Friday the 13th. I will watch my step.

The slight thaw this week hasn’t changed the snowscape.

But the snow that has melted around the edges is leaving debris. The epoch roof is covered in black sunflower husks.

The front porch below is also covered in sunflower husks. The icy loaf that formed on the roof meant that when I tossed scoops of seed on it, a lot of it went skating downhill and flew off the edge of the roof. The birds feasted on those on the concrete porch below.

I didn’t want to bundle up and slip into boots to go to the barn, so I went down the 14 steps to the front porch to fill a big canvas tote load of firewood I went…

One

Step

At

A

Time

Down

And

One

Step

At

A

Time

Back

Up.

I’m nursing my still purple leg and not risking extra strains.

Spending half a day in bed every day this week has helped. When I awoke this morning, my left leg atop the two pillows (and two now warm ice packs) felt pretty normal. That was not the case last night when I got home from a birthday dinner with an old friend. My left leg was sore, swollen and stiff.

Giles was released from the pen and went flying into the forest to stretch his legs. The snow cover is still so hard that his legs don’t penetrate the crust.

It was a wonderful meal at one of Frederick’s newer treasures—the 7th Sister. We shared these Warhol-like hot dogs called Glizzys (a DC term.)

Cassoulet.

Steak frites (using a filet instead of the usual thin ribeye.)

And some wondrous cocktails. And they had a Tolkien-themed pilsner that I had to try.

Dinner was wonderful. Pre-COVIDesque. (Did I just coin that?)

We sat at the bar for over two hours. I maneuvered so my left hip was off the cushioned stool. Still, at the end of the long day, my leg was very stiff and swollen. Climbing into the Wrangler was awkward, as the knee didn’t want to bend that much. (Maybe I should add on running boards.)

The new Jeep. It replaced the Jeep I totaled last June. There was a great insurance settlement on that one. I kept searching online at the dealership I trust some 25 miles away. I finally pulled the trigger on a 2024 model at a deep discount. It has a soft top which peels back halfway and also all the way with the rear side and back plastic windows removed. I can’t wait to go driving with the wind in my hair. Because of the snow and ice I’ve only driven it a few times. It just went over 100 miles.

At work, we are in another boom. Two more huge clients are buying large quantities. One is ordering one at a time and taking some strange things. A lot of foreign language books but also kids and odd subjects. Many are at very high (for us) prices. The other just placed an order for 4000+ titles. And now there is a third sending out feelers.

I made a push to get more books added online. The huge customer from the end of 2025 depleted our stock by over half a million. Sometimes I have to pull rank. My job is to see the big picture—stores, online, warehouse, Books by the Foot… Some of the managers can’t visualize beyond their areas of responsibility.

Of course, if the plan fails, the buck stops here.

It may get up to 50 Saturday. How wonderful.

Saturday, February 7th.

It is a beautiful morning.

The sun peeks over the horizon, adding a little gold to the white snowscape on the mountain and in the Maryland valley far below.

It is 8 degrees—”feels like -13.”

There is a high wind advisory all day.

There was a surprise hydrologic event last night that dropped a few inches of white powdery snow on top the rock hard icy remains that fell two weeks ago and has not melted. It has only solidified into marble-like frozen water.

What should I do? Limp out into the brutal cold and plow so I can go to work?

The day is not going to get any better. Nor will tomorrow. Maybe Tuesday it will get above freezing… finally.

4 a.m.

8 hours til noon.

Resting in bed with my leg propped up on a pillow.

Saturday was fun. Playing with books! That was after plowing yet again to get down the mountain. Friday evening’s surprise storm added 3 inches to the hardening marble-like snow from 2 weeks ago.

I was glad the ATV started in the frigid cold. Pushing the snow down the mountain was a little adventure, as strong winds had clouds of white powder swirling up like ice phantoms. It was dry snow, so driving down the steep slope was only moderately terrifying. Dry snow is more crunchy than slippery. The country roads I take to get to work often had snow blowing over them. The county hadn’t plowed or treated them. But when I got to Rt. 15, it was dry, and I was able to switch off the 4WD.

I left the dogs at home. Should something bad happen, the problem would be multiplied by the presence of 2 canines. The extreme cold and snow have forced me to leave Giles loose inside. “Houdini” would almost certainly bust out of an indoor pen. So far he hasn’t misbehaved. And it is nice to have someone come to the door and greet me effusively upon my return. He performs a doggie dance snuffling and biting the air.

I could stand for 6 and a half hours before my purple appendage protested painfully that it was past quitting time.

A weird find was this Frances Steloff bookplate.

What possessed me to open that book and look at the pastedown? Steloff was the founder of the Gotham Book Mart whose motto was “Wise Men Fish Here.” It is hard to think of a more legendary bookseller.

The rock song “The Weight” by The Band mentions Steloff.

Take a load off Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny
And (and, and) you put the load right on me
(You put the load right on me)

Robbie Robertson was a customer at the Gotham Book Mart.

Monday began at 6 degrees. It might get up to 30. But tomorrow and the day after and the day after that there may finally be a break. FORTY!!!

4 a.m. 8 hours til noon. Lying down is so comfortable. The fire is glowing. I moved the ATV so I could finally get at the big chunks near the gas splitter.

I call these “all nighters” because they take so long to burn down to ashes and coals.

The lengthy deep freeze and my aching left leg and tail have made this winter torture.

Ernest and I are driving to Gaithersburg. I’ve got to make decisions on the 15 new bookcases. They’re directly across from the sales counter, so I think they should be some kind of display stuff. Pretty books. I’ve decided to make one bookcase “Chuck’s Picks.”

When I’m sorting through cats if I see a book that is especially attractive or intriguing, I’ll set it into a box to be marked “Display.” Most of the books that go on show at the stores are recent publications. Chuck’s Picks will showcase books that customers might not otherwise find among the hundreds of thousands in the store. Perhaps they would ordinarily be put in seldom-browsed category—out of the mainstream.

Well, some ideas fell into place.

“Expand Lit!”

(If in doubt, “expand the literature sections.”)

We are moving poetry and mythology onto the new shelves. Then we can expand the beginning and the end of the Lit alphabet onto the shelves where they’ve been.

I often describe some of the large meandering categories as a snake. Just follow the alphabet and you will eventually find the head… or the tail… of the snake. That’s why it is important to keep these large sections contiguous.

The Lit section—alphabetized by author—will now comprise 66 bookcases. That doesn’t include the mass market section, nor philosophy, criticism, poetry, folklore…

For example, the Sci Fi paperback section in the newly renovated area had the last five bookcases of its alphabet make a leap to another random row a couple aisles over.

“Where are the Z’s?” I asked.

“Back over there.” A finger pointed.

“Let’s put it back together.”

So, there’s still a lot of tweaking to do.

The van ride back hurt like hell. The seat was very firm. It was difficult to raise my right side to take the pressure off. I gave Ernest a side eye every time he hit a bump.

I think I worked too hard over the weekend. Sunday evening, my leg was on fire. I didn’t do much but stand. Not much bending. Pushing carts puts some stress on my lower body—especially the recalcitrant carts that refuse to be pushed in the direction I desire. “Cart Wrangling”—a new Olympic sport.

It is Tuesday, February 10th. The temperature will get to 42 degrees today. Perhaps the freestyle marble sculptures will soften some. The forest floor is still buried under the frozen crust some 8 or 9 inches above. There is something a bit surreal watching Giles walk upon it. It is like he is prancing upon higher plane.

I’m ready for the thaw. A week with highs in the 40s. This winter has been a test. And now with my wounded leg there is another test.

“Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

I need to stay at home with my leg up a lot. I came home early—after stopping at Wegmans for sliced London Broil (sliced THICK) and some other treats for the housebound. Then Central Tractor for suet and canned dog food. I discovered a brand there that the dogs avidly eat. Home. Binge watch old Cheers episodes with the recliner elevated to its topmost. Then in bed with my leg raised upon pillows reading one of Barbara’s Gothic mysteries. House of Many Shadows. Comfort fare all around. I’ve survived the winter of 2025-2026 bent but not broken. I’ve accomplished a great deal. Now it is time to take some rest. I can equivocate by saying that I would be in Switzerland the next ten days if the dog toy hadn’t sent me sprawling.

It was two weeks ago today. Wonder Book had been closed two days due to the storm. I made it down the mountain with white knuckles after Monday’s all-day wrangling with the snowplow and the snow blower. Of course it was frigid—day and night. That evening, I let the dogs out. Then I got involved with some domestic chores in the kitchen. I’d forgotten them until I picked out Giles’ howling in the background of Ralph Vaughan Williams on Pandora.

?!?!

I hustled across the house to let them in. Passing through a darkened room, I stepped on a rawhide toy shaped like a dowel rod. A common cartoon long ago pictured a Dad stepping on the kids’ marbles and going airborne before slamming supine on the floor. My flight was enhanced by having socks on while crossing a polished wooden floor. My left leg shot forward like a ballet leap. It extended further than the big muscles on the back of my thigh could stretch.

So, I decided I MUST rest, though my heart wants to do things and go places.

I’ll go in and bring home a box of statements and paperwork. I’m months behind reconciling them. That’s work I can do in bed.

Tomorrow, the arborists are coming to do some vista pruning and other work. At least that’s the plan. They do extremely difficult and dangerous work. I warned them about the ice and snow, but I guess they want the work badly.

I turned the furnace off. It needs a rest. The woodstove can easily handle raising 40 degrees to 70. It struggled to raise 6 degrees to 66 without electric assistance.

Tomorrow will be Merry and Pip’s 15th birthday. Both of them have very willing hearts, but their flesh has aged and weakened. It saddens me to see the brave petite predators’ struggle.

I’ll drive the new Jeep to work today. I’ve only driven it a few times since I got it a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to risk it on the ice and snow on the roads. The truck can do that workhouse labor. I’m going to switch out the tires on it to very nubby ones so it can handle the rigors up here. It is a fun vehicle. Big, black and shiny with a soft roof that can be peeled back should I wish to go topless.

Fun… I vaguely remember that concept. When will things be fun again?

“Drip. Drip, drip…”

What was that sound I heard when I stepped out on the porch early Wednesday morning in the dark?

Water? Liquid water? It was! From snow melting on the porch roof.

And those darker patches on the asphalt? Water! Liquid water melting from the snow piled everywhere along the edges of the driveways.

Death of Paperbacks.

A reel from the New York Times appeared when I was scrolling through Instagram.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DUa_csXAI6O

The narrator makes a case that publishers are killing off mass-market-sized paperbacks. That may be true. It may just be a temporary gambit until the market demands them back again. We are seeing fewer recently published mass markets and more trade paperbacks and cheaply bound but quirky hardcovers. (Traditional hardcovers are still booming.)

I think it is probably economic. Trade paperbacks were created in the 90s as an option between mass markets and hardcovers. I always thought it was so they could make more money per book.

I enjoy mass markets and usually take a couple when traveling.

Time will tell.

Wednesday

Ernest and I are driving down I 70. It is 42 degrees in Gaithersburg. It is so good to be outside and not hunched up to reduce body exposure.

I’m bringing Bryan as reinforcements. I want to help the staff at the store by blowing through a couple projects I assigned Monday. I need them to focus on getting stuff priced and on the shelves. There are still so many empty shelves in the expanded bookstore.

Bryan’s first assignment was to reunite the end of the alphabet of the mass market Sci Fi section with the rest of that large section. Somehow it wandered off and was not contiguous with the other bookcases.

“Please bring these down to these shelves so Sci Fi is back together again.”

I started pulling books off some of the random congregations of books that got thrown up just to get anything up to fill some of the empty bookcases. Now we need to clear those and put actual categories on those bookcases. Naturally, I sought Chuck’s Picks to help start that new feature. I was also searching for pretty vintage bindings to create a section of those next to the Chuck’s Picks.

Speaking of which… the young man who is doing some of our social media posts continues to create exciting biblio eye candy.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DUmFV-ujApL

I think he is being very creative.

The spirits are out tonight. Freed from icy confines by the world’s thawing. Hovering outside in the ether. Peering in wonder at the light and warmth. Wondering what it is to feel. Unbuffeted by the winds pouring through forest and over the stone. Wondering at life and touch. Their wails echo the winds’. They call and cry at what they cannot know.

Midnight comes. Today becomes yesterday. Tomorrow becomes today.

I am bathed in a small circle of light. It is the only light for a mile in every direction.

They are drawn to it like moths to a taper’s flame, drawn to the calm solitude. Repelled by the bustle and confusion far below.

Rest, restless ones. Your trials are long over.

My bed “vacation” continues. I’m trying to get my leg and hip to recover.

Reading, writing, sleeping, wasting precious life looking at junk on my phone…

My legs are propped upon two squishy feather-filled pillows beneath the flannel sheet and comforter and supplemental blanket. Two ice packs are atop one pillow and under my left thigh. In the morning, my left feels pretty normal. It is after some hours of standing that it starts complaining in numerous ways.

Yesterday, I couldn’t go home early. The arborists were at the house, and the drive was impassable. I had to wait til they were done. When I couldn’t work any longer, I decided to kill some time visiting my favorite Asian restaurant Modern Asia.

I limped in during late afternoon. They were pretty busy considering the time of day. Gingerly, I slipped into the booth they directed me to.

“Martini?”

The owner, Roy, knows me well.

I ordered the fish fillets in black bean sauce.

I think the fish might be some tiny flounder or sole variety—like sanddabs you can get on the west coast.

I also ordered Hunan-style curry—tofu and veggies to take home.

It was so good. Comforting. When I was done, I had a pound or two of take out. That is always the case. Not only is the quality superb. (No mystery meat here.) But the portions are incredibly large.

Best of all the Wonder Book store is just a few steps away up the sidewalk. When you come to the Frederick bookstore, take to time visit Modern Asia. Conversely, when you dine at Modern Asia make time to visit Wonder Book before or after your meal.

A real thaw would be so welcome. I think next week the gardens may start reappearing. I’m certain the thousands of emerald fingers are rising from the earth beneath the snow. At the warehouse, the daffodils are appearing in those gardens. When will I see the first bloom? There are usually some in February, but perhaps this especially brutal winter has delayed them.

I wonder if Wordsworth’s daffodils have started blooming at Grasmere yet. My visit there last September was life changing.

I’d love to. Go back and see them in bloom. (But then I might miss some of my own here on Lonely Mountain.)

When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow park we saw a few daffodils close to the water side, we fancied that the lake had floated the seed ashore and that the little colony had so sprung up—But as we went along there were more and yet more and at last under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about and about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness and the rest tossed and reeled and danced and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the Lake, they looked so gay ever glancing ever changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here and there a little knot and a few stragglers a few yards higher up but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity and unity and life of that one busy highway—We rested again and again. The Bays were stormy and we heard the waves at different distances and in the middle of the water like the Sea.

Dorothy Wordsworth, The Grasmere Journal Thursday, 15 April 1802

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth, 1807

Time to head down the mountain.

I’ll pass the trees that were taken down along the drive.

They grew too big and close to the road. Their shade was choking the light for the long row of much smaller redbuds across the pavement. Also, their deep shade made it so the sun can’t hit the asphalt and melt the occasional ice.

I roasted two ten-pound pork loins for the dogs. They’ll eat high on the hog for the near future, and the price is cheaper than canned food per pound.

I rediscovered this bookmark while clearing off the conference room table.

I think that will be perfect for the next t-shirts.

We are loading the t-shirts online as well. Soon you will be able to order the many literary tees we offer by image, color and size. We will have images of the fronts and backs of all on view soon.