Book It In

I wrote this under the strong influence of wine because my conscience kept telling me that nobody was going to read a piece about book club. Well maybe it’s not about who reads it, but more the fact that I needed to write it, because I’m a passionate advocate of reading and connection. People should read. Children especially should read. For fun or for education, reading is the gateway drug to knowledge on a euphoric plane of something outside of us. (No, I do not condone children taking drugs.) (insert eye roll here).

People should connect on any level that best suits them. These days its mostly behind a small screen at our finger tips but for some, those that aren’t tech savvy and still enjoy the feeling of paper between their palms and people face to face, it’s all about books and connecting on a physical level. It’s all about Book Club Baby!!!!

I implore you…

Read fiction, so you don’t have to be in your own head all the time. Allow yourself the opportunity to delve into something totally relatable and laughable, or unimaginable and mysterious. Sometimes, our busiest days, days of laundry, traffic lights and phone calls, are the days we need our fiction the most.

Read non-fiction: at the very least just to learn something. Read it for an opportunity to find or enhance your level of compassion and understanding, to walk a few pages in someone else’s shoes, to be warned or to laugh so uncontrollably at the mishaps and misunderstandings of others. To travel, learn a new culture or language.

Read a memoir and find yourself coming out the other end being able to better understand or help a friend, to ask more sensitive questions or to simply relate. Even the saddest stories can make you laugh with appreciation.

Read a self-help book, (not my fave) but hey, we could all do with a little self-help, a little self-love and a little “me” time every now-and-then.

FFS read a comedy!! Force yourself to laugh if it’s the last thing you do. And you can read any of the previously mentioned genres to do that.

Don’t rip the comic books away from your children, or the books about boogas and farts; they’re reading. Don’t scoff at your mates that read romance novels: being able to orgasm just by reading, (no pictures) I applaud both the reader and the author. Don’t walk past the top ten most recommended books because out of fear you are conforming, they all do the rounds and the chances are they are actually good. But in saying that, don’t forget to wander: wander through the aisles of book stores, libraries, news agencies, second hand stores or even a friends book shelf, there is some amazing stuff hidden behind those with big colours, shiny covers and fancy advertising. The best books I’ve ever read were by word of mouth.

But I’m here to talk about book club. Do it. Join it. Create it. Reading a book is one thing but being able to take something that is usually an individual experience and turn it into an event of connection, communication, learning and enjoyment…well…what’s better than that?

We live in a world that is connecting us so deeply with technology that we’re forgetting to connect physically. And you know what, that is ok. But when it comes to good conversation, I like to do it in person; when it comes to drinking wine, I prefer social over closet (most times); and when it comes to delicious snacks, I like it when someone else makes it.

When people think of book club they think of old ladies and for some unknown reason I’ve noticed, knitting. When I found myself in a situation where I knew no one and I had no friend of a friend to connect me to other humans, I joined a book club. Book club gave/gives me a short term, achievable goal in a realistic time frame. It gives me something to look forward to once a month. It allows me to drink wine, eat snacks and indulge in good quality conversation without my toddler tugging at my arm. I can be an adult and use my brain and my personality……I can be myself.

So I urge you,buy, rent, borrow, download, swap, exchange or even write a book. Read, listen or be told a story. And then take it to book club and talk about it. Use the easily attainable book club questions for that particular book to prompt your discussion and go for it. The flow will come naturally. The uneasiness of meeting new people or discussing something outside your daily routine of a nine to five office job or wiping your child’s ass and crying into your coffee cup, will disappear within seconds of someone asking ‘So, what did you think of the book?’

 

 

Spilt Milk

Maybe he scribbles on his arms because mummy and daddy are covered in scribble. Maybe he does it because it tickles as the tips run along his soft, bare skin. Maybe, just maybe, he does it because he keeps being told to draw on paper, and paper is just a flat, boring surface that doesn’t tickle and doesn’t look like mummy and daddy. Either way, it’s a step up from drawing on all the walls.

I can think of far worse things to trouble myself over.

For example, flies in my wine.

 

Ying and Yang

She wrote about another half: baked in chardonnay and smooth tunes.

She wrote about another half: full to the brim of ideas and opportunity, colours and numbers.

She wrote about another half that never bothered to write about her.

She stopped writing.

She painted.

She wined.

 

He thought she was a disco ball: a spinning beauty.

He waited for her to turn to him.

Flashback Friday!! (2015) Wine Religion

He turned water into wine; of course he did! Yet here I am replacing my wine with water in the hope to eradicate the leftover baby weight that shimmies on my hips. If I thought it would do any good, I would give up eating altogether; replacing food with wine. Like a fly, I could float to the tops of glasses on the bubbles of Champagne, flutter in a delicious frenzy amidst a dry Chardonnay or allow the fruity essence of a Sauvignon Blanc to cause my eyes to turn inwards and my body belly up; sigh.

He turned water into wine; of course he did.

Truth Beyond The Lens

They say a picture paints a thousand words, well these certainly forgot a few words…curse words.

 

These pictures didn’t mention how he fell asleep just as we parked at the gym, and that those two minutes of sleep would be all he would require for the rest of the day.

These pictures didn’t mention the heart attack I had in the grocery store when I couldn’t find my son because he was actually just in my blind spot, (my butt) hiding behind me.

These pictures didn’t mention that despite his apron and holding of a spoon, he was actually no help at all in the kitchen and that cooking with a toddler is a joke…a non-funny, only Ricky Gervais could make it seem funny, type joke.

These pictures didn’t mention that despite him rubbing his tummy and saying ‘Mmm yummy, Banana bread’, he refused to taste the banana bread and it’s now just a beautiful loaf of my blood, sweat and tears that my husband and I won’t eat because banana bread can’t be enjoyed when we know it’s going straight to my arse.

These pictures didn’t mention how quickly he turned his water colours into what I can only assume is a picture of Satan’s lair and potentially where my son was trying to send me today.

These pictures didn’t mention the rebellious drawings of absolutely non-creative, downright ugly marks that now live on every. single. wall in my house, which he managed to do in the two minutes that it took me to get dressed in my room.

These pictures didn’t mention the refusal of a nap that led to me having to parent ALL day.

These pictures, however, may have mentioned wine, but definitely not in detail.

I think my camera is broken?

 

Hangover

She never woke with the same enthusiasm as when she went to bed.

Her thoughts never brightened as they did when she rest her head.

She never bounced emphatically in the morning sun,

As she had the night before when she said she’d have just one.

She never woke and wondered how to make the day last longer,

But just the night before she’d been begging for something stronger.

She often woke a little hazy, feeling lazy and washed out,

All things considered the night before she kept doing the twist and shout.

She thought the mornings too sunny but enjoyed her nights so bright,

Often asking, were the wines on her side or did they get into a fight?

She took a wild guess as she traipsed through the masses,

Of empty bottles, ashtrays, dirty and broken glasses.

She realised now, as the fridge lay bare,

Pale skin and tussled hair,

She might be getting old, going soft,

So she called in sick to sleep her hangover off.

 

 

Maybe tomorrow

She stumbled upon her truth: falling forward and spilling her wine. Unsure at first what it was, what dare trip her up while she toddled through the house dreaming into gulps. Her eyes scanned the room at the piles of clothes and the scattered toys, the buzzing dishes and the dusty exercise bike until her gaze met her feet and there it was:

Her truth:

Her procrastination.

She’d need more wine.