Miracle at the Book Sale

I’m still standing upright, so we made it to Michigan for the weekend which means more bibliophilic adventures to report. In order to be on time for Tyler’s soccer game at 10:15 though we had to be out of here at seven a.m. Saturday morning, so the hijnks got a very early start. After a nice lunch out we then headed to Greenfield Village which is an adjunct to the Henry Ford Museum  and utterly enchanting. If I had had the presence of mind to bring my camera I could have shown you, but I seem unable to grasp the concept of taking pictures for pleasure. On Sunday we woke up with the chickens again and crept out the front door without waking the little one on our way to Bookstock in nearby Livonia.

This sale is so enormous it’s held in a shopping mall. We went twice before, so thought we knew the drill, but it as it turned out we didn’t which meant we wound up playing a lively round of Let’s Make A Deal. Remember that old game show where the contestants had to choose one of three doors in hopes of winning a great prize? The mall sports at least that many doors, but we zoomed confidently in on Door #1. It wasn’t until a half hour passed and we were still there by ourselves (call us slow learners) that  the truth finally dawned -- we’d chosen what game show emcee Monty Hall used to call the zonk.

By the time we got to the right door at least a dozen people had lined up which sounds bad, but actually didn’t change the outcome for us a whit. TV cables slithered across the floor like multicolored snakes which meant the elderly dealers in front (no, not US!) had to prudently pick their way through the maze. Of course that had the crazies in the back foaming at the mouth, so once again they sprinted forth leaping all hindrances in a single bound. I had to laugh though when a lone voice behind us snapped,  “What IS this, the running of the bulls?” I believe I said that myself just the other night.

As usual, we headed for the special tables which are located in Outer Mongolia and not a hotspot for the scanner types. Trouble is, the specials weren’t all that special this year. Think blue plate at the local greasy spoon. We hung around though because we knew from past experience that the volunteers  continue to fill in spaces with new offerings. Little by little we accumulated stuff, but it felt off-kilter and half-hearted. In the end our tally came to just $210 and that included the $20 admission fee. And yet – and YET – a miracle occurred! I wouldn’t call it on par with the loaves and the fishes, but it was at least the equivalent of a nice glass of wine at a wedding. Somehow our few meager bags of books priced out at over a thousand dollars.

As I was looking it all up something interesting caught my attention. For years Eric picked for the store and I picked for the internet. In the last year though he has begun to not only pick for me too, but to do it extremely well. When you look at the books we took home you could stack them up in two piles – the ones he chose and the ones I chose – and  you could clearly see the difference in the picker. My taste, as you know, has veered sharply toward older books. Eric’s, however, seems to have done the opposite. Every book he chose had an ISBN (as opposed to only two of mine) and every last one was worth no less than $45. This realization was, and is, worthy of some serious whirling and twirling which I would do right this minute if I weren't still dragging around. Seriously, this is important because now we are covering both bases, the old and the new, and doing it well. I may have won the blue ribbon for most expensive book of the day, but Eric handily won the aggregate.

Oddly enough, my best find was once again Judaica published in Israel in 1930 – a gorgeous book with a metal relief on the cover and pages of delicate tipped-in illuminations depicting the Song of Solomon (see below). The treasures at the top of the screen are all Eric’s doing. Nice, huh?

After the sale we called the gang back at the house to meet us at Bob Evans for breakfast. As soon as we assembled at our table, put in our orders, and took the first sip of  the first blessed cup of coffee of the day our son-in-law Brian asked how the sale went

“Oh, not that great," we said. "We might not even do it next year.”

Yeah -- right. And we won't be having Christmas either J