Category: I SEE.

The other day, I stepped into my local secondhand bookstore (never a good idea) and emerged with two more books to add to the collection:

The Getting of Wisdom by Henry Handel Richardson, from 1960, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents ‘My Favourites In Suspense’ from 1959.

As a huge Hitchcock fan (heck, I did an entire subject on him at University), this was a massive coup. Made so because I didn’t even know the book existed. Yes, after an entire Semester spent on the one man, I didn’t know this book existed. And of all the secondhand bookstores, in all the world, his book happened to sit on a shelf in mine.

Fate? I like to think so.

I will be taking Hitchcock’s personal advice prior to starting the suspenseful collection, “When you begin reading, may I suggest you choose a time when you are alone in the house. If there are people there, get rid of them.”

And if, and most likely when, I get too freaked out, I’ll put Rear Window into the DVD player and relax. Because, while it may be slightly suspenseful, it’s one of the most beautiful films ever made.

To me.

As soon as my husband and I moved into our new home, which is actually an old home, with new parts and old parts that mix together to make something lovely and beautiful, I told him I was going to start a collection.

Of what, dear? He asked.

Of corks, dear. I replied.

Corks.

There is nothing incredible or beautiful about them.

But what they signify is great; a dinner with friends that goes on. And on.

A celebration.

An occasion.

Long conversation.

The beginning of a memory. The creation of a new one.

A quiet night with a book. Or a DVD.

A romantic dinner.

A birthday brunch.

And on I could go.

Corks. Little things that block the neck between you and liquid gold. Between you and a sigh of relief. Between you and a cheer. Between you and a giggle.

And they are becoming surprisingly rare. Screw tops are taking over a great deal of bottle necks where corks were once secured – and, indeed, they should. Screw tops are far more effective than corks, on a general basis, and they don’t result in a cork tainted taste in your wine or champagne.

But.

A screw top doesn’t ‘pop’. It doesn’t hit the ceiling at an angle, with a force, and cause a stir.

A screw top doesn’t bleed. Or absorb the odour of the alcohol it houses. It doesn’t call out to be played with, to be rolled between your fingers, like a cork does.

It doesn’t sit, on the bench, for a few days, like a cork does, and linger and roll about.

And so because of that, and because of this, I decided to collect every cork that my husband and I chose to unseal in our new home.

Of which there have only been three (so far). Not three unsealed bottles, because there have been more, but three unsealed bottles that were once sealed with a cork.

Corks? He asked.

Yes, corks. I’m going to keep them, every single one that we pop, or pull, in this beautiful house of ours. I’m going to keep them in a jar. I said.

I like that. He remarked.

Me too.

Me too.

I’m not really a secondhand kind of gal – I’ve never bought a used item from eBay, I’ve never worn an item of clothing purchased in an op shop and, if I were to be entirely frank, I doubt I will do so in the near future. I prefer my things clean, and new.

Except when it comes to books.

Whilst the majority of my book collection boasts clean covers and barely touched pages, I have a secret crush on secondhand books – very old secondhand books.

My copy of Tennyson’s Poems from 1899

I love the history of old books – thinking of who purchased it originally, how many hands it has passed, how many people it has inspired, entertained or taught. I love the inscriptions you find in them – books given to people with love, with hope.

I love their stained covers, marked by someone placing a coffee cup on its cover, or spilling the wax from a candle over it accidentally.

I love their musty smell. Their fragile pages.

I adore secondhand bookstores, because they are comforting and warm, but also because they house some pure gems. Gems I cannot allow to leave behind.

My copy of Thomas Paine’s The Age Of Reason from the 18oos

Yesterday, I visited a secondhand bookstore that only opened last week, mere minutes from my house. Imagine my joy to discover an illustrated copy of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas from 1928.

Or what about this absolutely wonderful collection of quotes, prose and thoughts – on various facets of life – from 1919. If this were published today, it’d sit in the ‘self-help’ or ‘motivational’ categories in modern bookstores, such is its wisdom and power.