"I don't have anything to do here," our Eldest grumbled back in November. "Everybody here has something to do but me."
Unfortunately, she was right. Everyone else here is either learning formally or teaching formally, and while Eldest could learn any number of things here informally, she has not been inclined to pursue any of them. My mother was right: you've got to live a little to know how many things you don't know, and most people have to accrue even more years to want to do anything about their ignorance. I wasn't an exception to this rule and neither is our Eldest.
"You could volunteer in the library," I suggested. The small expatriate-run library here never seems to have enough volunteers.
"Doing what?" she scowled.
"Serving people. Shelving books. Organizing things."
This last one, I hoped, would capture her imagination. While her own room is virtually a no-go zone, our Eldest has a passion -- and a real talent -- for organizing things.
"They don't really need me," Eldest scoffed. "You're just looking for something for me to do."
Sadly, this was true.
"Think of how good it would look on your C.V.!" I implored, but to no avail. There were two things wrong with my suggestion: number one, it hadn't been her idea to begin with. Number two, it reeked of motherly interference and make-work phoniness.
In December, I happened to visit the library and, while looking for a book, got to talking to one of the volunteers.
"I know we've got the book you want," she told me, "but I can't tell you where. This place is a total mess. We really need to get organized."
"You need a few more volunteers," I said, thinking about Eldest lolling about the house, watching Korean soap operas and Japanese dramas all day long.
She sighed and shrugged.
"If I only had the time, I'd volunteer myself."
She smiled sadly. "The only people who have the time don't have the interest. The people who have the interest, don't have the time."
"My daughter has the time," I found myself saying. "Oodles of time, in fact."
The woman perked up. "She reads English?"
"Absolutely."
She narrowed her eyes. "Does she know books?"
"Yes, and she loves them." Way before Eldest got hooked on Korean soap operas and Japanese dramas, she was a serious book addict.
"How old is she?"
"Seventeen, but she's been accepted at a good university."
The woman put down what she was doing and gave me her full attention. "Do you think she'd be willing to help?" she asked, clasping her hands.
"It's possible," I half lied.
"Please ask her!" the woman said, scribbling down her phone number. "Tell her she can phone me anytime."
"Of course."
I took the phone number the way I would put a wish in a bottle and cast it out to sea. The way I write queries to agents. I knew now that Eldest was really needed in the library, but it was still my idea.
Eldest took the number from me and heard me out, but she was skeptical. "She said she really needed someone?"
"Honey, she was desperate. She practically followed me out of the library when I told her about you."
"Hmpph. You're exaggerating. You always exaggerate."
"Not this time, I'm not." Please oh please oh please.
"I'll think about it."
A week later, I asked her if she'd gotten in touch. She nodded. "I'm going down there on Monday." She shrugged. "We'll see how it goes."
She's been volunteering at the library for a month now. She started with non-fiction, moved on to travel, then children's, then classics, then fiction.
"We're almost finished," she told me the other day. "And it looks so much better!"
There are huge benefits: she brings us home duplicate books, which we all happily devour, and the librarian is so pleased that she actually bakes for her. Eldest has something good to put on her C.V. now, but best of all, she knows she is really needed. And she is doing something she loves.
The other day, Eldest disappeared into her room for half the day and not even the promise of internet time could winkle her out.
"This book is incredible," she sighed when she finally surfaced. "I couldn't put it down."
It's her work and her passion. So what if it was my idea?
