be filled with ballistic and impotent rage.

Shelton Lea was adopted.  Adopted into the Darrell Lea family.  Non-Australian readers may or may not know that Darrell Lea was a privately owned company which made and sold chocolate, liquorice and confectionery.

He was not the only child adopted into the Darrell Lea dynasty.  His adoptive parents were wealthy and their money spoke for them.  Valerie, the matriarch of the family adopted three children - to be playmates for her own children because 'Two dogs play better than one.'

Based on her treatment of the children she adopted I don't think she should have been allowed to adopt anything which needed more care than a house brick.  

She had difficulties with Shelton, and when he was three (three for goodness sake) took him for psychiatric assessment at a residential centre for children with intellectual and psychiatric problems.  He was watched and tested over several months and the doctors came to the conclusion that the problem did not lie with the child.  This finding was supported by other agencies over the years - and they left Shelton and the other adopted children where they were.  Grr.

Needless to say Valerie did not agree.  She drugged him, she slapped him ('he needs a good whack a day').  I cannot comprehend the emotional damage that being constantly belittled, punished and blamed for everything - without proof, would have had. 

The other adoptive children seemed to fare a little better.  But only a little. Shelton was the scapegoat but they were also treated badly.  It was made clear to them that they would inherit none of the Lea family wealth.  Presumably being adopted was inheritance enough.   

Shelton was placed in boys homes, imprisoned and turned to drugs and alcohol.  As a teenager in a lock-up he discovered the writings of Era Pound and turned to poetry.

He escaped from his adoptive family early, but spent time on the streets, in boys homes and in prison.  Unsurprisingly his relationships with women were difficult.  He felt rejected by his birth mother and was rejected by his adoptive mother.

As an adult, he plucked up the courage to approach Valerie to ask about his birth mother.  She lied, and effectively denied knowing anything about his mother.  His biographer ultimately tracked her down - ten years after her death.

And here is where the pointless gesture comes in.  If they hadn't gone out of business last year I would have imposed a personal boycott on Darrell Lea products.

I occasionally bought their liquorice for the smaller portion, but didn't like their other products.  I doubt that I would have spent $20 a year on Darrell Lea confectionery.  Insignificant.  And, as a private gesture it would have had even less impact. 

Just the same, if they were still in operation, I would have imposed my personal ban.  A question of conscience perhaps?

PS:  This is not a review, but a rant.  I have some books, some written by other bloggers which I will review (here and on Amazon) but I needed to vent some spleen about a woman who used her money to treat children like a commodity.  

  

Sunday Selections #142

Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files. 

The meme is now continued by River at Drifting through life.  The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent.  Post some photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to River.

Like River, I generally run with a theme. This week is (mostly) devoted to Jewel.

Like the people they own, neither Jazz nor Jewel are fond of visitors.  Jazz growls at them, and scuttles away, belly to the ground.  Jewel runs for the safety of the wardrobe - which Jazz opens for her.

When the smaller portion's sister was staying with us Jewel spent all the hours that his sister was up hiding in the wardrobe.  (Jazz is more food oriented and came out to eat and to attack me).  Essentially Jewel spent a month in the wardrobe, adding to the patina of black fur on all my clothing.  This made his sister feel bad.  Soooo, she bought Jewel a treat.  A soft penguin for her to snuggle into.

Needless to say, the success of the gift wasn't evident until after we had the house to ourselves again.  Jewel LOVES it.  She pounds it into submission (and it doesn't put up much fight) and snuggles down into it.

And I couldn't post photos of Jewel without including at least one of Jazz.  They are checking out someone walking in the street - ready to growl and run (Jazz) or just run...

Another nearly Wordless Wednesday

Both Teresa and Carol reminded me that some people prefer to see the garden/ jungle as a whole rather than individual blooms.

So, here are a few shots to put some perspective into what I show/inflict on you of the garden.

That is a clematis wound around the eucalypt.  An annual treat.

On Monday I was tired, sore and grumpy.  So the skinny one suggested we go and look at kangaroos.  Lots of kangaroos.  Who relax better (as I have said before) than anything I know which isn't a cat. Bliss.