I was down at the Elk Rapids Library again, picking Jackie Weber’s brain about matters editorial and genealogical, when I made a wrong turn and ended up in the place where they keep the illicit substances. Used books, neatly organized by category, filled all the shelves along both sides of the basement hallway. There were books to suit every taste, including tastes that haven’t been acknowledged yet. The books are donated by library patrons, de-accessioned from the library’s own collection, and–based on my experience in my own house–probably reproducing at night. The library sells them very cheaply–for a free-will donation in fact–and collects a tidy sum to buy more books. Such a concept. So what was I to do?
Fortunately I had my sturdiest cloth grocery bag with me. I filled it right up, tossed some bills in the kitty, and hightailed it north before I decided to add the Dictionary of American Slang to the pile. I don’t know which annoys me more: that I bought more books or that I didn’t buy that dictionary.
It’s supposed to freeze tonight, and judging from the way the temperature’s plummeting in here we are headed that way. I don’t want to think about that. I’m going to bed with my treasures. I’ll read to them from the new books. I’ll bet they really like The Red House Mystery, although Miss Sadie thinks we should start with White Teeth.