Earlier today, I posted a piece of a writing about rewriting AWID. Apparently, as I was writing, I received a message on my phone from my local library.
“Larry,” Mrs. Beverly drawled into my voicemail. “Those Civil War books you wanted are now available. We’re closing at three this afternoon, swing by if you have time.”
I swung by. Now, five boxes lie on my rug. Each are filled with tomes of writings stretching from the academic side of the spectrum to humor written by Lewis Grizzard, to the photographed history of the Civil War up to Vietnam. Also in the boxes was poetry by Frost, Whitman, Dickinson and Rudyard Kipling.
I love my librarians. They’re amazing humans, gatekeepers of the world of knowledge. It might not be an understatement to say I’m a bit spoiled.
Most of the books I ended up with today hasn’t been checked out since the late 1980s. Some even before then.
There were even how-to books on how to build a log cabin from scratch, how to cultivate successful gardens, how-to build your own traps and hunting equipment, plus more.
The threat of wind has arrived. My tin roof is doing the wobble, wobble, wobble. Sometimes it sucks living in a wind tunnel.
But I’m safe at home, coffee in hand, about to delve into these books and see what new thing I can learn.
Y’all be careful out there.