The BOOKMARK in Dolega

Just finished a hundred and twenty book order, from my favorite bargain book dealer.  But that’s obscene…where am I going to put that many more books, and why in the world do I think I need The World Encyclopedia of Cars, or the Illustrated Works of Jane Austen, and particularly, how could I possibly have thought that I might someday sell a copy of Sussman’s The Last Secret of the Temple, or Tabucchi’s Dreams of Dreams and the Last Three Days of Fernando Pessoa. (Does anyone here really know who Pessoa was, and if they do, do they care?)

But book buying on line has become my obsession, and though I promised Chip, the book seller, on October 15,  that my 300 book order would be my last bulk order until the new year, ( Ha ha that’s funny.  Like hiding the bottle from a drunk.)  I can’t keep away from that magic world of booksellers…who knows when that title you have been looking for the past year or two, suddenly pops up on a seller’s list, and he is unaware that there are no copies available anywhere outside of India or Australia. (Both places have gobs of good books, but the last time I bought a Palm tree encyclopedia from Australia, the postage was 48 dollars US, not Aussie).

And I can’t resist children’s classics: The Wind in the Willows, Charlotte’s Web, Hardy Boys, and Mark Twain, and Jack London, and Kipling, and Milne, and Lear’s nonsense, and Dr. Seuss, and Dickens, Treasure Island, Roald Dahl…. whoa.that’s what I mean…an obsession.

I have kept this business going for years by not permitting myself to carry any debt, cash on the spot, but the possibility and reality of getting the kiosk next door, in April of this year, sent me into a whirl of spending, furniture, tile floors, how many feet of shelving, trying to patch the tacky roof, that I am still trying to see the end of, so that is why buying 120 books at one fell swoop is a stupid, irrational, careless, unprofessional, but oh, so much fun…way of working.

What inner demons must I have, to order The Encyclopedia of Amazon Parrots, and Veterinary Care for Horses, along with Winterson’s  Sexing the Cherry,  and The Rastafarians, and The Massacre at Waco?  Am I having repeated Senior Moments, or do I really have a plan, deep seated and as yet unsurfaced?  I let Michael believe so, as he shakes his head over the latest madcap purchase…funnily enough, a customer has just come into the store looking for the Mythology books of Joseph Campbell, which I recently purchased on one of my mythology days…..along with several Books of Faeries, which Michael seems to be nonplussed about, though I told him that these are “e” and not “i” faeries, so he has put them into the fantasy section….but are they fantasy?  You have no idea how many volumes there are available, on the history, authenticity, fine art reproductions, and Irish lore of,  and probably interviews with, faeries, though I am afraid twitter, ipod, Facebook, etc. will make those interviews moot and mute…let’s see what kind of evidence the next generation comes up with.

Ha!  Just sold The Joseph Campbell Companion, and the guy is tweaked about the mythology volumes, will be back, as they are beautiful books.

Am making a real effort (until this morning’s order) to be debt-free by year’s end.  That way I can treat myself to a week in Costa Rica in January.   I love San Jose, five bookstores for me to grub through, and what wonders I come up with.  Last year, which I vowed to be my last buying trip, I brought back five hundred books, on the Tracopa bus yet, ten cartons of books, an extra twenty dollars, well worth the cost, and like opening Christmas boxes, not remembering what’s in them, as I have a tendancy to take-rather-than-reject in the bookseller’s back rooms, oh yeah!

A real pervert, I told you so!

Decided to make a mincemeat pie today ( a belated Thanksgiving treat for myself) and realized one jar of Grandmothers Traditional Mincemeat was not enough to do a decent sized pie…I made the mistake of reading the ingredients to see what more I might add:  apples, raisins, whathaveyou. Cottonseed oil? Corn sweeteners, evaporated apples?

Grandma De Mun, a world class cookie, doughnut, cake and pie maker, would go into high gear in the fall when we would return from my mother’s family farm, loaded with hickory nuts from the woods, apples, pumpkins, Concord grapes and, of course, lots of eggs, butter, a ham or two along with smoked bacon, and the ever present 10 gallon crock of lard.

“Nothing makes good doughnuts like pure lard,” grandma would almost swoon, as the new crock was opened. When she got to mincemeat, however, she had the recipe from her old notebook, wrapped in multiple rubber bands, but I am sure she knew it by heart, boneless rump roast, suet, raisins apples, citron, and all those spices, the meat cooked for hours…mincemeat is one of the few things that I remember had mace, as well as allspice, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, the works….and of course, the pie crust, made with lard, was light, tender and flaky.

The final ingredient, from grandma’s trusty medicinal brandy bottle, kept in the lower cupboard behind the pie tins and roasting pans, gave mincemeat that heady, exotic aroma (AND flavor) that made it a holiday special, and probably help start me on my youthful love for booze….so should I now blame Grandma De Mun for my years of alcoholism? No way!

I was only five when prohibition ended, but had beers set up for me at the local tavern when my godfather Charlie Smith took me along to show me off to his buddies…and that’s another story.

Back to mincemeat (without meat).

So what to add? Or better, what to take out? I don’t even think I will enjoy this pie, after re-reading the ingredients. In fact, I am going to put the jar back into the rear corner of my cupboard and save it for another occasion. Somehow, it just wouldn’t have the right flavor

How can a CEO of an enormous (and crooked) insurance giant get paid several million dollars a year while tending his vineyards on the other side of the world, and cruising about on his yacht? This is bullshit, refined to a worthy vintage. Meanwhile, old Morrie Greenberg gets his Persian rug back from AIG because he needs the money? Hah…he is still a principal stockholder, no? And is pulling down millions (but without the public spotlight)…it will be easier to blend in with the other modest Wall Street families in the Hamptons, which seems to have become a sort of Me First shoving contest. My summers in the 60s in Bridgehampton now seems like idyllic pastoral holidays, when you could actually speak with the de Koonings at the store filled with Pollock’s paintings (traded for food, yet)…and Andy Warhol’s dollar bills fetch millions, and I look back at that truly weird bunch at The Factory, although Joe D’Allesando was something else.
Now the freepers are upset because Adam Lambert does a dance turn that Madonna has been doing for years…but of course, we are supposed to hate Madonna also, right? Didn’t she make fun of the Pope or something, or the Virgin birth or some obscure doctrine that Benedictella will think up…remember Condoms kill!
I really should stop reading the news, and not having been invited to the State Dinner (again!) I realize now that I have to participate more to become “newsworthy”…like crash the party. What a strange world we now live in, horrifyingly bigoted Catholic clergy, from Il Papa Red Prada Slippers Bendictus on down, even to the Archdiocese of New Orleans, supporting hatred, along with the Christian-ists, Flat Earthers, Jeebus freaks, marriage defending adulterers, and multiple-divorced spokesmen for the American Family values. Meanwhile, the major economy of South Carolina seems to be gun sales, though with the people that state puts in office, I suppose several guns per family is a good thing

Or, Life Without Dog

Strangely enough, without my noble companion Cody, I have free time, and a restlessness I haven’t felt for some time, certainly not since my cancer trip now more than two years ago.

As a result, I have decided to pick up the blog once again, not even caring to tell people about it, this, my cleaning out my own Augean stables.  I hope it may act as a catharsis, giving me an opportunity to vent my wrath, reminisce, clarify, if only to myself, what my life was, is and will become.

When Cody was in his last few months, I was well aware of the golden hours we shared , prescient that we had a very short time together…and we would spend the hour after closing the store each evening, me slowly swinging in the hammock, and The Magnificent lying just in front of me, watching the traffic rush past, and I would tell him every night, “Let’s enjoy it Cody. These are Golden Days.”  And we enjoyed each and every evening, contented.

Then it ended.

I have taken the hammock down, though Cody’s leash still hangs on a hook near the front door, my personal shrine.  I have to move on, and keep the business from falling behind.  It pains me when customers request books…normal, everyday, I -should-have-in-the-store books, and I don’t have them in stock.  That is what I am supposed to be, a provider of books, so I had better get my butt in gear, and either run a business correctly, or get the hell out of here.

This is what I want to do…get the store in tip top condition, keep the reading people happy…but I should also include things like, don’t be such a grouch.  Treat people better.  Smile now and then.  But then again, I realize I become more deaf every day, and my Radio Shack sound amplifier is doing less and less, do I really care enough to do something about it?  When is it time to wind down?  To start my own Golden Days finale?

I just bought a few books I plan to donate to the hospice (to be or already is I don’t know) and one of them is a book devoted to the exact recipes one needs to self-destruct.  Called Let Me Die Before I Wake, the book scares me, but it does make good sense in a way.  I’m in my eightieth year, and may even have need of the hospice (to be I think, not is), so I will probably donate it after all.  At eighty, how much longer do we hope to have for our Golden Days?  I know people approaching 90 who are alive and alert, but, too, I know people in their sixties and seventies who are already failing in body and mind.

So..

I am going to continue this blog, for myself, and try to get the stables good and clean…I don’t really care if anyone else  reads it, but what I think about and write is not up for debate.  This is the daily life of a used book store.

And today is Take Books to Boquete Romero’s day, and my day off, and put enough money in my Visa account to pay 750 dollars to my Ohio bookdealer, and drop by Joanne’s at Prestige to show her some new architecture books…..a house call making book dealer..how about that?   And maybe, if I am feeling Santa Fe-ish, the Bistro to treat myself to lunch.

So…

I’m back

Just can’t be interested in promoting, promting, promoting, and want to spend my time in the store, and enjoy my brand new patio out back. If you need information about the Book Mark, drop me an email…thanks to everyone for your support Hal De Mun

So much has happened.  In Panama, we have a new president, and the PRD has been put out to pasture again.  Gateful for small favors.

I have finally acquired the lease on building next door, so am busy renovating and expanding…yeah, yeah, I know, and at my advanced age, I shouldn’t even be thinking about such things.  It is going to be terrific when finished, but that all depends on money descending on me.  I wish I was  a stressed- out bank.

Cody the magnificent Rottweiler is struggling along, but he has serious problems with hind legs, and falls and trips.  Got him on some new meds and Dr. Evers is shipping me more.  Meantime I am corresponding with others on Rottweiler.net.

Surprise…Michael and Alexander both showed up this morning at 7:30…it is truly the millenium….to work

It has been six weeks and I really should update my angry post , along with an apology and a health report on Cody, the Magnificent Rottweiler.

After our unpleasant encounter back in February, Dr, Whatsit, whose name is really Dan Evers, came by the store and offered to look at and treat poor old Cody, who was looking worse and worse.   Along with his wife, Dan was obviously a dog lover, and gave Cody a thorough exam and blood tests, which verified my worst fears.  The David vet who had treated the dog for parasites, had overdosed him on Doxicycline, and my old pal had kidney failure and anaemia.  I was shattered and even ugly Americans come close to tears when their ten year old canine companion is given a probable death sentence.

BUT I had underestimated the new vet, and he proposed a low-protein diet,  gave Cody a couple of shots along with a daily dose  of mild penicillin deriviative, plus…oh my…ear drops for a fungal infection, arthritis pills and lots of encouragement.

I spent the next two days googling dog diets for kidney failure (I couldn’t afford the canned K/D diet) and apparently have come up with a winner, even adding a tad of calcium carbonate to ease his kidneys.  The dog, bless him, has come back to life, like there is no tomorrow.  He is ravenously hungry, eats three meals a day, has gained more than 20 pounds, always ready for a walk or playing ball, or whatever…he thinks he’s five years old again.  I have trouble keeping up with him, and am thinking of perhaps making his diet up for the two of us.

So, though I am inclined to agree with those who call me curmudgeon (Cindy calls me Mudge, for short, which if far more pleasant than Cur, I must say), my Ugly American experience has had a -thus far- very happy ending.  Those of you who have vet concerns, be sure to check out Dr. Dan, who is planning to move here permanently, though he is here only periodically at the present.  So ends another diatribe in peace and happiness.

By an American yet, one who has a real anger management problem…let me tell you a true story of life in Chiriqui.

It was a frantic, but exciting morning…Cody was going to see the new American Vet, who apparently appears periodically in Boquete (afterthought, for R and R apparently). We prepared carefully, taking his vitamins, Brewers Yeast, eye drops, shampoo to learn how we can prevent constant shedding, along with his weight loss problem, as well as pick up a distemper shot. Arsenio, my taxi man, arrived on time, and we set off to do the usual Monday errands in Boquete, plus trying to time our arrival to be prompt. My memories of vets back in the States (in the 70s and 80s,) always involved being on time, but of course, I didn’t take into account the personal idiosyncracies of Doctor Whatsis, who obviously uses his trips to Panama to relieve stress…well, we raced through all the odd jobs, plus delivered new books to Romero, sent a MoneyGram to bookseller in Costa Rica, and picked up six boxes of books from Miami at Mail Boxes, etc. Needless to say, we were rushed and exhausted when we arrived at the Palo Alto rental pad of the vet.

Only to find another couple, waiting with a pair of Shepherds. I approached them with “Are you waiting too?” And they answered in the affirmative. “I have a twelve o’clock appointment. Is the doctor in?”

“Oh yes, he’s there.”

I started to simmer. “What time is your appointment?”

Ten o’clock

But, but…I am sputtering, and rang the bell.

At this point Doctor Whatsit comes around the corner, embraces Lady Botox, and starts noodling the shepherds.

I mouthed up I have a twelve o’clock appointment, and I come here and expect that we are working by American standards here, and here’s a ten o’clock appointment still here…..

no, no, says Lady B, It’s my fault. We are late.

Now you’re behaving like Panamanians, I say.

And Doc What pops in and says, you can just get the hell out of here.

Whoa, I say, you have anger management problems.

Get out, he says, and you know what you are THE UGLY AMERICAN.

So dog, Arsenio and I beat it back to the sanctity and security of the Book Mark here in Dolega…lots of work to do, about three hundred books to unpack, sort and shelve. I chuckle…me the ugly american, and I haven’t seen the country in twenty years (back when vets kept both appointments and their courtesy

Must we wait for a multiple vehicle accident to slow down the traffic here in Dolega? This is a TOWN, for the benefit of those who don’t believe. ..a pueblo, a poblado, people, perros, peatones, pollos, for Pete’s Sake. Add to this the infernal brakes of semi drivers who suddenly decide that 70 mph is just a tad too fast for town, and hit the brake exactly in front of the Book Mark…the roar alone would give a healthy man a coronary. Not just 65-70 mph, but passing besides, just before a bridge and an intersection. I would be happy to see transit police doing something besides collecting Morditas; perhaps slowing traffic down in the middle of a village…what is the bloody rush anyhow. The economy has slowed to a near standstill, though we pretend otherwise, and still we must rush those 70-ton loads of concrete blocks along a highway with a ten ton limit, we must get to Price Smart to buy whatever, we must get to the dentists who will keep us waiting an hour anyhow, we MUST…we must we must