Was it two weeks ago - when the first big snow came, and they were telling everybody to stay home, and off the roads? I was fine with that. It was the weekend, I had milk, bread and toilet paper, and I was ready to hibernate.
But then I got a call from my sister, who knew the magic words: "Would you like to go to a book sale?" We're not talking about a big box store, we're talking about one of those annual church sales (a synagogue in this case) where you scrounge through tons of books to find treasures. With wine and snacks. Oh, and they would pick me up and I wouldn't even have to drive.
I said, "I'll meet you outside."
Although the crowd was light, Beth David Synagogue in Greensboro had planned this all year and they were going through with their sale. The selection was great, although I finally had to stop looking after almost filling a box. They had everything by major category, and I was thrilled to find a vintage book table. And, thank the Lord, we crazy bibliophiles (yes, it runs in the family) made it home safely, although it took nearly an hour to go 20 miles and we passed several cars abandoned in ditches.
I got a heavy volume of Shakespeare; no date, but it looks late 19th-century, with the gilded cover unusually sharp. A 1962 paperback of Finnegans Wake by James Joyce. Another decorative book with the gilt worn off, Don Quixote, undated but the owner wrote 1885. A few Modern Library editions (they had many) - Classical Myths, Oscar Wilde, Jane Eyre and The African Queen.
Some modern ones for me to read: Burning Bright, by Tracy Chevalier; Tears of the Giraffe, by Alexander McCall Smith; and all three of the Griffin and Sabine series.
Yep, 'looks like I went a little wild. But when they totaled everything up at less than $40, I didn't feel guilty at all. What a great deal!
It's just that ... where am I going to put all these books?