Practically Perfect

Some people would argue that there’s no such thing as perfection here on earth. Both Amish quilters and Persian rug weavers believe that only God is perfect and so they will purposely make a tiny mistake in each of their creations to remind themselves of the need for humility. While the sentiment may be true, I think we just attended a library book sale that, if not perfect, is as close to it as humanity is apt to get. It was the first time we attended it though, so I’m not shouting “Eureka!” as if I'd tapped into a permanent gusher. I’ve had this experience before with antiques mall buying, so my optimism for the future of the sale dangles on a cotton thread for good reason. There used to be a mall in Toledo where we always stopped when we went to visit our daughter in Michigan. The first time we went it was so good I thought I’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world. But never again did I feel so much as a twinge of exhilaration in all the years which followed, though we could always count on getting at least one or two decent books every time.

As to be expected, scanners abounded at this sale, including our local crazies, of which we have three who are extremely colorful. In fact, they are SO colorful that I never met their match at any sale outside of a fifty mile radius. I think if there were a national prize for the most vivid characters at a book sale northeastern Ohio would be dragging home a trophy the size of Mt. Rushmore. Anyway, they were there, the crowd was huge, a loud argument erupted at the front of the line seconds before the sale began, and I almost got mowed down because I didn’t realize that as soon as the doors opened everyone would run like a herd of wild horses. I’m not kidding when I say run either. We’re talking Boston Marathon here. Fortunately, Eric grabbed me by the arm and steered me into a little piece of book heaven before I was flattened like a cartoon character.

But forget that stuff. Imagine instead a tiny room -- Ernest Hemingway’s “a clean well-lighted place” which instead of café tables is lined with beautiful, expensive books. There’s a large window, a very nice attendant, and antiquarian titles blooming here and there like tiger lilies at the side of a winding sun-dappled road. Prices began at $400 and went down to around $10 with the average being $25. At first I scanned the titles quickly, but soon realized something absolutely without precedent. We were the only people in the room! And we remained the only people for an astonishing fifteen minutes! Needless to say, we did very well. In fact, we did so well that we didn’t even bother with the rest of the sale, so never encountered anyone wielding a scanner the entire time.

But here’s the interesting twist. When we got home I immediately unpacked everything and sorted it into three piles – antiquarian fair, antiques mall, online. That’s when I realized that several books did not make it home with us even though I’d paid for them. By the time we checked out another dealer had also bought a ton of stuff and was behind us in line. Eric packed as fast as he could, but her stuff tumbled all over the two square feet of available carpet space and we had no choice but to pile our bags in a heap by the door. The only thing we could conclude was that one of them must have migrated under the card table they used to check out.

Friday morning I phoned and, sure enough, that’s exactly what happened. Fortunately, I remembered two titles in the bag so we were able to claim it easily. I was rather annoyed though that we had to make another long trip even though we were already headed in that direction on Sunday due to yet ANOTHER aggravation. I’d bought Eric a new chair for his birthday and the furniture store had called to tell me that the fabric I chose was discontinued and I would have to come back and choose something else. With the book fair only five days away I felt absolutely crunched for time. The last thing I needed was another thing to do that I’d already done.

But I’m here to tell you that what appears to be a bad thing can actually be Mother Theresa in a Richard Nixon mask. We arrived at the library to find that almost everything in the little room was half price on Sunday! I wound up buying even more than I had the first day of the sale. It was so good it was almost surreal. All week I’d wrung my hands, gnashed my teeth, and rended my garments as people continued to buy the books I’d packed for the show. I knew that realistically my chances of acquiring a quantity of quality new items to replace them were about nil.

But I did. And all because of a forgotten bag. It may not be a coincidence that the first book we got (pictured above) was called The Book of Blessings.