Used bookstores

I love used bookstores. I love that they are so down to earth and un-glitzy. I love that there are piles of books in corners and under chairs, that the attention is on the story line more than on the story line being in hard cover. I love that typically the people who work there have read most of what they are selling and offer running commentary on things I've chosen as they ring them up.

I love the inherent thrill of the treasure hunter, the sense of adventure in finding a book you're interested in reading. Anyone can just order something - it takes patience to find what you want in a bookstore that can never be considered completely organized or fully stocked.

I like the illusion of virtue in making a contribution to putting something back into the world. A book I buy there is not being wasted, is not sitting on a shelf somewhere, stagnant, cast aside. Its life is a kinetic journey that I'm a part of.

And, used books are such a steal. A used book in excellent condition is at the very least half the price of a nearly identical new one. I read a lot so it's good to find a cheaper way to finance my number one habit (OK, number two after making sure all doors are locked.)

I took a photo of the actual stack of books I found and bought during our last road trip (above). If you see something you like and can wait until I finish it, I’m happy to let you have it.

Road Trip

I’m about to conclude my first road trip in years. I was yearning for a vacation that didn’t require standing barefoot in a crowded security line, so we decided it was time to see North California and Southern Oregon.

Road trips are my new thing.

First of all, you have a suitcase the size of…well, the trunk of your car. You are free to take with you all kinds of things you might not consider when traveling by plane (such as walking sticks, extra hiking shoes and more books than you could possibly read in a week.)

You also get to pack a big canvas tote just for the back seat. With maps, snacks, water bottles, flip flops and a tower of CD’s.

The trip becomes about the trip, not about getting there (in fact, if you never get there, that’s OK.) You can stop whenever you want. Drive for as long as you want. Listen to music you didn’t know you owned and talk to your favorite person without having to rush, summarize or even get to the point. (OK. Your favorite person might appreciate if you do some day get to the point – but it can take you several days.) You can sit in silence as you drive through the Avenue of the Giants (that would be Coastal Redwoods.)

You can explore rural America, buy fruit off fruit stands on the side of the road, spend oodles of time in used bookstores. You can walk up and down several Main Streets in a single day. If you want, in very hushed tones lest someone think you a show off, you can congratulate yourself on your incredibly good eye for really delicious places to eat.

You can make your trip as varied as you want, and in the same week visit several state parks (such as Humbolt), a Victorian Mansion (in Ferndale), a teeny coastal town (Trinidad). You can stay in a cabin in the middle of the woods in Port Ortford, hike in Cape Blanco, and then drive all the way to the jaw dropping, eye popping sight of Crater Lake (which really is as blue as the photo you see above). You can spend half a day in a restored Western town looking at jewelry made with old silverware (Jacksonville). Top it off by catching a play in Ashland, famous for it’s nine month Shakespeare Festival.

At the end of it all, of course, you’re equally free to bring back whatever you want, even if it’s heavy (such as petrified wood specimens, an Ammonite fossil and a bag of really good books you bought for three dollars each.)

Which leaves you with just one question: are we leaving yet?

Hard to believe

Driving back from work there is a dangerous curve and then the wide expanse of a glittering Pacific Ocean that fills my field of vision reminds me 

I still find difficult to conceive horrible things can happen on exquisitely beautiful days

Photo: Real Simple photo gallery

Cog

I worry about my intentions being misunderstood about the inevitable distance between me and my future niece about the stale friendship that sits at the bottom of a chipped white cup about the rusted downspout that runs down the length of my house but I am a part of the action a participant alive


Photo: Wikipedia

Inconclusive

I wonder at the very end what will remain if my husband or a family member or my work or a friend or my house or a book or a recipe or what I haven’t done but that I plan to do or someone I haven’t even met I wonder how the sentence I will use for consolation will conclude because at the very least no matter what I will still have my __


Photo: Real Simple

How I know I love you

It’s not that I would follow you anywhere or that you are what I measure truth against not that I see what’s in your heart not that I blindly believe in you it’s that every time I am given something good to eat I know I will give you the best piece


Photo: Real Simple

Inside

Inside my head there is dialogue constant dialogue discourse debate disagreement a promise a deal a sacred pact true my reality outside it’s all a movie a plot complex characters that unfold for months for years twists in the story good screenwriting definitely entertaining occasionally even engrossing but never real enough