NEW at The Amy Emporium

Lydra clutches (made of pre-loved leather and textiles)



Bob Window cushions (made of recycled woollen blankets)



It all started because I’d signed a lease on a shop and needed coffee cups – fast. Selling coffee wasn’t part of the original plan, you see. Originally, I was going to open a shop in my home town and I wouldn’t have sold coffee there – I wouldn’t have been able to face the owners of my local café! But when I ended up signing a lease on a shop in a different town, it became a possibility. But because I hadn’t planned on it, I hadn’t been collecting for it. The very next Saturday, however, while I was in Watsonia, I found a box of assorted amber cups and saucers in an op shop for $6. They’ll do, I thought, until I manage to find something else. But then my reconditioned espresso machine was delivered, and it turned out to be maroon. I loved the look of the amber against the maroon, so I decided to stick with the amber coffee cups. And it has since inspired me to start collecting and stocking other pieces of amber glass. After all, I've always wanted to be a collector. Of something.

Something seems to have happened to my short-term memory. Whenever I plan to cook  beans, for instance, I can never – ever – for the life of me, remember to soak them in the morning so that I can cook them that night. So I’ve taken to placing packets of dried beans across the slots of the toaster so I’ll be reminded. And I can never – ever – for the life of me, remember to take the things I’ll need for the day with me when I leave the house. So I’ve started putting these things - a library book, say, or a particular tool – on the passenger seat of my car as soon as I think of it. And I write absolutely everything I need to know in my diary, only to forget to look in my diary on a daily basis. So my house is full of booby traps, my car is full of crap, and my diary is full of information that gets written but not read. But it isn’t just me. An acquaintance recently promised to visit my shop in Macedon, but she didn’t show. The next time I saw her she told me she’d made it as far as Woodend, where she went to the bank and then turned around and went home, completely forgetting that the reason she was in Woodend in the first place was that she was en route to see me.      

I crossed a line today. I bought this CD for the girls after they'd mentioned, in a casual, off-hand sort of way, that they might be interested in it. But there’s no such thing as a “casual” or “off-hand” comment when it comes to nurturing their interest in books and music, so I ordered it straight away and within a few weeks they were listening to it and loving it. Sometimes, however, they would neglect to put it on. So before a long drive I might say casually, “Shall we listen to El Dorado in the car?” And at night, before sitting down to dinner, I might say in an off-hand sort of way, “Who wants to put on El Dorado?” But I never listened to it on my own. After all, I’m cool, and not a child. But today, as I drove to my shop knowing that El Dorado was still inserted into the CD player from the night before, I turned it on. Just to listen to one song! But after the song finished, I wished I hadn’t done it. It just wasn’t the same.



Review of Playing House in Take 5 magazine, April 4, 2012

 

My daughters are currently racing through Kathryn Lasky's Guardians of Ga'Hoole series. For some reason, their preferred reading position is sitting the wrong way around atop the back of the couch, with their legs dangling. When their father commented that this didn't look like a very practical way to sit, my seven-year-old - who is ever the jokester - turned her eyes skyward, started tapping a finger on her chin and sighed, "I wonder what practical means..."

Recently, the elastic on this girl's pyjama pants gave out. I offered to fix them, but she politely declined. You see, it suits a jokester's sensibilities to wear pants that will suddenly, inadvertently and routinely fall down.  

BOOK LAUNCH Photos



Me and my sister-in-law Becky



Me and my friend Judy

Me and my friends Leon, Mary, Sheena and Barry

My boyfriend Scott Hatcher with our daughters and niece

Another favourite column has recently bitten the dust. No surprises there. The unfortunate reality is that many pages of the newspaper are no longer for me. I understand that. Newspapers have to reinvent themselves; to continuously replace old readers with new readers. I became an avid newspaper reader in my twenties, and newspapers have to continue to appeal to a twentysomething audience in order to survive. I understand that. I don't like it, but I understand it. And I continue to read the newspaper because it is an old friend. A somewhat cold and disinterested old friend these days, but there it is. Thank God, then, for the sports pages (in Melbourne, anyway), one of the last remaining places where a long-standing columnist doesn't have to watch his back.        

The Amy Emporium five weeks on...

When I was setting up my shop, I was a mess. My boyfriend had quit his job, I'd signed a commercial lease and outlaid thousands of dollars on stock and equipment, and I worried I was sending the whole family to the poorhouse for nothing more than a selfish dream. My boyfriend's response was, "We won't be going to the poorhouse this month, or next month, or the month after that; so just enjoy the process." Well, he has since decided not to seek out a new job immediately but to spend a month at home first, working on his own projects and looking after the children. Sometimes, at the end of the day, he frets that he hasn't been productive enough; so now it's my turn to say, "You've decided to take a month off work to do your own thing, we won't be going to the poorhouse any time soon, just enjoy the process."  

The Known World Bookshop, Ballarat

One of the things I sell in my shop is second-hand books, and friends and family have very kindly given me boxes of books they no longer want. Sorting through them can be quite telling. For instance, the box of books my father-in-law gave me contained quite a few titles about running a small freehold (I didn't know he was interested in that) living in France (his francophilia I knew about) and curing cancer with alternative medicine (I knew he didn't want his mother to die - who does? - but I didn't know it had led him in this direction).

Speaking of mortality, the whole second-hand books thing has had my boyfriend questioning the point of his own library. For as long as I've known him, it has been a point of pride that he doesn't part with a single volume. But watching some of our fifty- and sixty-something friends cull their collections has made him wonder what exactly it is he's hanging on to. 

I know that the chances are that I will never win the lottery. But I have a special set of numbers, and sometimes, when I'm feeling desperate, I'm tempted to buy a ticket. Recently, however, I discovered a way to avoid this temptation. Whenever I walk into a Tattslotto outlet with the intention of buying a ticket, I pick up a results slip from the previous week's draw instead. As I walk away from the outlet I look at the results slip, and sure enough, my "special" numbers are never on it.  

Community First Association Op Shop, North Melbourne

The Amy Emporium is OPEN

8B Victoria Street, Macedon

SECOND-HAND CLOTHING

SUSTAINABLY-PRODUCED CLOTHING

BOOKS, SUSTAINABLY-PRODUCED GIFTS, COFFEE

TRADING HOURS
Monday: 9.30-2.30
Tuesday: 9.30-2.30
Wednesday: CLOSED
Thursday: 9.30-2.30
Friday: 9.30-2.30
Saturday: 9.30-2.30
Sunday: CLOSED

Copyright © 2012, Leila Boakes

Many years ago, when I worked for a publisher, the staff used to be allowed to go down to the dump bin at lunchtime and help themselves to books. There was nothing wrong with these books, they were just a little shop-worn and so couldn't be re-sold. The rule was that you were allowed five books per day, but seriously, who in their right mind would stick to a "rule" like that? I, like everybody else, amassed quite a collection; helping myself to impressive-looking tomes I had no interest in reading just in case I ever found myself with a store selling second-hand books. Well, that day has finally come, but I don't have any of those books left. You see, in the intervening 12 years, I've moved house three times; and each time, I've divested myself of as many possessions as possible before packing my boxes. Also, each of those times, opening a store hasn't even remotely been on the horizon. But at 36, I've entered a new stage of life, with its own source of books. Some of my friends' parents are now downsizing, or putting their names on waiting lists for serviced apartments or rooms in retirement homes. These people don't fancy taking 30 years' worth of books with them, and are only too happy for someone to come along and cart them away. The only "price" I have to pay is to stick around for a cup of tea and a biscuit on the day in question; and in all honestly, most of the time - with most of these people - I can't think of anything else I'd rather do.   



Image via Oxfam Bookshop, Petersgate York

Judging by the sheer volume of Christmas decorations that flood stores at this time of year, it would appear that many people don't merely replace the odd tired or broken ornament, but completely overhaul the look of their trees and homes each year. But I think there's something to be said for keeping new purchases to an absolute  minimum, for reusing the same old decorations as much as possible: It's so the children can exclaim, "I remember this, we bought this when I was three," or "Remember this? This is mum's favourite." 

All a real estate agent needs to set up shop is a telephone and a computer. But if your office has street frontage and large windows, why not do a sideline in second-hand wedding dresses?

My forthcoming book Playing House

I'm about to sign a lease on a shop, and while it's what I want, I'm worried I'll make a mess of things and send the whole family to the poorhouse. My boyfriend was away in Canberra when I received word that the owner of the building had accepted my application, so I turned to our daughters. "I got the shop. I'm glad, but I'm scared. What if I screw it up? What if the shop doesn't do well? What advice can you offer me?" My daughters were thoughtful for a moment, then my seven-year-old said, "Sell more interesting stuff," and then "Find out what people want." My eight-year-old, meanwhile, merely said, "Daddy'll still have his job, won't he?"