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“Dare I say… LOL?”

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As I began my quest– in earnest– to preserve Western Civilization one crappy old book at a time, I soon came to appreciate that I wasn’t just collecting crappy old books. I was… how to say? “Honoring” is too self-congratulatory. “Remembering” assumes I once knew. “Keeping alive?” Hardly.

If I believed those souls whose books I now have are looking down from Heaven, I would also believe they smile as they see me read and tend to their books– which they consider ornaments, tools and friends.

And so, when I get a new crappy old book the first thing I do is fan through the pages. Recipes, notes, photos, shopping lists. Sometimes I almost get to know those souls by what they’ve left inside, by the bookmarks and dog ears.

Sometimes there’s enough to conjure a story.

Once upon a time (in the ’60s near Ithaca)
  • there lived a woman who loved wildflowers.
  • Someone who loved her bought her a book, probably for Mother’s Day.
  • She and those who loved her spent Sunday afternoons
  • traveling the byways
The end

A short story waiting to be written, don’t you think?

[Aside. I miss Faithful Commenter, Suek. She’s been with me from the beginning, and she’s now dealing with some real life. Pray for her. We’d have had great fun chatting about colored paper towels.}

Today I received a crappy old book from an internet friend. And as the inscription referenced dog ears, I saw no reason not to employ my typical strategy of fanning through the book, looking for dog ears.

Miss Emily Dickinson

LOL.