Monday, November 06, 2006

Bloor Line, morning press

Caucasian male, early 30s, clean, pressed, athletic, short, grey hair and goatee trimmed neat, TGIF stubble, dressed for function in jeans, fleece and running shoes, leaning into aisle over a slight paunch, resting chin on hand, holding book close to his nose.

Page 71:

While I Was Gone, Sue Miller (Ballantine Books)

When she came back she was carrying a lamp, a gooseneck lamp she'd had on her own desk. She'd decorated it herself, adding two bulbous, lidded eyes to the rounded metal shade on top and, on the base, a strange flat body whose spiny tail coiled round and round itself.

My birthday is at the end of December. My family has always made every effort to make sure that I don't feel ripped off. I remember growing up with the template of Big Gift, Little Gift. "How many Big Gifts do you want at Christmas?" my mother would ask. "Keep in mind, it might mean you only get Little Gifts for your birthday. So, think hard. How many Big Gifts do you really want at Christmas?"

It also meant, in the case of my grandmother, that she couldn't win. She didn't have the patience for Big Gift, Little Gift. And she stubbornly refused to acknowledge that she wasn't dealing with an adult. A child who receives a desk lamp when she doesn't have a desk isn't going to get the nudge, nudge, wink, wink of it all. That, drr, "You're getting a desk for your birthday." No, she's just going to sulk and exclaim, "What the heck am I supposed to attach this to -- the headboard?!"

No comments: