  I need a nap. Or a beer. Guess I'll make do with my Apple Cinnamon tea, instead. Left the Grandparents' new house around 1, finished lunchy with Dad around 2, and have just now arrived at Mocha Madness (for said tea and wireless internet) at nearly 4 after running all of two, count 'em TWO errands. I'll tell you the story slowly, as I check my email, other blogs, and unwind in general. It's not a great tale of harrowing woe, but it'll make good blog fodder. Should actually be getting home soon, as the fam's going out to dinner this evening, but a little decompression will feel good.
Maybe I should do some Yoga in the bathroom. Deep inhalation, and: It all began, innocently enough, at the mountain fortress. The day was bright, shiny, the snow was thawing, I couldn't pull myself out of bed and wasn't about to apologize for it. Told Dad I'd meet him out at the New House when I arose because I wasn't going out with him at 9.
Haven't seen the Grandparents since the New Year's Day dinner with the boy, and knew I had to see them before the big departure. The day's weather was just what I needed to carry me out to Chubuck with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Had a nice chat with Grandma about aunts, cousins and the like. We snuck a box out to my car to be taken to the local "donations for poor people" drop off, as well as a box of old books she'd decided were nothing but dust collectors. (Aside: a very butch looking lesbian came in a few minutes ago and hasn't taken her eyes off me yet. At least, I hope it's a lesbian. Don't have my glasses on, so it's anybody's guess. ) Anyway, offered to take the boxes off Grandma's hands, thinking I could score some dollars at the local used bookstore.
Not much, mind you, because used book dealers are the tightest bunch of people on the face of the earth. But I'm getting ahead of myself. So Dad broke free of Grandpa's hold on him in the garage; they were, literally, waiting for paint to dry and Dad just as soon do it at home, but not before buying me lunch. Yay. (Update on the aside: definitely a butch lesbian, she just went in the women's bathroom.
She reminds me of April. [An old friend, not the month. ] Looks as if she's waiting for someone. Hmmm. ) I had my plan all worked out: I'd start on the south end of town and work my way up. Try to unload the books in Old Town, stop by the local used CD store to pick up the No Doubt Singles album, drop off the free stuff for poor people and end up back at the mall to purchase some shoes Mom and I have waited since November to go on sale.
(They never have, but I'm sick of waiting. ) Then, because I'd still be in such a great mood with plenty of time and just enough money, I'd drive across town again to spend quality blogging time in the attempted-trendy coffee shop. Super. Well, here's what actually happened: I did start on the south end of town, only to find the store I was looking for turned into a music store.
Never one to be deterred, I immediately sought out the other used book store; it's not on the complete other side of town, but it is on the other side of the tracks. But on the way, I got my new CD, and we love those. Nearly forgot about the poor people's shit in my trunk until I was at the turn off.
Swung Harley around to just make it, then realized I was on the wrong block. It was only one more up, not a big deal. Did the same circle again, plus the extra block, only to realize it was another block up. Did the same circle again, adding the extra-extra block, only to realize it was yet another block up. By this time, Hella Good wasn't magic anymore. Thank god the guy at the front desk of Poor People R Us was nice.
Now I just had to unload my box of random 40 year old hardcover and paperback gems. I didn't want to have to go where I was headed, but I couldn't quite remember why. Thought I was just being harsh and elitist, where my tendencies have been known to lean. As I lumbered up the stairs, navigated the front door and hoisted the box on the desk and heard the owner's first word to me, I remembered why. "No," she said, without an ounce of humor. I smiled my "you better be fucking kidding me" smile and said: "Really?
You're going to tell me that after I've carried all these in here? You're just going to say 'no'? " "I don't take hardcovers. " As if that offered any real explanation. "There are others in there, too. " As she sorted, trying not to touch too many of them, as if in fear of what she'd catch, I tried to find a happy place by looking around the store. Recognized the woman in the romance novel section, hands spilling over with 200 page-rs. "I'll take this copy of '1492', but these others are in such poor condition, I'm not going to take them.
" I tried to reconcile the lack of creased spines, and torn edges, absence of yellowed pages, and intense old-book smell in my offerings with her inventory's dusty, mite-infested, dog-slobber glazed standouts, and instead listened as her friend mentioned the other used book store in town, the one I'd just finished searching for.
"Oh," I said, trying not to throw a fit, "didn't it go out of business? I was just over there. " "Oh no," the friend said, "he just relocated; he's only about four blocks up from his other store. " "Do you know what his policy is on buying? " I asked the proprietor, letting her know HE would be getting my business. "I haven't any idea. But I know he only sells for garage-sale prices. " She started walking behind her desk to start the paperwork on '1492', the most-creased-spined book in the bunch.
"Alrighty, I'll head on over there then. " "And I don't sell, I only trade. " "I'll be taking that with me then," I said as I reached for the nearly-ill-fated little book. Dropped the box right in the middle of her floor as I struck up a conversation with the woman I recognized.
She's an old friend of my parents, with whom we spent many summer weekends camping. Her husband owned the mechanic's shop Dad brought Joe and I to when we were kids and forbade us from touching or playing with anything. We prank called 911 instead. It was nice to chat, though, and be in the way of the store's owner as long as possible. (Update: Butch's friend finally arrived; she looks like Athletic Barbie.
Hmmm.
) And so, armed once again with my box of books, I went in search of my original destination. Had a mini repeat of the search for the Poor People's Palace, during which I cursed the No-Hardcovers-Here lady many a time. Once I found my way inside, I took a deep breath and began again: "You buy books? " "What kind of books?
" "Old ones. " Gave him the story. (They moved, need to get rid of shit, not looking to make a bunch of money. ) "Well, I only buy books people will want to read. I won't buy them because they're old. " "I'll go get them. " He took more than I expected, and mostly the hardcovers (HA! SUCK ON THAT!). Eight dollars (it would have been more, had they not mostly been book club buys) later, I took my significantly lighter load across the street to the bohemian coffee shop where I spent yesterday afternoon people-watching, writing and reading.
"Would you like some books? " I oh-so-generously asked the owner. He gave me a weary look and said, "Uh. " Repeated the story and his tune changed to "Oh! " "This seems like the best place for them, I think. They're perfect for laying around and getting flipped through on occasion. " Just get them out of my sight!!! "Oh sure! There's a library in the back for the more progressive students. " "There ya go. " "You know who else might like them? " OH I KNOW!!! "The guy across the street? " "Yea.
" "He's already thinned them out. These are just for you. " That box isn't the only thing thinned out today! But it has a good home now, and purging myself of the story has done its job. Never did get to my shoes; think that'll make a good outing for Mom and me tomorrow. They might have a secret Saturday sale, too, you never know. She does though, because "those Dillard's people are bastards!
" 
