Friday. 6 a.m. 52 degrees out. 48 in. The phone says it is 39 down in the valley. Today’s high will be 67. Sunny. I’ll leave the windows open. The sun won’t rise til 7:30.

Tomatoes in the warehouse garden are finally ripening. The hot pepper varieties continue to produce prodigiously. Last night, my dinner was mostly a chopped head of romaine lettuce with a dollop of sour cream atop it. I snipped a skinny red cayenne pepper over it and then a shiny green jalapeno. A little Wegmans Italian dressing sprinkled on, and it was ready to go into the great room. I sat upon the reclining conversation pit sofa. The corner seat will recline, heat. It will also vibrate, though I don’t use that feature. You can also turn on the cup holder to chill your drink. I don’t need that. The big TV hanging on the wall was turned on, and I bathed in the light and sound of the 1960s Mission: Impossible series. It originally aired when I was just a kid.

Not great. Not bad.

A couple of episodes. A few bites of Haagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche Ice Cream, and I was ready for bed.

I’m so tired lately. Maybe it is a lingering effect from my accident.

When I got home last night, it was after 5:30. It took a while to get the dogs loose but still under control. I’m concerned about the coyotes.

Pip is still a little frail. Limping for some reason. But the chronic cough he’s had for many, many months is mostly gone. It was over a year ago since I first took him to the old vet. I finally sought a second opinion in August. The new vet tried an allergy med in addition to codeine cough medicine. That seems to have stopped the progress of the problem, and the little trooper is asking to chase balls again. He’d be a pretty easy picking for coyotes. Merry is still the killer he always was. Giles is so big and strong that I’m not concerned about him. He could outrun a pack back home should it come to that.

When I first got home, though I was exhausted from a day of carts and office paperwork and accountant paperwork issues, I forced myself to dig up a dozen or so hellebore plants.

These were volunteer seedlings that had jumped the garden wall along the driveway. That part of the drive is loose gravel. I scraped away the gravel from one side of each plant—using my relatively undamaged right arm and the small hand adze. Then I’d slam the broad edge of the tool into the rocky ground to free the roots. Sparks would fly sometimes. I took them down to one of the 2023 gardens which I did plant with flower bulbs but never got around to filling with perennials. Currently, since the bulb tops are long gone, there are large bare patches in several of the newer walled beds. I need to do as much as I can before the plants die back for winter and can’t be seen.

I’ll check in at the doctor’s office around 9. He’s seen me on Monday and Wednesday this week.

I flew home a day early—Saturday. When I called Monday morning and described the injury, I was asked if I could “come right now?”

His eyes widened at the sight of the purple-red swollen appendage. A football-shaped hard bruise extends from my elbow almost halfway to my wrist. It is bigger than a grapefruit.

I will cancel the London flight and hotel today. Doesn’t seem like a good idea right now.

I was looking forward to it so much.

It has been a good year of travel though:

• Portugal last December
• Turkey
• Northern Italy
• New York City
• Dublin
• Paris
• 8 Baltic/Scandinavian countries
• Amsterdam

The dawn this morning is so clear.

The colors are almost prismatic.

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Thursday

Some days I just don’t want to go in. I know I have to stop putting off decisions. Big ones.

There’s always risk. And worry.

There’s a very chilly breeze blowing in the window next to my bed. Giles and Merry are snoozing next to me. Pip is exiled to the pen. He rolled is some wild animal poop last evening. Likely a deer. But while I was away, my nearest neighbor—a quarter mile away—texted me a picture of a coyote that a hunter friend shot on his property.

There’s a pack of them on the mountains around here. I’ve only seen a few over the years. But I can hear them some nights howling and wailing. They are invasive and have decimated smaller animal populations—like turkeys. But they don’t seem able to take down deer. I asked my neighbor how big this was, but he didn’t know.

The sunrise has moved far enough south that I can only observe it from my northernmost window. This morning, it glowed like a furnace on the cloudy horizon.

My left arm, injured when I was struck by a heavy motorized bike in Amsterdam last week, looks gruesome. The back of my hand is purple, and that subcutaneous bleeding has extended up some fingers. The real damage is to my forearm, which is very swollen below my elbow, halfway to my wrist. My doctor has seen me twice. He is concerned but not worried.

“We see these [hematomas.] It may take weeks to go away…”

I return to see him tomorrow.

It doesn’t hurt. In fact, it is starting to itch. That may be a good sign. It is a bit stiff and restricted a little. That may be the bandaging.

Two fingers on my right hand were injured. They hurt and won’t close all the way.

My lower back started twinging painfully upon rising a few days after I was hit. I’m not sure if that is from the impact or maybe my posture sitting and lying down differently to “protect” my arm.

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Below is a testimonial from a customer about one of the “Books by the Box” we sold them. He or she bought a big box of mixed mass market paperbacks and was apparently pleased—except for the Romance titles.

Bhy the way, your marketing SHOULD BE “Do you HATE Librarians? Do you HATE Libraries? If you HATE GOING IN PUBLIC AND PAYING HEFTY LIBRARY FINES, and getting SICK from the HOMELESS HOBOS, but YOU LOVE INTELLIGENCE, then BUY YOUR BOOKS BY THE FOOT and save YOUR OWN SKIN” signed, A FORMER PUBLIC LIBRARIAN who now refuses REFUSES To step FOOT into an ACTUAL LIBRARY because of CORONA.

THANK YOU FOR THIS SERVICE I’m also AN AUTHOR PUBLISHED AND I HOMESCHOOL and while ROMANCE IS OUT the rest of these books ROCK.

The sunrise has moved farther south. It will be out of the frame by next week, I think. It will be 6 months or so—springtime—before it returns.

I love this feature of my home. The view to the east… my window on the world… I never tire of it. It grounds me when little things—or seemingly big things in my personal or business life take too much out of me.

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Can you tell what book this is?

A major movie studio asked us to identify it. It appears in a huge upcoming movie.

There wasn’t much to work with, but something made me think “Matisse.” I think it is La Danse—his painting—and that the book is likely a biography of him.

I searched online, and this was the closest match I could find.

What do you think?

Maybe there’s a copyright issue or something.

Forensic Bookselling?

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Anyone need a beautiful Yamaha baby grand piano? This widow has contacted me a couple of times about giving it away. FOB Little Rock Arkansas.

Hello Chuck,

Thank you for reaching out.

The Yamaha Baby Grand Piano GC1 model belonged to my late husband, who passed away last year. The dimensions are 161cm by 149cm, and it was last tuned two months ago. The piano is about three years old and in impeccable condition.

I’m relocating to France in two weeks, and I’d prefer to give the piano to someone who genuinely loves the instrument, as I don’t feel right about selling it. If you’re interested, or know someone who might be, please feel free to share my email. I didn’t want to leave it behind in an empty house. I have attached pictures of the instrument for you.

The piano is currently stored in Little Rock, Arkansas, with the movers who are handling the relocation of my belongings. I can provide you with their contact details if you’d like to arrange for delivery. The movers offer reasonable rates. However, I will not be responsible for the cost of delivering the piano to you.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best regards,

I purchased a similar Yamaha 30 years ago for the kids. It cost low five figures then.

But pianos aren’t the appealing things were at one time. Sad.

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We finally sold the big box truck. It runs fine. The DOT regulations have become too onerous for some of the potential drivers here.

It once was very useful, but now the big vans we have can take big loads. I’ll need to get a couple of new ones. The prices have skyrocketed since COVID.

Car dealers didn’t want to give me much in trade for it. I put signs in the windows and got a bunch of calls.

Then we put it on Craig’s List, and I was called and texted a LOT. Mostly by scammers, I think. They all wanted me to click on some “link.”

In some ways, I’ll miss the big thing. I can’t believe we used to regularly drive it to DC for house calls!

I couldn’t imagine doing that nowadays.

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While I was in Amsterdam, I got an email from the office. One of our longtime staff is performing opera?

Tracie has been here over ten years. Whenever I walk past her, she has a smile and a greeting.

But I had no idea about this other life.

We are sponsoring tickets for anyone here who wants to go with a guest.

Amsterdam…

I think I left off with Thursday evening. I’d spent most of Wednesday evening in the ER. Though their diagnosis was that it was not a critical injury, I wanted to get home. Home to see my own doctor and just to be “home” in case my fingers started turning black and falling off. (When I get strange illnesses, my mind immediately shifts to worst-case scenarios.)

The earliest I could get a flight that wasn’t exorbitant was Saturday.

Laurelle had booked tickets for the Van Gogh Museum on Friday morning. I didn’t want to miss that and figured I could handle it. I wasn’t in pain. I just had a bruised, purple, deformed left arm.

I was a little queasy for some reason. Likely fear.

We Ubered to the museum. It is astonishing. When Van Gogh died after shooting himself in the chest in 1890, his brother Theo inherited all of his artwork. Theo, who had supported his brother, died soon after. Theo’s wife, Jo, took it upon herself to try to build a legacy for Van Gogh and all his art in her possession. (Vincent sold only one painting during his life.) She and her son, Vincent, are responsible for the world having the iconic treasure that is Vincent Van Gogh’s art. You can read the story here.

The museum is 4 floors with additional galleries in other parts of the building. Hundreds of pieces are on display. It opened in 1973, so my visit as a kid in 1974 was to a “new” thing.

I remember that sometime after I got home, I bought the huge art book that includes all his work. Pretty sure it was from the Book of the Month Club.

We spent a few hours wandering through the place. She wasn’t feeling great, and I needed to finish last week’s story.

She had made dinner reservations back in the states at de Silveren Spiegel (The Silver Mirror.) Though I wasn’t crazy about having a big meal, I really thought we should go. It is located in an ancient building near the train station.

The food was amazing, and the service impeccable. The menu offered said 7 courses, but they inserted several extra surprises. Some of the little inventions just burst upon my tongue.

She wanted to do a little walking, and I felt I should since I was abandoning her early. I’d suspected we were close to the red-light district earlier.

There was no doubt after dark. There were several dozen (and likely many more) “storefronts” with a woman seated behind a plate-glass window in subdued light in a front room. They were attired in things like string bikinis or lingerie. A glowing red light was always next to the front door.

It was a sad walk past them, and I’d never take a gawking picture. More than anything, I felt sorry for the people. And I wonder at the city allowing such a thing. Different culture, I guess.

Saturday, I got up early and Ubered to the airport. The cabdriver was very interested in our elections. I tried to explain the Electoral College and the reason it was created by the Founding Fathers. He was surprised that I liked European soccer. There was some disbelief when I told him very few Americans walk around with guns in their pockets—except criminals.

Folk legends…

The flight home was uneventful. I’d taken the shuttle to the Dulles to fly here. It was too early to book a shuttle from Amsterdam because of the time difference. I left messages with them on voicemail and by text. When I landed, I discovered I did have a ride home.

It was good to be back in the warehouse.

Merry and Pip were brought down by their babysitter. I really wanted to see them. It was pretty late, and I was exhausted, so I couldn’t do but a few carts. On Sunday, however, I was able to process a lot. It felt good even with my awkward arm and the uncertainty that wasn’t worse than the Dutch doctors thought.

It is Friday. I’ve seen him 3 times this week. I think the thing might be getting a little better.

While I was away, the curtains got magically installed.

All the east-facing windows—10 of them—now have beautiful color-coordinated drapes. I wonder why I hadn’t done it long ago.

And the 70 or so potted plants need to start coming. My librarian—who also did the curtains—brought in most of the small and medium ones. I’ll have to figure out what to do with the really heavy ones. Fortunately, there are no freezes in sight.

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A lot of great books have come in.

These three are truly amazing.

A Kelmscott More’s Utopia.

Polidori’s The Vampyre.

1819. The “earliest printing obtainable of this first book on vampires.”

Gorey’s Dracula: The Definitive Edition is the lettered edition signed by Gorey and includes a signed print by him.

Since it is Halloween season, I should add this signed Stephen King.

It is a book club, but King is still so popular the book is quite valuable.

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On the mountain, the trees are about midpoint in coloration. There are a lot of dead leaves on the ground, and the dogs make crunching noises when they walk. But I’d guess less than 15% of the leaves are down. I see a lot of raking in my future if my arm can take it.