Sunny and cold. 

November 30th.

So cold. 23 degrees outside.

I awoke at about 5 a.m. feeling rested. The fire was low. I built it up as fast as possible. In two hours, the indoor temperature has risen from 58 to 64. Not great work.

Hunting season has begun. In the distance, guns boom out on the mountain.

The next ten days will have highs in the 30s and lows in the 20s.

---

Monday, December 2.

December snuck in over the weekend.

Ernest is driving us to Gaithersburg.

I’m going to pitch some signage ideas to the landlord and want to scope them out first. Then I’ll go to the sign maker and they can digitally create what I’d like him to see.

It’s exciting, but I’m worried.

I worked so hard over the weekend. Somehow, I wrenched my shoulder. (Yes, on the arm that had surgery recently—but not related.) When I got home at about 5:30, the house was dark and cold and lonely. The dogs were thrilled to get inside, though. They’re getting too old to spend too much time outside when it’s cold. I was cold to my core. I’m not sure why.

Sore to the core, as well… Maybe lifting all these boxes and books and carts contributed to it. 

These piles of better books I priced individually contributed, as well. 

Sunday evening, the wood stove got stoked, and I turned up the furnaces. Then I prepared leftovers. The wedge salad and steak turned out great. The Asian eggplant wasn’t very good the second time around. I was exhausted to my core, as well. I’m not sure why I pushed myself so hard.

So tired I was shaky…

Maybe I was trying to prove something.

Football was tedious, so I put on The Rings of Power. I got to the end of the second season. It is great, if a bit convoluted. There are also woke elements and plenty of subplots that Tolkien would never have included. He wasn’t big on “romance” in his Romances (in the classical definition).

Etymologically, romance comes from Anglo-Norman and Old French romanz, romans, which mean a story of chivalry and love. The word “romance” also refers to romantic love. As far as literature is concerned, the term has entirely a different concept associated with it. It means romantic stories with chivalrous feats of heroes and knights. Romance describes chivalry and courtly love, comprising stories which deal with legends of duty, courage, boldness, battles and rescue of damsels in distress… This 14th century romance, whose writer is still unknown, revolves around the bravery of Sir Gawain, a knight of King Arthur, who accepts the challenge from the Green Knight. Sir Gawain beheads the knight, but the knight goes away, reminding him the time he would appear again. In this struggle, Sir Gawain shows his true nature of bravery, chivalry and courage when tested by a lady when he stays in the castle of that very knight… Romance serves the function of chivalry and adventure in literature. It is considered to be the only genre of literature capable of representing complex and cumulative themes. It is through romance that literature can highlight the cross-referenced as well as integrative nature of the written words. During the middle ages, romance was synonymous with aristocratic literature because romance used to teach morals through the combination of stories of adventure, courtly love and dedication. It was chivalric literature, which aimed at teaching the aristocracy the rules of behavior, bravery, courage, gentlemanliness and life in general. In addition, the principal function of romance was to maintain order in the society by presenting sources for entertainment.
–Literary Devices

I need to watch it again at least once to get all the threads straight in my mind.

There are numerous plots going on simultaneously. Elves and orcs and common men and “higher” men and dwarves and hobbits and wizards and various and sundry other creatures all doing different things in different parts of Middle Earth.

My kind of stuff…

Bed sure felt good, though.

Last week (and more) was a social whirlwind. I don’t have much of a social life.

Thursday, Asian dinner with a doctor friend.

Friday, dinner with my “curator.”

Saturday, Oyster Riot.

Sunday, wine and snacks with my nephew at the winery.

Monday, Asian dinner and wood loading with old friends.

Tuesday, a roasted 18-pound turkey. (Still haven’t carved it. Maybe tonight.)

Wednesday, Italian winery with old friends.

Thursday, Pennsylvania Thanksgiving.

Friday, different Pennsylvania Thanksgiving.

Saturday, out with an old friend.

Sunday, leftovers at home.

I worked twice as hard Sunday, but because of my shoulder injury, I can only work half as hard today. I think I’m still ahead.

200 percent – 50 percent = 150 percent.

I’ll take solace in that.

I will probably go to La Paz this week… for the last time. It closes on Sunday. When it opened in 1978, it was a real treat to go there. Inexpensive. Good. Not traditional Mexican or Tex-Mex. It has been its own thing all these years. The owners are retiring and sold it for a different restaurant use. Wonder Book was only two years old in 1980. I’ll sorely miss the margaritas, which some say taste like dishwater. The queso is like none other and looks like barf. The nachos are a favorite. Toasted tortillas serve as a crust. Spread refried beans are the “sauce.” A thick layer of melted Monterrey Jack and lots of slices of pickled jalapeños spread atop it like pepperonis. All roasted and then maybe broiled a bit. The guacamole is luscious—maybe with some garlic mixed in? Unchanged in all these years.

Sigh… wonderful food and memories.

And memories of the old location hidden behind the parking garage. The upstairs was like being in a drum, the acoustics were so bad.

But, oh, the fun we had… 

It was affordable—which was very important. And back then, Mexican restaurants were really quite rare.

---

Wednesday already.

My left shoulder’s a lot better, but I’m still not risking straining it. I finally taped the two middle fingers on my right hand together. That way they can support each other if I need to lift something. It seemed to help yesterday.

Another cold morning. 61 degrees inside. 22 degrees outside. But I stoked the fire when I got up a while ago. The kettle of water atop it is hissing happily, indicating that the stove has heated up enough to boil water.

The driveway is a mess.

I got a call yesterday that the wood splitter and the snow blower would be delivered this afternoon. While I had the extra space, I thought I would clean up some. The two weed whips were hung on the wall. I decided to dump all the wooden wine crates I’ve been using as plant stands. 

The thin wood will decompose quickly in the deep logging ditch that runs along my steep driveway. They’ve been stored in a cart wagon that attaches to the ATV. I haven’t used the cart for years. The tires are flat. To get to them, I needed to back the ATV out.

Dead.

I’ve started it pretty regularly all year. I had grand plans to reopen the mountain ATV trail above my house, but trips, illness and then my arm injury put that project on the “later” list. So I actually haven’t driven it much since last winter. 

I could not get a vehicle in there to jump it, so I put it in neutral and pushed it out.

(Risking my recovering shoulder and aching right hand.)

The floor is gravel, and it wasn’t easy pushing the big thing through it. When I finally got to the entrance, there’s a paved downhill slope to the landing plateau. I didn’t want to have the big thing roll away downhill, so I kept one hand on the handlebar brake lever and guided it down.

Then the cart with the wine boxes came out. The tires were flat and hard. I essentially needed to drag it out. 

Wow! So much space!

Then I had to get my truck up from the lower drive to put the wine crates in. It still had big bags of soil that needed to be emptied. They were frozen and reluctant to move.

Risking my appendages, I clambered up into the truck bed and flipped the rock hard bags to the tailgate. Then I hopped down to the ground. Dragging them from the tailgate to the ground was easier.

(These should have been emptied into the adjacent bed weeks ago. I still have a few hundred bulbs to plant. Arm surgery or bulb planting? Tough choice.)

Then I was able to back the truck up the steep drive to the upper plateau next to it.

Fingers crossed I can jump the ATV battery when I get up. I had to go online to figure out how to access the battery terminals. It involved removing things… Mechanics are not my forte. 

Great fun in the cold and dark…

It is Wednesday morning, and with additional wood put in and the dampers open, the temperature has risen to 66.

I hate to run the furnace. It is a matter of pride. Or a game.

There’s a red-bellied woodpecker on the roof. He’s (it is a he) pecking at sunflower seeds. He uses his formidable beak to bang the seed against the shingles—“Knock knock knock.” It is a beautiful creature to observe up close. Long black beak. Little spot of red where the beak meets his skull. Red head. His back has thin, ladder-like black and white stripes going down laterally from below his neck to his tail. Underneath, he is a soft grey. If I move too close to the window, he flies away.

Nature is full of miraculous creatures.

It is Thursday already. 5 a.m.

The house is warm from the wood fire.

I rose to add a log and put more water in the kettle atop the stove. There was snow on the porch roof outside my bedroom window? There was no indication of any precipitation on the phone last night. I went outside to get wood from the cart at the foot of the porch steps, and it was still snowing, faintly. It was wet snow, and there was nothing sticking to the black pavement. The outdoor temperature read 34 degrees.

Such dreams… I was to take a test. There was a riddle I needed to decipher. It was a paragraph on a sheet of paper. I remember reading it and thinking it was no problem. Or was it gibberish?

I was descending steps. White-painted cinder block walls. A school, I think. A couple people (or were they things?) were on the steps in front of me. They were going so slowly. Frustrated, I hurried past them. Down a flight. Turn. Down a flight. Turn… 

They were still behind me and kind of keeping up.

How many flights are there? I don’t remember this many. Did I pass ground level? I wanted to go outside into the light. How far underground am I? The white flights continue down and down.

The bed is so soft and warm. Two dogs softly breathing next to me. Completely limp in their slumber. They seem able to turn themselves off and on at will.

I slept long and hard. It has been like that recently. That concerns me. It is not my nature. A new “problem”? Everything is a “problem” now, it seems. 

Even the invisible.

Calling doctors. Doctors calling me. All my afflictions are symptomless. But I am warned to be concerned about this and that. A new one wants a bunch of tests. One test is the kind another doctor has warned me to get his approval on first. I’ve called and called and left messages. No reply. Finally I get through. “Dr… is out of town this week.” I call the next week. “Dr… is out of town this week.”

I’ll call them both this morning when I get in.

What time did I go to bed last night? I planned to continue the Josephine Tey book I started a couple days ago. Such literate mysteries. Maybe she belongs in Lit? I wrote instead. It was one of those poems that write themselves. I just moved my left hand across the legal pad, recording the words pouring out of me.

I made hot turkey breast sandwiches for the third night. Toasted rye. Mayo. Lettuce. Coarse ground pepper. My brother Tony taught me that leftover wonder many, many Thanksgivings ago. It was wonderful. I ate while watching the second season of The Rings of Power—again. I’ve been through it twice now, and most of it makes sense. It is wonderful with all its faults. A new journey to a Middle Earth that is only vaguely familiar from allusions in the trilogy. And the confusion that is The Silmarillion. What an unexpected pleasure.

A good and bad week. Cold every day. Freezing. The crate of gloves and mittens has come upstairs from the cedar closet. The big contractor coat Emory gave me a few years ago came up, too. It is so warm. He was “worried” about me. I think he bought it at an auction. Maybe a contractor bankruptcy sale? It was new. It is getting soiled from all the use. Can I get it dry cleaned?

My right hand and left shoulder, which were excruciating Sunday and Monday, are much better. Afflictions with real symptoms. Taping my right middle and ring fingers together has helped. That injury goes back to the accident in Amsterdam. The fingers’ pain didn’t compare to the damage done to my left arm. But they’ve been nagging and haven’t gotten better. I think it is because of all the use they get handling books.

I can’t stop. I am driven. I will work until I break.

My shoulder… What was that all about? Overuse? Or was it when goofy Giles yanked my arm when I was bringing him in out of the cold Sunday? He had to be leashed since there were other people in the warehouse. When I unlocked the door with my key card and pulled it open with one hand, he dashed inside manically. I was unprepared and there was a lot of slack on his leash.

“YANK!”

A good thing it got somewhat better. Otherwise I would never have been able to heave the ATV out of the barn, pushing with one arm and holding the handlebar brake with the other. I wouldn’t have been able to bodily drag out the two flat tires and get the frozen bags of mulch out of the truck bed. 

And it all worked out. I think. 

My arm and shoulder weren’t reinjured despite the self-abuse.

This week’s story needs to be finished early, as my regular editor is away and my backup leaves early Friday.

So things will move fast today.

Shower. Dogs. Down the slightly snowy mountain. Stop at 7-Eleven for the extra large half decaf and free donut (to give away at work).

I gave Larry the old Dodge van. I had a couple offers to sell it cheap, but I thought that might be a problem.

(We can’t get the Dodge off the insurance until we get proof we sent the license plates back to the state. Always some little niggling duty expected. Maybe that will change. Probably not.)

It can’t be reregistered because of rust. (More good old Maryland regulations.) I guess Larry plans to work on it. It has been a good workhorse since 1997. The first real van Wonder Book had. Now there are eleven. Or is it twelve?

Goodbye, old friend. We went a lot of places and carried a lot of books in 27 years.

(A weird coincidence. I found the old file for the thing last week. It was purchased in October 1996. THAT was a big deal—for me, and for Clif, who fell in love with the thing. It would make his job much easier. I distinctly remember Clif saying, “I’m not worthy!”)

I met with Clark and Joey about November’s sales.

BOOM!

All three stores were up double digits over November 2023.

The stores still don’t do much more than break even. Especially with the costs continuing to go up, thanks to government regs.

Still, the growth is exciting. When I visited the stores over the Black Friday and Cyber Monday weekend, it was gratifying to see the new generation of customers. And some of the old-timers are still coming in.

Bookstores are living places and must have change if they aren’t to stagnate and die.

---

It is early Friday morning. The sunrise through the bare trees of the forest is striking.

The week has been bad and good.

A couple more invisible blows to my health and mortality.

Another Thanksgiving dinner at the old house I’ve owned since 1990.

So many great books passing through my hands.

Madeline has a couple boxes set aside for me. Books I’d left slips in indicating I wanted to see her results. Books she wanted me to see because of high value or issues that she wanted me to resolve.

Annika’s carts of treasures are backing up again. Caryn found these miniature Alice books yesterday.

Yesterday afternoon, I opened a random Eloise, and it was signed.

Amazing.

I will have a new grandson in a week or two, if all goes well.

Reservations for London in January were made. Not without difficulty. The airline game is not easy. Leaving a day earlier would have added $1000 to the ticket. By playing with the website, I’m getting there for just over $500 round trip. Go figure.


Yesterday, I was meeting a friend for one last visit to La Paz. She chose 4:30. She got there early and texted “1 – 1 1/2 hour wait.” We went to Wag’s instead. Another venerable institution in what was once a basement. (“Eight steps below the competition.”) Great fries. Dubious atmosphere. Okay burgers. Bad beer… 

Well, unless I try for carryout today, I guess my last meal there was a few weeks ago. You’d think the retiring owner would have opted for a longer swan song after 46 years.

He has psychedelic paintings on the walls. They’ve been there since the beginning. Maybe kind of a Carlos Castaneda vibe to them. Will there be an auction?

I made a formal offer on the new store this week. We will see if it gets off the ground. Lots of hurdles.

It is snowing outside my bedroom window. Just flurries.

Another freezing day. There may be a brief break early next week before things begin freezing all day again.

Will it thaw enough to get the spring bulbs in?

---

I found Moon Pies and bought a bunch to sell at the stores.

It doesn’t get much more retro than Moon Pies. 

Christmas is coming. Come pick up your Wonder Book snacks and sodas.

As well as lots of books.

---

Another decade?
Another year?
The course is unclear.
I will raise my body
by force of will
for the sinews are faulty
I dreamt there would be more
More time. More strength.
More inspiration
More creativity
Now it is a question of blood
and disease eating at the core
I am tired
And colder this winter night
Pray for the healing of my heart
Pray for the curing mom my soul
Plead for a decade more
and the grace that will make me whole