I have the Bianchi Eros in the back of Whitey Ford. The bike I have cleaned up, polished and sold on Craig’s List. Whitey is my new Ford Transit Connect that takes its name from its color. I am delivering the bike to its new owner at the ferry terminal, and this being a supper sunny Saturday the ferry will no doubt be full and late. Knowing this I decide to return the book on tape (Another Jack Reacher epic) that I finished before the big LA trip. As I enter our beautiful Library, I see the sandwich board announcing the monthly book sale downstairs. Despite the current mission to downsize, recycle, sell-off and bequeath my latest personal collection of junk, I do not possess the disciple required to walk past a book sale without inspecting the titles offered.
With the timing of the rendezvous in mind, I walk down the stairs and into the basement sale area fo the ritual. I know how the staff has organized the books and immediately game the duodecimal system to my advantage. Today will not be the usual leisurely stroll through the volumes but a focused and direct strategic operation.
There is a woman sitting on a foot-stool at my normal starting point, so I improvise and start from the usual end. The thought that ‘going backwards’ is somehow appropriate today enters my mind and I chuckle in response.
This being a local library, a fundraiser and very popular, it is a small, but pleasant surprise that I would find today several of the books that I previously owned and donated after one of my major yard sales left them unclaimed. Somewhere along the long dusty road of my painfully slow literary pilgrimage I began to tag books with the date, time and location of their purchase, even dedicating a few to mysterious and unknown recipients of imaginary association.
I see a copy of The Leopard, use my index finger to tilt the slim volume from its shelve and open. Sure enough, there is the inscription I wrote in 1986:
To Gabriella on this glorious summer day, May the blessings of the Sicilian sun forever shine upon you. Alla vostra salute. KML.
I glance at my phone because I no longer wear a watch and see that I have ten minutes to either reminisce or further explore. I move, stopping at the five stations that usually provide titles of my interest. Without providing the category I will give you the titles of my five purchases and you can piece that puzzle together on your own.
Keep it Simple series for guitar.
Racing Weight, Matt Fitzgerald.
Thinking Fast and Slow, Daniel Kahneman,
As You Wish, Cary Elwes.
A rush out to Whitey with the books under my arm just like in High School and speed down to the parking area where I grab the bike and ride helmet-less to the terminal to deliver the two-wheeled goods.
The boat, as expected, is late and just rounding the bend in the harbor. It is hot and I feel the familiar cool dampness of sweat forming on my back and brow.
Sigonella, Sicily was like this too. I smile in fond remembrance and say to no-one in particular, alla vostra salute.
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