The Possibilities of Pigs

As you may have guessed, song lyrics have bombarded me this week. Today it’s a line from that old Blood Sweat and Tears tune Spinning Wheel – “What goes up, must come down.” I’m referring of course to my recent bout of euphoria. No, no, I’m not in the mood to yell at the cat again. I’m not even blue. I’m just back to earth after having been in orbit, which may actually be a good thing. It’s a hot, sticky, dark day, so I might as well get serious, hunker down, and list the half dozen books I bought last night.

I got these books because we went to one of the nicer library sales we still attend. I say “still” because I’ve developed an aversion to most library sales thanks to the crowds, the various less-than-charming behaviors, and the fact that most are scavenged before the doors even open. This sale is a twice a year event out in the middle of nowhere, or as Shel Silverstein would say, “where the sidewalk ends.” The reason I like it is because the workers are friendly, the guy who runs it is good at it, they disallow scanning and have a nice little sign by the door announcing it. Somebody actually tried firing up a scanner last night and was quickly disabused of the notion.

This is not a sale where you’re guaranteed anything though. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s wretched. One memorable time I actually found a complete set of Rising Up, Rising Down published by McSweeney there, which is about as likely as finding a Honda in a Ford showroom. The time before this one I got an antiquarian book about missions in Sierra Leone (much more likely to find that) and a history of the college of optometry at Ohio State. I know, I know –these don’t sound like winners. But they were — both sold at good prices -- and I liked them both very much, the first for the amazing photographs and the second for its book feel. I’m telling you, that oversized green book was a tactile experience.

Last night, however, was nothing to break out the sparklers for unless you were the lucky dealer who found a first edition F. Scott Fitzgerald WITH its original dustjacket. I’m not kidding – he showed it to me. Normally, this guy’s so negative he could turn Christmas into a day of mourning, but after making the big find he tore down the black crepe and didn’t rehang it for at least a whole second. Sadly, there were no Fitzgeralds for me though. Just pigs. Well, not JUST pigs – I did get two reasonably okay cookbooks and another copy of an art book I’ve had before and totally love. But the pigs were, and are, the biggest contenders.

As you can see, I’ve photographed both of them with a totally cool vintage pig die-cut. The latter did not come from last night’s sale, however. It’s an advertising card for Rex meats which actually opens and is printed with the same design on the back. I can’t remember where I got it, but it’s pretty darn cute and now I’ve finally had a chance to showcase it with the fairly decent pig books.

So, old adage to the contrary, my soujourn to the country turned out pretty well after all. I cast my pearls before swine and ended up with a photo op.