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I’m going through books my father didn’t want, sorting through for any I do want and stacking them with my own books, all of which will end up in the shelves I put in the upstairs guestroom / library / workshop that will in theory be my approximation of a mancave. Well, I guess it is already. It’s where the writing gets done, the electronics work (e.g repaired the el-wire in my fur vest last week), planning for any Burn-related projects (the Burn will be a major part of my life this year), plus there’s a view out towards the cul-de-sac so I can see the mobs with their torches and pitchforks before they see me.
I’m learning something about books and that is that coffee table books are nearly completely worthless. They are given and received as gifts and when sorted through thirty years later are just not worth keeping, having spent the last twenty eight obscured on some shelf behind piles of other stuff and never missed. They’re not uninteresting: My father has a vast interest in history and philosophy and his books reflect that. So do I. It’s all good stuff. It’s all gaw damn space-consuming too, and they won’t be looked at, and they’re no good for research, and so they won’t be going into my shelves.
Some books, though, are priceless whether or not they're worthless. Not to denigrate John Muir but I don't know if I'll ever actually read The Yosemite. However, my grandparents honeymooned at Yosemite in 1924, and Desmond gave the book to Dorothy on their anniversary:
Heart-strings, plucked
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We went to Nevada City today. It is unbelievably beautiful up there in the spring, with tulips and lupines and poppies abloom in the well-tended gardens and wild hillsides alike. It is an old Gold Rush town hence the streets are narrow and contend with the slopes rather haphazardly. I guess a street grid didn’t work when people were digging up the ground wherever they found any hint of a vein. Today it is successful as a draw for shoppers and pleasure trippers, and the entire downtown was prosperous with cafes and dress shops and bookstores and bars in the hundred and fifty year old buildings, all freshly painted or artfully not so, and people everywhere. It was rather magical.
The general idea
The Nevada County Courthouse is an art deco treasure (1936)
One of the phallic "monitors" that washed half the Sierra down into the rivers to the destruction of towns and farms alike until some limits were finally established in 1884
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I would like to thank everyone for reading this blog and making comments and generally doing what blog readers are supposed to do, make the blogger feel like a real person. I managed to meet my goal of posting something, with a picture, every day. I cheated a little now and then: Some posts were put up the next day and the time set to the intended day at 11:59pm.
Will I continue with another? Maybe, but if so, not just yet. I need to return to the rat race and establish better work habits. Constant improvement is not only a good idea, it’s a necessity for remaining employed. Bloggery can be distracting so for a time I will turn away.
All comments will continue to be forwarded to me via email.


Don, you are on a journey, and I'm very excited for you. Good luck, and you know you are always welcome on the Boat.
ReplyDeleteLet me know when/if you get up and running again so I can keep the Intert00b address right if you start somewhere else with a different domain or some such.
ReplyDeleteI know how these blog "breaks" go. My last one was for nearly two years. But I'll keep the link to your page "hot" until I hear different, 'cause it's good reading even when it's NOT updated all the time. Besides, it'll be a historical document sooner or later, yeah?
Thanks, y'all. And I've a feeling there may in time be some post mortems posted around here.
ReplyDeleteRock on.
ReplyDeleteoh my. Dorothy and Desmond. heart strings.
ReplyDelete