Magic, Calendars, and High Jinks

Amazing what a mental health day can do! I am back in the game today, clearly restored by a day of no electronics, no work, and only the most peaceful of pursuits. I walked, read my Emily Dickinson biography, made a glorious pot of homemade chicken noodle soup and sifted through two huge tubs of paper in search of the colors of autumn. Collage is not created in a day, so though I have nothing tangible to show yet, I do have a juicy pile of scraps from which to work – something measurable after all. I’m glad the need for restoration came yesterday though, as I woke this morning to drumming rain and a darkness that only now at eight has faded enough to reveal the morning ducks.

Tomorrow we go to a large book sale that used to be good, but mostly is not anymore, as is the case with all of them. I dread going. The crowd is immense and the stress so high-velocity, high-octane it's a wonder there aren't reported incidents of spontaneous combustion. Eric will be back to help which is good on a personal level, but maybe not needed on a professional one, as there may not be enough books to carry. How strange that something once loved has taken a kaleidescopic turn in which the colors and patterns are more dizzying than delightful.

But enough of that. Two weeks ago I went to a great estate sale I've been dying to tell you about, but stuff kept interrupting. In a small, nondescript ranch house (I get a lot of good stuff from small, nondescript ranch houses now that I think about it) I found the most amazing ephemera – items truly beautiful and in mint condition. Everything sported price tags capable of inducing fainting, but I knew it was treasure and so spent an astounding sum on things I could carry out the door with one hand. The item I bought first was the Blackstone magic program above from 1926. If I could have taken home only one thing it would have been that. There’s something at once both tawdry and innocent about early magic -- for me it's a siren call that can NOT be ignored. It also doesn't turn up under every silk hat, so the trick is to grabbit when you get it.

The rest of the things I bought are pin-up girls from the 40’s and early 50’s – not photographs, but paintings, including one by the most coveted artist of the genre --Varga. Sorting through the piles of pin-ups I kept hearing Neil Sedaka singing Calendar Girl! I knew Esquire and Varga, but was amazed to find and buy a couple by Springmaid – yes, the very same Springmaid that fills our linen closets with sheets and towels. These appear to be scarcer than the others, so I’m glad I took the (expensive) leap of faith.

By the time I finished draining my bank account and went back to the books my friend and fellow dealer Linda had already scraped the good ones off the top of a rather sorry stash, though I did immediately find an excellent WWII book. This one is so unobtrusive, especially shelved spine-out, that you could regard the shelf with Zen-like concentration and never see it. The only reason it jumped out at me is because I had it before, thanks to my Elmer – the original, one and only TRUE Elmer.

The sale, however, was great fun largely because of Linda who was in a quandary over whether or not to snag a series of sexy mysteries from the 60’s. They fetch bewitching prices, but as she pointed out, your name has to be on the listing. We were the only two book people back there, but Jewelry Guy and Mid-Century Furniture Guy got in on the hilarity after she started laughing at us dithering around trying decide whether or not she should do it.

“Tess, we need somebody here shooting a video of this for You-Tube," she says. 'It would get a million hits.”

“Yep,“ I agree. “The grannies discover porn!” From there it went straight downhill. She did wind up with the books, though whether she musters the courage to list them is still a craps shoot, but I'll find out tomorrow. Either way she will be forever known at the estate sales as Cherry Delight. Jewelry Guy and Mid-Century Furniture Guy will see to it!

This exchange would never take place at a library book sale, not only because they would very likely never have such fare, but because of the tinderbox intensity of these events. So when spontaneous fun occurs ANYWHERE a book dealer is wise to gather her bon mots while she may. The winter can be long and dreary.