o you may not have noticed (or cared) that I have not been writing up any DOG EAR pieces for the last few weeks. I’ve been very busy with three distinct crises. One of them was termites; we had evidence that they’d swarmed in our garage and so we had to get barriers (i.e. poisons) injected into all our baseboards. This meant that all furniture along the walls had to be moved. And we have a lot of books. Shelves and stacks of them.

For this, we’d ordered a pod placed out on our driveway to put all the books (and furniture and everything else that was in the way) into. So the books were the first out there and placed along the back wall, something like this…

The back wall of the pod, loaded with possibly a thousand or more books.

When it came time to bring everything back, I had to do it alone (JB was dealing with “sister issues” and was out every day). This meant that from about 8am to noon, I’d sweat those books into the house, drinking gallons of water and feeling like Sisyphus. Early on, I realized that I just had too many books. At that point I rolled the recycle bin over to the pod to throw away all the “stupid” books, things that nobody would want. The pointless books (coffee table books) could go to charity. But five boxes of books I decided could go to the used bookstore near me, to see what they would be interested in (they would donate the rest).

Alas, Terry Pratchett was a favorite author of mine – one of the boxes I packed was nothing but his “Diskworld” novels. While I loved them and could still chuckle over favorite scenes I’d read, the likelihood of me pouring through them again was slim to none. I have too many new authors to discover. Yes, I had so many of his books that one box was his, entirely. The lid didn’t even sit flush.

Once I’d sweated this collection together (that pod gets hot at at high noon in the Florida summer), I took a shower, loading my Mini Cooper down with the five boxes stuffed in the boot and headed out for the book shop. But since I’d done so much work, I decided to stop in at Framework Coffee for a quick brew and treat. It’s my favorite hangout and I’m friends with all the baristas.

So while waiting for my coffee, me and the baristas started talking about favorite authors. One of the kids (sorry, I’m 66 years old. They are all kids) was nodding during the discussion and then added, “You know, I’ve heard good things about this guy, Terry Pratchett. I’d love to read some of his books”.

“Stay right there,” I told him. Of course, I went out to the car, lugged the full box in and dumped it on the bar. “Yours.”

That was a crowning moment of awesome for me. They are still talking about it at the brew house, my singular act of overabundant charity. Then again, the guy I gifted them to has (in the past) poured me a mocha or two, and given me danishes, off the books. So it’s only fair.

And it feels good. If I need to part with good books,  I want them to go to a good home.

Still smiling…

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