I dragged out the two containers of coffee I use every morning to make my one pot of the delicious nectar of life and discovered I barely had enough to last the week.
Running out of coffee is not something that is easily remedied. I do not run to the local Walmart, Kroger or even ALDI to pick up a new pound of freshly ground. No, I must plan my escape - I mean my trip to Nashville to visit Trader Joe and grab another canister of New Mexico Pinon Coffee which is only the best coffee ever!
I practically smile all day long knowing that not only will I grab some fine coffee, but I will also grab some Cranberry Oatmeal cookies. Yum Yum.
I'm showered and out of the house before 9am. I am in Trader Joe an hour later and happily munching cookies ten minutes after that wondering what to do with myself now - the whole town at my beck and call.
I make a run to the farmers market and find a 44 ounce jar of Wildflower honey made in Tennessee. I am a honey convert. A fine supplement to the sweet nectar of life is the sticky nectar of life.
After that I ponder my options and decide to find the Goodwill. I wander around town quite a bit, finding the hole in the ground where it use to be and a large sign telling me where it now resides. So I head off in that direction and after a couple of erroneous starts and backtracks I find the Mack Daddy of Goodwill stores all but hidden in a maze of back streets, clearly visible from the expressway, but difficult to maneuver.
As I stand in front the wall of hard back books I know all the trouble has been worth it! I begin on the left and work my way to the right.
I find treasure right off the bat. A first edition of an American translation.
Two rows down another find, 1st edition of The Fabric of Memory by an Eleanor Robson Belmont. I have not a clue who she is, but it was published in 1959, the book is pristine and the pictures reveal a magnificent woman in old turn of the century garb. I realize she is the Belmont of The Belmont race track. Yes indeed!
I find a lot of 1st editions and my arm becomes strained trying to hold them as I continue to read through the titles. I decide to park them on an end table positioned behind me. I keep my eye on them as I feel another person begin to study the books to my left, going through the titles just as I was doing.
I pull out a cook book or two and set it on my pile becoming more and more wary of the guy next to me with his long yellowish white hair, pulled back in a foot long pony tale. Obviously well dressed in pressed jeans and a corduroy jacket. "A dealer?" I think to myself.
As he gives up his search he walks behind me and toward the doors. He leans sideways and reads the titles I have set aside.
"Do you like John Updike?" he asks me.
I hesitate a moment and then say, "Sure, I like him."
He returns to the book case, pulls a book that I have already passed and hands it to me.
Rabbit at Rest.
"I see you enjoy good literature" he says, bows slightly and walks away.
As is my habit these days, I flip it open and look at the copyright page.
A first edition. Unread, perfect condition.
I place it on my pile and turn to repeat the thank you. He has vanished.
I was stunned when I researched the value of that book.
All because I needed coffee.