Nightly Rituals

Perhaps my partner, Sonia, and I have too many books...

Or perhaps age is creeping up on us.

I have always been absent-minded. It seems I get into a book or thought and
manage to simply loose track of everything else. When I am summoned back to
the real world I often leave my book, with the page carefully marked, where
I "know" I will find it again or simply in a convenient place. After
whatever interruption has called me is over, I look around in the "normal"
places for the book I was reading. And, in the words of Flanders & Swann, I
"find it missing". This night, "Dear Old Dead" has been found missing...

This starts a great hunt, often tinged with frustration and anger at myself
for doing this again. I revisit all the places in our house and out where I
have been, where I might have left the book in an unthinking moment. No,
not there. Not on the front porch, not in the bathroom, not by my favoured
spot in the front room. Did I go to the kitchen? No, I don't think so, but
maybe, just maybe I did. Not there either. After several minutes of this
meandering about, with Sonia always asking "What are you looking for now", I
see another book that I have been wanting to read. Around this house, there
is "always" another book handy that needs reading.

Time passes and the book is nowhere to be found. So, with some reluctance
but also with some joy, I open the covers of another book and start off.
Hmmm. Lynn Hightower. "The Debt Collector" - that sounds interesting.
Read the blurbs and flaps. Yes, this will do. A chapter is finished, then
another. Five or so chapters in and it is time to head off to bed. With my
nose still in the book, down the hall I go, Little Boots cheerfully
following. Boots chews on his nighttimes dog biscuit then jumps on the bed.
As my eyes follow, I see the long sought book, "Dear Old Dead", resting
right in the centre of my pillow where I casually threw it when interrupted.
Indeed, the moment I see it I instantly can connect all the dots and
remember exactly why I decided at that moment to put it right where it is.

Now comes the great decision. Do I continue to read the "new book" or
return to the "old book"? Both now lie by my pillow and I tend to avoid the
necessary decision. Hmmm. Both novels, both mysteries. You know, I don't
really "feel" like reading a novel right now. Something a bit meatier.
Now, what was it that DAF said about Bush and Iraq? There was an answer to
that on the tip of my tongue, but I know it was in something I read - what
was it? - a week ago or so. So I cast an eye over the shelves of books now
nested by my desk on Clinton, Bush, Cheney and Iraq, Iran, Israel and
Palestine. That's right - it was something Gwynne Dyer wrote. That narrows
it down to three books, so I take out all three from the shelf. Nope, not
the first, it might be the second. Definitely it was in the third book on
the right side of the page.

The novels take their place on the bed, Boots takes his, and I hope in with
the third book firmly in hand, turn on the light and roll over. The light
is on a timer - it will go off sometime after I fall asleep. Opps! Forgot
to take my night-time pills! Up I go and grab the bubblepack that seems to
rule my days. Pop the night-pills and down they go with a bit of water.
Now back to the bed and hop in yet again, picking up "Dear Old Dead" as I do
so. Dyer has fallen to the floor on the other side of the bed or has
managed to creep under Boots as he starts to snore.

"As before, when George Demarkian had come to New York. it had been
winter..." Ah yes, just where I was before...