I really love reading. I always have. I was one of those kids who looked like she was doing the phonics worksheet on her desk, but she was really reading a novel on her lap. I think that reading, especially reading fiction, has made me a much more creative person. And these days, I'm pretty proud of my eclectic tastes -- I can enjoy the Pulitzer Prize winning masterpiece, but I can also appreciate the finer points of a schlocky thriller.
People who read like I do make up a geeky bunch, and there's something pretty funny about bookish nerds competing to get their nail-bitten hands on the best used paperbacks the city can offer. Twice a year, the library system puts on these huge sales in an abandoned Navy hangar. There are thousands and thousands of books on every subject, and waiting for them are thousands and thousands of slightly furry people wearing wool socks and Birkenstocks.
Today's sale began at 9 a.m., and my mom and I arrived at 8:45. The line had already wrapped itself around the building. People came with empty suitcases and stacks of cartons and boxes that they could use to haul their treasures home.
It was cold outside, but the anticipation in the air warmed us all up. Despite the classical music being piped out of the building and the aroma of coffee from the nearby espresso stand, this was a line of tense people. Whose child would be the lucky new owner of that fresh copy of Walter the Farting Dog? Who would be the first to claim that first edition of the unauthorized biography of Anna Nicole Smith?
There was a lot at stake.
Apparently there's also a bit of a controversy about the book sale. I learned about this in the newspaper this morning. ON THE FRONT PAGE. I guess this is a big story! It turns out that online book dealers tend to snatch up all the books and pull them off to the side. Then they scan the barcodes to check the going price on the internet, leaving behind their piles of discards in the corner. In the meantime, the regular shoppers don't get a chance to see those books. Horrors! The efficient sale volunteers came up with a new rule to solve the problem: "You can still use [handheld scanners], but you can't take books off the table. They can scan only as they walk up and down a table. That's settled things down considerably."
Well, phew! I wouldn't want to see a brawl between a scanner-wielding capitalist and a bearded fellow holding a ceramic NPR mug.
I managed to avoid conflict as I gathered up 30 "gently loved" children's books for Blue and Green. I'm so pleased that the boys are avid readers, and I try to keep up with their interests. Books about reptiles are big this season, as are Magic School Bus science books, and the Magic Treehouse series. I also picked up a classic about slime. It begins, "Slime in my pocket, in my shoe. Is it custard? Is it glue?" How could I resist that?
These days, Blue and Green also like to browse through grown-up books, pulling out words that they recognize and inquiring endlessly about ones that they don't. Green is fond of "reading" the dictionary. He'll pick out a word and recite all the letters. "Mama," he'll say. "What does a-n-n-o-y-i-n-g spell?" Blue, on the other hand, has a few special grown-up books that he returns to again and again. We don't know why. Here's a favorite:
I'm so happy that they are little book lovers, but I'm a bit worried that school will strip the joy out of it for them. Already I'm concerned about that one homework assignment where they're supposed to fill out a checklist for each day that they read for twenty minutes. When I told them about this assignment, Green asked me, "Why do they say that reading is work?"
Why, indeed. For most of the people at the sale, reading was anything but work. There were the two frizzy mathematicians searching for gold in the science fiction aisle. There was the guy in the corduroy suit with his hefty stack of poetry. There was the way-too-cool pierced hipster with her bucket of literary theory. Nobody was working today, and I was loving the quirky wonderfulness of it all.
Everyone seems to have their own favorite sections of the sale, and I tend to stick to the kids' section and the literature section. But as I was waiting in line to check out, I became transfixed by the nearby Self Help table. I realized that I've missed out on so much by lingering in my usual zone. All this time, I could have been reading this:
Or, better yet, this:
I'll keep these two fine selections in mind as my classes start this week. On Monday, don't be surprised if you hear me holler, "Oh inner critic, let me give you a hug! I'm feeling stressed out today, but I'm LOVING IT!"
4 comments:
"I wouldn't want to see a brawl between a scanner-wielding capitalist and a bearded fellow holding a ceramic NPR mug."
So which of these will Blue and Green be? Will they be the Merton-reading mystics/academics or the tech-savvy capitalist entrepreneurs trying to bring literature to the masses at steeply reduced prices? The latter being the old "doing good while making good" phenomenon.
I'm sure their paternal grandfather is doing a bit of a jig at these options. Or, more likely, he's about to point out that they don't have to choose between the two archetypes. Many of the bearded fellows at yesterday's sale were probably wielding scanners in one hand and NPR mugs in the other. I've heard that capitalists listen to public radio sometimes, too.
Hey! Are you perpetuating the stereotype of courdoroy-clad poets? (Please ask Green how to spell that.) Where oh wear are the PC police when you need them?
I'm not trying to perpetuate anything. The dude really was wearing a tan corduroy suit (and he was flossing his teeth in the aisles, too). You don't have to feel insecure about corduroy, ECM. It's OK. Bring it out of your bottom drawer and wear it proudly!
I'll get you, my pretty.
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