Sunday, September 04, 2011

Rainy Day and Sundays


Overcast skies and drizzle today, but Nancy and I were undeterred from our Sunday walk. We do five miles – the same neighborhood route all the time because we’ve marked it out with a pedometer – unless we go to Hinckley which we must do soon and when we do I must take a camera to show you this jewel of a spot. Storms threatened today (they have so far failed to occur) but we didn’t dare venture onto the trails surrounding the big lake. We did see a deer though, a doe, as we crossed through Reagan Park which connects my neighborhood (Timberlake) to Forest Meadows which is larger. She stood alert a few feet off the drive gazing at us through a clearing as though we were a zoo exhibit. I have had no deer in the yard all summer, which pleases Eric because they munch too heartily on flowers, sometimes eating them to the root. But I know that fall and winter will bring them back again, and I will be glad, as I never tire of their beauty. It’s the eyes I think. Deer look at you with a brown velvet gaze the color of ancient sorrow.

We enjoyed the walk, came back and hung out in the kitchen for awhile and then after Nancy left I rearranged the bookshelves Eric built in the living room. I hadn’t noticed until we went in there to get a book on sulphides, the kind that are cameos enclosed in glass, that my carefully thought out shelves which featured not only books, but other beautiful and whimisical collectibles had become suddenly overcrowded. Books lay sideways on top of books, my cobalt glass vases had become bookends, and the overall look was one of chaos and confusion. The realization drew me up short and brought with it a kind of despair. How had I let this happen? And how had I not realized it? Even now after my ministrations it’s only marginally better, but I am out of space.



Touching the books, which consist of a mishmash of things we like with things that have collectible value, is usually a pleasure, but today served only to deepen my despair. I have worked hard to learn about books for over a decade and yet what remains unlearned is so vast I can barely comprehend it. It’s like gazing up at the night sky and pondering the unfathomable depth and breadth of the universe. I feel such a frustration because it’s so rare to find truly good books here. I have had nice books, I still have nice books, and I am grateful for that--but I have not had the kind I wish to have learned from. How amazing it would have been to have apprenticed with a shop that DOES have fine books. This weekend I sold one antiquarian book, but all the rest were of the usual modern ilk. They ranged in price from $45 to $100 and I am grateful for that too, but these are the not the books that call to me, not the books which decorate my dreams as my brain plays out bizarre scenerios against their backdrop. I truly don’t think that I will ever see these kinds of books or, be versed enough, to deal with them if I do.

The infamous book sale comment I overheard at the Cuyahoga Fall Library sale a few years ago -- “You don’t gotta know nothin’ to sell books”, today rattles around in my head like a pebble in the toe of a shoe. I don’t know whether to raise the ante on my indignation or weep at such utter ignorance. Nancy and I were talking about this today and she said I underestimate myself, that I have never been a know-nothing bookseller even when I first began and knew much less than I know now. I can see how she would say that, as I am a researcher, a caretaker, a bibliophile from birth, but none of that makes it true. Yes, I have moved into a different, and more interesting place than the one at which I began, but the truth is nonetheless this – the journey has been slow, the path steep, and the walker a pilgrim, staff in hand, still forging onward without a map.

It’s pretty hard to get there when you don’t know where “there” is. Is “there” the place where you know everything about typography, small presses, woodcuts, steel engravings, early photography, and edition points. Or is “there” a mile further off to the left of the place where you speak fluently the language of books. Or is “there” even further yet where you have acquired credentials greater than “street cred”? I don’t know, but I do know one thing -- I will not make it to there. Ever. I know this as surely as I know the deer will return this winter. I’m even okay with it.

Except on Sundays when it rains.

4 comments:

Saturday Evening Post said...

It sure would be nice if we could read the titles and authors.....

tess said...

Do not pass Go, do not collect
$100. just go to the the next post and see what you inspired!

Saturday Evening Post said...

I'm tickled pink that you've begun another thread, and I'm delighted by your enthusiasm, and I'll bet your readers are too.

But that's not what I wanted. I want to stand in front of your bookcase and look at all the books, as they stand. Maybe you can't do it in one shot - maybe it takes six. I want to see them all. You have other bookcases, and I want to see them too. Obnoxious, ain't I?

tess said...

Yeah, I actually get that.I really do because that's what I would want too. But consider this. Doing it the way I am makes the experience last longer. Also you get my running commentary! :-)