Lexington three tier rolling cart that I'm now using for the hardcopies of books I've been buying. Nice little thing that fits well in my space.
Oh, you meant "brick-and-mortar stores." True, one can get anything online. It just seems strange when what was once mainline gets limited to online, especially when once upon a time there was no "online."
Lucked out at an estate sale and picked up a bunch of books for less than a dollar each. To Kill a Mockbird by Harper Lee 2001 a space odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke 2010: Odyssey Two by Arthur C. Clarke The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede (All four books in one hardcover) A Kid in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain (An old leather-bound copy) Just a sampling of different authors and genres that I'll get to at some point. I've read the Lee book, as most American children have, but it's been some time since then.
Somewhat. Instead of the homeowner selling unused items, it's usually the family or an estate company that is selling everything in the home for reduced prices. This occurs when someone moves and doesnt want to bring a lot with them, or if someone died.
Depending on the estate, yes. I usually get books from them though, as it is the single greatest way to find first editions for cheap. I did get my pool table earlier this year though from an estate sale.
Salvage auctions are kinda cool. That's where the house itself is going to be torn down and people, usually contractors, bid on things like kitchen sinks, parquet floors, and stairs. Whatever doesn't sell just gets crunched, I guess.
I appreciate the values at estate sales but also find them rather sad, I think because the older I get the more I tend to see my own stuff through the eyes of strangers, and to feel a sort of cold emptiness when I see other people's prize possessions -- or at least valued items -- reduced to bargains. Even, I guess ironically, things that were themselves purchased at estate sales, or second-hand stores. "Vanity, all is vanity," one might say were one to wax poetic, or, rather, Biblical.
I think of this too, but instead of thinking viewing it as sadly as I previously did, I tend to believe this stuff disseminates into many new homes to be appreciated by all new families. I find it a lot better than being junked as a lot of families do, or left to rot in attic boxes for all eternity.
Agreed, feelings things like these happen simultaneously on different levels; sensing the transitory nature of all "things" can be both unsettling and liberating, and recycling things is better than tossing or hoarding them.
A small haul from a charity shop; two DVDs (Don’t Look Now and The Terminal) and two books (Lynch on Lynch and Fantasy Stories). I can’t read novels anymore, even less a fantasy novel, so maybe I can manage fantasy in the short story format. Now I’ve got it home and had more of a chance to check the inside, I think it’s possibly aimed at children (which is sometimes the only level my brain works on). Stories from Joan Aiken, L Frank Baum, Norton Juster, CS Lewis, E Nesbit.
It is those conflicting emotions that drive my photography; but at which, so far as a writer, I fail.
Yesterday: two passes to swim at a natural hot water pool with my grandson, followed by dinner at a Mexican food restaurant.
Took the tent to the backyard last night. Slight chance of rain, but pale and intermittent clouds. Good dry or semi-dry run. Round about 3 a.m. rolling thunder approached, phone warned of a powerful thunderstorm, high winds, hail. If you're outside, "consider" going inside. I considered it and opted to stay rather than struggle with the tent in the dark and, besides, what's a tent for? So I battened down and settled in, thinking of the story if an old geezer meets a bad end in his own backyard for no good reason. The storm came, and it was a good 'un. The lightning flashes went right through the thin rain fly, illuminating all, the thunder kept on, the wind picked up and sometimes flapped the tent a bit, the rain came pelting down. I laid there enjoying the show, and monitoring the tent. No leaks at all. After about 20 minutes the front moved through, and left a trailing patter of rain. Which had an inspirational effect on an old-man-bladder. So as soon as it let up I went in to use the bathroom, ran into the wife who wondered where the hell I'd been -- she'd made it clear she thought the backyard tenting was dumb, and told me not to tell her when I did it. So I did and didn't. She laughed at my bathroom conundrum, then I went back out and finished the experiment, slept like a baby and spent the morning packing up the tent. And I feel really, really good about the whole thing. Just enough adventure and a happy ending. The tent was a great purchase, if only for that one night alone.
Bears are rare around here. More likely a coyote or fox; the chipmunks can be mean, and the squirrels and I have an ongoing feud.
A casual brown tweed suit. Now I just need to wait five months for the weather to match it, but I'll look so professor in it!
