Arrowtown book buyer Miranda Spary continues her regular column about her recommendations for a good read and life as she sees it...
Another busy old week, and I was shocked to be going to my old boyfriend's birthday in Wanaka (old in both senses of the word).
I can't really believe that sweet 16-year-old boy is now 50. Mostly I am shocked as it makes me realise that the years have rather caught up with me as well.
Happy Birthday, Ian! Lucky he lives in Wanaka already with all the other senior citizens.
Old boyfriends are wonderful. I love all mine and there are plenty of them. You can never really have too many old boyfriends.
Mine are all still good friends and very useful. Unlike old husbands.
I noticed at the Glenda Dr recycling place where they seem to be able to find homes for almost any old unloved thing, that they do not even bother having a section for unwanted husbands.
Although I must admit, I did find mine in a second-hand shop, and he is fabulous.
But then not everyone is lucky enough to find a masterpiece in a Salvation Army store.
Spring is definitely happening now - everyone has their birthdays in September and this week there are six parties to go to.
I seem to have been wrapping presents for newborn babies all week as well.
The only thing that is not bouncing with vigour right now is my computer, and I am hoping that I can make it survive until this column gets finished.
I have ordered a new one, but am already having anxious moments worrying about learning to operate it.
I have had my current car for more than 10 years, and am not quite certain I know how everything works on it yet.
My current computer is seven years old, which is about 10,000 years old in human terms.
Like me, it feels that its memory is dangerously full, and when it gets too many things to think about, throws a complete wobbly and closes down.
I hope my husband does not decide to replace me after seven years.
If he does it certainly will not be with a computer as he is not exactly a computer genius.
He has learnt to scroll very nicely, but that is about all.
There are no names - the housekeeper is always "I", the Professor just that, and the housekeeper's son is nicknamed "Root", as his hairstyle reminds the Professor of the square root symbol.
The Professor suffered a head injury which means his memory lasts only 80 minutes.
The housekeeper has to reintroduce herself to him several times a day, and the only permanent memory he has is of mathematical theories and baseball.
The housekeeper and her son need a man in their lives and the Professor needs care, so the whole arrangement works perfectly well, if somewhat bizarrely.
It's a gentle, slow story and very, very moving.
It sounds very weird, and it is, but try it - you could like it, even if maths and baseball aren't your thing.
Daylight saving starts this weekend - what utter bliss . . . beautiful, long summer evenings.
Do not forget to turn your clocks back or forward or upside down or whatever it is you do.
I can never remember which way it goes.
Please do email me with your special, wise suggestions about books, life or whatever.
