It was rather like those pictures

of people stampeding into shops at sale time. I have never been to that sort of event and, after yesterday's experience, I am quite sure I do not wish to attend a sale at opening time. There were people waiting to enter the church hall two hours beforehand. This was despite the fact that it was cold and wet. The threatened thunder did not appear but I wonder whether it would have made any difference.
I could recognise some of those waiting - book vultures. I have this uncomfortable relationship with second hand books. I try to buy them only if they are out of print. This is difficult for me as I have a very limited income but I know most writers have a very limited income as well. Even if I am not published I feel I should support my fellow writers. I justified, if it can be justified, yesterday's sale of books by telling myself that writers would approve of a programme providing support to teenagers. After all, if these teenagers do not end up as reasonably balanced and stable individuals are they going to read and go on reading? Is it looking after the reading clientele? I hope so.
But, the book vultures are another story. They make a living out of authors but give nothing to authors in return. Second hand books are their livelihood. They descend on garage sales, church fetes, charity shops. fairs and elsewhere. They rapidly pick the cream of the crop and leave the reduced fat for everyone else. They will tell you that life is hard, that there are less books around than there used to be, that their costs are rising and that they have to compete with cheap imports of remainder books etc etc.
I cannot sympathise. I have no objection to the dealer I know who deals only with out of print books. It is her speciality. She is aware that, rightly, people will sometimes need or want something that nobody has reprinted or is ever likely to reprint. She makes a steady income from this. I had put aside several books I thought she might interested in. She took them and gave me more than I asked. We understand each other quite well.
The vultures were another matter. An argument broke out between two and, even as they were arguing they were continuing to rapidly pick through the books. I know one will sell the books he obtained for highly inflated prices. He somehow manages to sell in print paperbacks for almost the same prices as new copies - and convince people they have 'a bargain'. I asked him once how he could justify it when authors get paid so little. He told me, "That's their problem." It is?
Later in the day, after the dealers had gone, I had another little problem. It had come to the point where we were anxious to deplete the remaining stock by as much as possible. A couple turned up and spent almost an hour looking through what was there. Each potential purchase was closely examined and dicussed in a language with which I recognised but do not understand. The woman, presumably the wife, was looking uncomfortable but her partner continued his minute examination. Finally he turned to me and asked, "How much?"
I told him. It was half the sum we would have asked earlier in the day. He then told me, "No, discount. I give you..." The sum was so small I said, "No. I have already given you a discount."
He looked taken aback. I knew precisely what the problem was - a woman had dared to argue with him. In his culture women, especially strangers like myself, are expected to do as men say.
Even inside that culture I expect he is not a pleasant example of the way men treat women in that country.
He said something to his wife which was clearly an order for her to tell me to do as he asked. She looked down. He picked up another three books he had recently discarded. "How much?"
I told him. This time I did not offer him a discount. I did not feel inclined to do so. He flung the books down and snapped an order at his wife. She paid me what I had asked for the other books and I thanked her -in her own language. It is the only word I can say with any confidence. It was enough. They left quickly. He looked furious and strode straight out. His wife, if that is who she was, hesitated just long enough to whisper her thanks in return.
I hope he did not take it out on her but he is not in his own country now and I think there are some things he should learn to do our way. One of those is treat everyone with respect.

What other people read always

interests me. I find the "returned books to be shelved" trolleys in the library a useful indicator of this.
Of course I cannot be certain that the books have actually been read. I have no doubt that some of them have been taken home because they looked interesting. Once at home other things have gotten in the way or the book simply becomes not as interesting as it was first thought.
There is a great deal of crime fiction borrowed in our largely law-abiding community. Travel, cookery, craft, biography, autobiography are all popular. There are many other topics taken from the non-fiction shelves too.
I spent several hours late yesterday afternoon and early evening sorting books for a "garage sale" at my father's church. I had no idea there would be quite that many when I "volunteered" for the job. It was quite heavy work but it was interesting to see what people felt they could discard.
There are a good many volumes of crime fiction, romance (although not of the Mills & Boon variety), some literary novels and a few straightforward novels - all in paperback. There are many much older hard cover books, novels of an earlier age. If one of the local second hand dealers comes along he will probably take the series by one publisher. They are in excellent condition and they will, no doubt, end up as decor in someone's home. I doubt they have been read or that they will be read.
The non-fiction has proven even more illuminating. There are a great many autobiographies and biographies - but only one about a sports person. There is only one book on soccer and none at all on Aussie rules football. Cricket is represented by a short, light hearted book which the owner told me is "a second copy". There are a bundle of books on skiing, walking and running - all from the same person. There are a great many cookery books and "foodie" magazines. Some are obviously more used than others. The craft books are in good conditon but they have obviously been used too.
One person has hopefully donated an entire encyclopaedia. Perhaps it will go as decor somewhere but I rather doubt it.
There are gardening books, a book on wildflowers in Western Australia, a few religious books, a comic look at Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance and many more.
As I was sorting though the person helping me said, "Hey Cat, take a look at this. Now who could possibly want it?"
There is a fat maroon covered volume. I looked at it. As I was puzzling over it my helper brought out a second volume, a later edition of the same book. We looked at each other and shrugged in despair. Who is going to buy two volumes of the Merck Index?

Armenian Nutmeg Cake

I do not do a lot of cake baking. We do not eat a lot of cake. When there are just two of us it has to be the sort of cake that keeps more than a day or so which, I suppose, explains the popularity of Christmas fruit cake.
There is however one recipe that I do occasionally succumb to making. It is the oddly named "Armenian Nutmeg Cake". Whether it really comes from Armenia I do not know. I am not even sure where the original recipe came from but the ingredients and instructions are "in the yellow folder" along with the instructions for such things as the Christmas cake, marmalade, mushroom sauce and a couple of other family favourites.
This cake has a biscuit like bottom and a more cake like top. It is not difficult to make. (The Whirlwind could do it virtually unsupervised at age 9.) It does not require icing.
As I somehow needed to send it to Becky (an enthusiastic and competent baker of cakes) over at Fidra Books and have mentioned it elsewhere, here is the recipe for those of you who feel inclined to create cake.

Armenian Nutmeg Cake
1 cup self raising flour
1 cup plain flour
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
125gms butter
1 ½ cups brown sugar, lightly packed
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
¾ cup of milk
1 egg lightly beaten
½ cup chopped walnuts

Grease 20cm x 30cm tin
Sift flours and nutmeg into large bowl, rub in butter, mix in sugar.
Press 1 ½ cups of this mixture across the bottom of the prepared tin
Stir combined soda and milk into remaining ingredients with egg and nuts. Mix well.
Pour into the tin.
Bake 180’C /375F for about 35mins
Stand for about 5 mins before turning out onto wire rack to cool. (Important or it will end up as a broken mess!)

It comes out with a sort of almost biscuit like base and cake top. No icing needed. Enjoy.

It will be a late night in the shed

Last night was a late night in the shed. Tonight will be too. My father is 'getting things ready'. All this 'getting things ready' is for the so-called "garage-sale" at the church he attends.
He was given the timber by someone else who attends and felt that it should be returned - in a slightly different form.

He has spent some weeks making a range of "late Victorian and early Edwardian" toys. These are one of his passions. Until he ceased driving my father would head off at quite regular intervals to give a talk about these toys. He had some original examples. He had also made many more so that people could have a "hands on" experience of playing with them. Occasionally he has made such things as presents. One small child was fascinated but puzzled by a small moving toy he was given because there was no battery. There are 'tumbling men', 'Jacob's ladders', and ducks that walk down an incline
There are also some jigsaw puzzles (photograph of one of the oldest churches in Adelaide), some wooden manipulative puzzles and some rather nifty Nativity scenes that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle when not being used.
It has been a challenge for my father. He last did something as big as this about fourteen years ago for a much larger and more commercial event - although his proceeds went to charity. Since then he has continued to make things. He made buttons and boxes earlier this year. They were sold at a knitting event and, as always, the proceeds went to charity.
My father was 73 back then. Now he is nearly 88. It is a long time in between. I am thankful he can still do things. I know he is a lot slower. Once he would have been in the shed until 10pm. Now he will come in about 8pm. But, he is enjoying himself - and someone else will also benefit.

Our local indie bookshop is about to

change hands. For an awful, heart-stopping moment yesterday I thought the owner was going to tell me that the shop was closing. It is always a possibility in this uncertain economic climate. I am well aware that one of the things that keeps this one going is the relationship the owner has built up with schools over the years but even that is changing.
The owner has held launches for local authors published by small local presses and even, once or twice, self-published authors she has deemed worthy of attention. I have mentioned elsewhere the poetry group, the book discussion group, the embroidery group and the knitting group. There is also the story-telling for the small children. It is all very different from deciding to open a shop, stock it with some books and try to sell them. Bookselling does not work like that any more - if it ever did.
Things will change. The manager of the shop is leaving, not because she must but because she has decided she needs a change of direction - her decision was the final nudge the owner was waiting for before she sought to sell it. I will miss her too - and our discussions over the "Thought for the Day". I have provided many of those over the years, not always intentionally.
We do not always agree.
Yesterday the knitting group finally saw the finished the rug that will be raffled off for the Fred Hollows Foundation. It is one part of the community service that the bookshop does. The cost to the bookshop is actually nothing more than a bit of space once a month. We borrow the chairs from the centre management, clear a space and knit. People come in to see what we are doing.
Sometimes they stay and buy a book.
Does the new owner want all this to continue? I put this question to the current owner as she said "things will change". Oh yes, she told me, some things will not change. It sounds good to me.

Do we actually need days (or nights)

like Halloween?
We used to have Bonfire Night, November 5th. My father would use it as an occasion to burn some rubbish. My mother would somehow find enough money to spare to put an extra potato each into the ashes and we would eat these half cooked on one side and cinder black on the other. My paternal grandfather would come with a small quantity of the least noisy fireworks. I can remember the first time I was actually permitted to hold a "sparkler" on my own. It was a momentous occasion - and no I did not set fire to myself or anything else.
Bonfire Night was abandoned years ago. Fireworks are only available under very strict rules and supervision in South Australia. It is designed to prevent accidents. Now we have other sorts of accidents instead.
We also have other sorts of nights and days. Many of them seem to come from the United States. We have "Mother's Day" and "Father's Day" and "Valentine's Day". Last year, for the first time, I saw mention of "Thanksgiving".
For some time we have also been treated to Halloween. About twelve years ago some of the previous neighbour's children knocked on our door to "trick or treat". They did not do it the following year. It is likely that they got short shrift or blank looks in most places they tried. Twelve years on however commercial interests are making a more determined push to turn Halloween into an event.
The Whirlwind was offered the opportunity to go 'trick or treating' this Sunday with the other children in her street - under adult supervision. She declined. I heard all about the invitation not long after it was issued. She wriggled with embarrassment even as she told me about it. You do not, in her opinion, go knocking on people's doors asking for anything for yourself - except for help if you need it. I have to agree.
Halloween, as it is 'celebrated' here, is a purely commercial event. The same can be said of Mother's Day and Father's Day. There used to be "Mothering Sunday" - a non-commercial church based event. By no means everyone goes to church so the argument is that Mother's Day is needed and that we also need Father's Day for gender equality. Mother's Day and Father's Day are now designed for commercial interests to tell us we should be giving parents expensive presents. Valentine's Day requires bunches of roses and boxes of chocolates - at least according to the commercials. I do not think Thanksgiving will get too far in Australia but we do have Australia Day, Anzac Day, Easter, the Queen's Birthday, Labour Day and Melbourne Cup Day, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day to name a few. All of them, according to commercial interests, are for the express opportunity of throwing a party or buying a present for someone.
I like giving presents to people. I admit I watch anxiously as people unwrap things - have I chosen the right thing? Most of the time my immediate clan give books, occasionally something for the garden, or something we have made. We do not do big, flashy or expensive. We do not fuss. We do not need commercial interests to tell us what we want to celebrate.
Now, how do we handle Halloween?

We have been sorting books

for the upcoming 'garage sale' at my father's church. Yes we plan to donate some books to the book stall that I have, somehow, been inveigled into caring for.
I have no idea what else will turn up, if anything at all. Donations go to the church hall on Friday afternoon and evening ready for Saturday. More than that I do not know. I have not been told. No doubt the organiser will tell me I have a trestle table or some such in due course. I draw the line at attending the planning meetings.
But there are books we need to part with.
"Do we", I asked him, "need all those cookery books?"
" What cookery books?"
"Those. They belonged to Mum. I never use them."
I point to a shelf full. My father never uses them. He does not cook. I do that.
"I suppose we could get rid of those," he says.
I hastily transfer them to the pile of things that someone is coming to collect. As we do not own a car it is up to others to transfer things to the hall.
"And what's that lot?" he askd of another pile.
"Embroidery, sewing, patchwork - Mum's. I don't use them. There are people up there who might." (The church is at the top of the hill. We live at the bottom.)
He shrugs. Those things are of no interest to him.
"And we have some duplicate copies of other things," I tell my father.
"We do? Yes I suppose we might have."
I put out two copies of Jane Eyre and some paperbacks. There also some Readers' Digest books about household hints, emergency situtations that need to go. My mother collected those too and they have not been opened for years.
None of this seems to make much difference to the state of our shelves. I am not prepared to part with all the children's novels I have carefully collected over the years. My dictionaries are definitely staying where they are, so are my books on language and linguistics. Those books of quotations get used all the time - remember that card I made last week? Right. Leave them there. That book on islands? No, I need that. The one on French chateaus - I used that when I was researching the book. I might need it again. The folders are knitting stuff - old stuff. It's valuable. No, do not even consider asking me to part with any of those knitting books - have you any idea of what they sell for on E-bay? Right.
There are also his joke books - the books from which he used to get magician's 'patter' - and his gardening, theology, psychology, a Latin dictionary, woodwork and various biographies and autobiographies to be considered. No, he wants to keep all those -and I use the dictionary occasionally.
Tucked away behind it all is a paperback. It is a reproduction of an old Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
My sister found it in a charity shop years ago. It cost her ten cents Australian. She thought Dad might be interested in the Victoriana in it. He was. He still is. He goes off to drink the tea I have made for him. In the kitchen I can hear him chuckling over the elaborate Victorian language and claims.
I hastily remove three duplicate copies of joke books and put them on the pile of books to go to the sale. Perhaps someone else will get a good laugh out of those too.