There Must Be Something There, Right?

I buy all my books used on Amazon from book re-sellers.

I am not proud of this, but I am fighting valiantly to keep Carol and I from sinking to the eating cat food level of subsistence (we are very close).

I buy so many books from them that they call me once a week and ask "Need any books today Joe? We love you."

In truth I have fallen into the rhythm of buying one book a week and trying to hold the purchase to $5 (so $10/paycheck). That way I keep the pipeline open without breaking the bank.

Never know what cool surprises you will find with used books. Many have notes inscribed in them from people who originally gave the book as a gift. My favorite was a note from a son to a dad wishing him a happy birthday with a note that said something like "Hope this year is much better than last year; hopefully the best of your life."

Felt like dad had a tough year, maybe health wise, maybe financially, who knows, but I found it cool that his son gave the book as a gift and a birthday card. It was a paperback but I bet the dad felt it was worth $100,000.

I have found receipts, shopping lists, notes written on pieces of paper, notations in the margins. Very cool.

Ex-library books get to me the most. I am not sure why this is. I react on a gut level, an emotional level that I can't really articulate.

I am reading Elvis Costello's autobiography "Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink." It came from the Bruce County Public Library on 1234 MacKenzie Road, Ontario, Canada.

I hate the idea of libraries getting rid of books. I think all books should be held eternally. Just keep adding wings onto the building. But of course I don't mind being the beneficiary of this disrespect to books.

The dust jacket is always taped to the book when they come from a library, for obvious reasons. I like this. When you remove the dust jacket it erases the books external identity. I get to look at Elvis Costello's face on the front and back of the dust cover every time I pick it up. Stunning.

Here is my theory on why ex-library books get to me. The single most enjoyable thing I do is reading books. And that activity has its roots in libraries. It's where I got my start.

The Winthrop Library. I could walk down there, grab me a book to feed my soul, and go home and sit out on the second floor porch in spring and summer and read in complete peace and beauty and comfort. I did that a lot. A LOT.

In shitty, cold weather I must have read in my room but I have no memories of that. The porch was everything.

I cannot read a book with the TV on or conversation going on or music playing. I need silence. I can read magazines under those conditions but not books.

That might have come from my childhood too. It was quiet on the porch. Not a lot of traffic, not a lot of people.

I guess when something means everything to you, anything that connects back to the origins of that love will trigger emotions.

It never fails. Happens every time. And I don't end up with a lot of ex-library books so it is always a special treat.

So there you go.