I pride myself on not being much of a collector, right. I don't do knick-knacks so much. Which is not to say, of course, that if you walked into my home you might not find some object with very little purpose other than to look kind of nifty and collect dust. There's that silver and turquoise owl on top of the television, and a few Halloween snow globes (which rain plastic bats instead of snow) nestled into the book shelves. I own a Napoleon Dynamite bobblehead. But, when I go out thrifting, my mantra is generally, if I can't wear it or use it, I don't buy it. My closet is overflowing, and I own perhaps too many kitchen utensils shaped like food, but who says utilitarianism can't be darn adorable? The exceptions of course, are art (or any object I can hang on my wall and ostensibly call "art") and books.
And you may come to my defense now (by all means!). You may say, Oh, but you intend to read those books, to absorb their knowledge and beauty and that sheer volume of words, and this will enrich your life and expand your world view and knowledge! Yes. Well, I mean, that's the plan. But the truth is that, despite my best intentions, I will never get around to reading all the books I own. And my intentions are damn good, too. I even go so far as to separate the books I've actually read from those I have not, so there's no chance of my getting confused and thinking I've read something when really I've only read the jacket and the first paragraph. The books I actually read get stuffed onto shelves, the books I've not read get stacked in piles under the television and against walls. And they number very close to triple digits, I know.
So, was it a good idea to go to the Wake County Public Library system's annual book sale, on $5 a box day, with my grandmother, a notorious impulse buyer? Perhaps not. But, I did it anyways, and this is the result. I am particularly proud of the children's books I picked up (because I am an avid fan of children's literature, and an avid planner for those theoretical yet-unborn pups we Wolfpeople talk about incessantly). I found a few out-of-print hard cover books, published in the 50's and 60's. I read The Blue-Nosed Witch this weekend--Blanche the blue-nosed witch belongs to Scurry no. 13, known for its beautiful flying formation, the lead witch, of course, flying on a vacuum which makes a wonderful rumbling noise. I also picked up a couple of beautifully illustrated foreign picture books, one Russian and the other Croatian, only one of which includes a translation. I fell in love with the vivid art. (I have a particular keenness for picture books, which I have plans to illuminate in further detail here on this blog later, so watch for that.)