The Greatest Threat

The manufacture of posts for this blog of mine has slowed considerably of late. At its high point, I was churning them out at a rate of one approximately every six days. My mind now boggles at that scale of production, especially since I remember knocking together parts, here and there, with pictures, of as many as five or six posts on the assembly line at once. 

I don't really know what put the skids to all that posting.  Maybe it was that after 680-some posts, my creative urges have diminished.  

To be fair, I did write 100 drabbles over the last couple of years. Those are stories of precisely 100 words. That project satisfied my need to write nicely.  (Well, most of them are nice. Some are otherwise.)  

To be honest though, I think I've just gotten old, and lazy, although I prefer to call it retrospective.  

Recently, a friend, Judith, of Judith and Les fame, here at the village, complimented me on my 'turn of phrase,' and told me that she has followed my blog for some time.  I was pleased, of course, and resolved to churn out another post promptly. One, specifically, that had plenty of turns of phrases.   

Feeling 'retrospective,' as usual, my default setting, you know, I decided to re-use an essay that I had written and last published back in 2015.

Here then, is today's blast from the past.     

  

The Greatest Threat.

1-15-15

My wife and I have recently celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary in New Zealand. We have been singularly blessed.

If I had been asked just after our wedding, so long ago, how I viewed our life, I would have replied that we were very 'lucky,' to be able make our start together by spending 4 months in Spain while my new bride continued her education at the University of Madrid. Years later, as we bought and sold houses, gave birth to our daughter and advanced in our careers, I would have termed us 'fortunate' to have been able to choose, as we did, our life style and to slowly realize as the years passed, that our plans to attain our American dream were working out very well indeed. Finally, in the slow and steady way that both evolution and our Lord appear to work; interesting coincidence, that, I have come to realize that we have been helped along from the beginning by a Power who must love us very much. Go figure.

Marriage is not easy after all. There are a host of reasons why couples can be blind-sided, and fail at it, even when their intentions at the beginning are the best. The world after all is full of temptations and many is the couple who has faltered, as one or the other of the pair has succumbed to the charms of a fair stranger. Fortunately, my wife and I had higher standards, and it would have taken a really outstanding stranger to turn our heads. In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where we lived, I guess the crop of such is notably lacking, as the really top-notch strangers regularly migrate to the cities and beaches of the southern climes where snow shovels and mosquitoes play a much less significant role in daily life. I personally, have never even run across a pretty-good stranger and so was not tempted along those lines.

But there are other dangers to a marriage. Money is a big one. Most couples I'm told spend a good deal of their time debating how best to spend it and why the husband doesn't make it faster than he does, and therefore solve the problem by making the first part of the debate moot. In our case, my wife and I were impervious to this pitfall since we both grew up poor. The fact that we made any money at all came as kind of a surprise to us both and when the greenbacks started to pour in, relatively speaking at least, we finally realized that we had attained 'two-income household' status. Paying the bills finally became easy and for some unknown reason, we never got into the habit of conspicuous consumption. We just relaxed, paid the bills and stashed most of the rest of it away. Starting out poor helps to make one a good saver. Once the food is covered, you generally can't think of anything else to buy due to lack of experience.

I love my wife very much. I call her Honey, or 'Hon' most of the time, although I use “Yes, Dear,” fairly often when I notice a certain mood prevailing at our house and I conclude that 'to serve' might work better for me than 'to be served' just then. During those times she has sometimes questioned whether my nickname for her is 'Hon' or 'Hun,' as in Attila. I have always assured her it is the former of course. I'm proud that we have been able to weather the many storms that trouble so many marriages. I trust that we will be able to continue.

Still, there is one other danger to wedded bliss that I think is the single greatest threat to a marriage. I have never heard it discussed, either on TV talk shows, not that I watch such drivel, or in print for that matter. It is a constant menace. Many a man has been laid low by this threat and I admit that I am not above falling under it's spell at times. Much as I love my wife, I have to admit that she and most other women drive me nearly to distraction at times by their use of a certain article of feminine “apparel.”

I'm talking of course about “purses.” To be stuck behind a woman at the check-out counter of any store ranks as the purest form of torture a man can experience in daily life and one that could even lead to the end of a marriage. So many women's purses resemble the one that Mary Poppins carried in the movie of the same name. They defy physics, Newtonian or otherwise. Some unknown mechanism allows the women to stuff a life time of accumulated junk into it, regardless of it's apparent size. They must weigh enough to make the cars the women drive exceed load restrictions on many roads during spring break-up every year. And yet, the women are able to carry them around on one shoulder. It only becomes apparent just how much accumulated matter has been stuffed into this 'black hole' when the woman lofts it up on to the check-out counter and opens it. A man, caught in close proximity to this event horizon, (behind her in the check-out line) suddenly feels a sickening spinning sensation as he enters that 'timelessness' while the woman searches through the purse's many alternate dimensions for her wallet.

It seems logical to me that a woman, doing her shopping on any given day, and visiting a number of stores, would see that her wallet was readily available and within easy reach, at least after the first store. Nevertheless, it's been my experience that this almost never happens. The woman rarely, if ever, finds her wallet on top of the pile. My theory is that as soon as a woman's wallet is inserted into the purse after each use, it is instantly transported to the most distant and hard to reach dimension the purse contains. What else could explain how she must dig through the contents and actually stack some of the smaller items on the check-out belt before finding it?

And women have themselves added many further refinements to this 'torture by purses'. One of them has to do with the opening of the purses themselves. “Yes, Dear” currently has a purse that resembles a backpack. (The men reading this will no doubt shudder but this needs to be said.) When she opens it each time, the strap on the top flap that passes through two loops on the body of the thing must first be undone and the flap raised. Then, the strings encircling the top end of the backpack must be spread from their tightened and closed position to the open. This takes two hands and and a spreading motion is used. Only then, can she begin to dig into the contents. Eventually, when the wallet is located, it is withdrawn and the second refinement of torture begins.

The wallet is opened, by unzipping a zipper than extends around three sides of it. The folding money is located and the woman once again checks the total on the check-out screen. She then begins selecting bills from a wide assortment of denominations. It is astounding how many one dollar bills women carry. She counts out bills that will exactly cover the dollar amount and then, to the horror of the man behind her, unzips the coin purse section of the wallet and begins to count the exact coins needed. She knows of course that the check out girl will happily and patiently wait as long as it takes for this process to be completed. Once the check out girl gets off work, she'll be doing her own shopping after all.

So far, the level of torture has been painful for the man in line, but it now becomes almost unbearable. He now notices for the first time, that the woman checking out has held back one or two items and now asks the check out girl to 'ring these up separately.' All too often they are items of feminine hygiene that men don't like to even be near. Then, the process of paying the exact amount repeats itself.

Finally, when the man is sweating, his eyeballs are protruding, his joints all assure him that they are about to fail under the strain of staying in place in the line, the woman begins the process of taking her receipt, inserting it into the wallet, zipping the coin purse closed, zipping the wallet closed, inserting the wallet into the purse, pulling the drawstrings of the opening, closing the flap of the purse, hoisting the purse to her shoulder and finally moving her ponderous shopping cart slowly away.

I have seen many a man reduced nearly to tears during this ordeal. He may look the same afterwards, but I can assure you he is not.

In the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Chief Bromden (Chief Broom) thought that Nurse Ratched could vary the passage of time by turning a dial in a door. It could be made to run faster or be slowed down almost to a stop. I now think this is very likely to have been true. I have seen women in stores routinely slow time down until seconds become excruciatingly long and they have done so without dials of any sort. Just their purses. I think it may be some sort of time/space singularity brought about by close proximity to extremely massive objects.

I have written to the managers of several stores suggesting what I think would be a useful and humane change to their check out lines. It would prevent needless suffering for millions of men. Many stores now have lines that handle customers purchasing 12 items or less. This is fine, but how much better it would be if there were check-out lines that handled men only?

I can imagine the lines of smiling and relaxed men, moving steadily along, paying for their purchases with twenties and fifties taken from their pockets. Any change they're given is efficiently stuffed back into a separate pocket along with the receipt. Naturally, the check out person is male. Yes, I can imagine a store where men exit the sliding doors with a smile on their faces and whistle on their lips.

Unfortunately, I have received only a few replies to my letters from these managers and most of their letters follow a similar vein. “I received your suggestion, Mr. Foster. I even took it home and shared it with my partner and she agrees that it is a very, shall we say, unique, idea, but one that shows typical male bias. Very Truly Yours, Ms. -------.”

Fortunately, the well of patience that men draw strength from is almost as limitless as the dimensions within a woman's purse seem to be. I will continue to persevere. After all, we men have developed some protective strategies. We can time our checkouts to some extent. As we approach, if we notice a number of females lining up, we can loiter in the beer or sausages aisles, even if we know we're not allowed to buy any of those items. We can then move slowly toward the checkout while wistfully inspecting the baked chickens and donuts displays nearby. And finally, when one of the rare lulls in females occurs, or when an extraordinarily brave man, or maybe an unaware one gets in line first, we can make our dash and secure our places behind him. (The security cameras in stores must often show crowds of men slowly circling the checkout area awaiting their chance.)

To be strictly fair, I must admit that I once benefited from a purse and at the time it seemed to be no less than a miracle to me. It was way back when my wife and I were still quite young. Her purse at that time was in it's early stages of development. It had not yet taken on as much matter as purses of a more mature woman would have. You could say I suppose that it resembled a newly formed star, many years away from having sufficient mass to start it's collapse in to a black hole.

I had been involved in racing canoes down many of the boulder-strewn rivers in our area for a couple of years. On this particular day, 'Hon' had accompanied me to the first race of the new racing season. As I performed my pre-start checklist, I realized that I did not have the elastic strap that held my glasses in place. I had last used it the previous year, during the race that closed out that season's schedule, a 30-miler from Gwinn to Rock. Given the boulders in the river we were running today, and the number of competitors who would all be trying to get through the rapids at pretty much the same time, I knew what our chances of 'dumping' were, and preferred to have my glasses attached firmly to my head.

I commented unhappily that I had forgotten the strap to 'Hon' and she just smiled. She reached into her purse and pulled it out. She told me that she had had it there since the last race. While I was delighted to have it and thanked her profusely, I was still aware of a fleeting, only half-formed feeling of dread regarding this power that women wield.

At the time of this writing though, I have to report that I feel optimistic about the future. Here in New Zealand, most people, men and woman alike, carry a type of debit card that withdraws any monies spent directly from checking or savings accounts. It is definitely faster than paying with large denomination bills, which men have always relied on, since no change is given.

They also carry travel cards for use on trains, buses, and ferries. These allow the fare to be paid by simply passing the card in front of a card-reader. These readers are of sufficient power that they can actually read a woman's 'ATHOP' card while it is still in her purse! Men, can you imagine the breakthrough in technology this represents? The limitless dimensions of clutter that lie within a purse no longer matter. Men and women alike can stride through the travel-hub turnstiles without breaking rhythm.

While I attempted unsuccessfully to lobby store managers to consider “men only” check out lines, some heroic inventor, a man no doubt, thought 'outside the box' (or purse in this case) and changed the world.

As this catches on, I predict that the mental health of millions of men will improve. My own state of mind borders on bliss when 'Hon' travels with me on the train and simply waves her purse across the reader.

And, think of how many of those otherwise compromised marriages will be saved. Society as a whole will benefit.

I really wish I could meet whoever it was that performed this technological miracle. I'd invite him over for a beer and a brat to express my thanks and those of millions of men. Well, I would the next time 'Hon' lets me buy some beer and sausages anyway.

Fun with Magnets

Back in October of '25, I did a post that I called, A Simple Experiment.  For that experiment, I weighed a string of Buckyball magnets on our digital kitchen scale. My question was, how much would the same magnets weigh if I balanced them vertically on the scale, and put the top of the string into the magnet field of a powerful magnet suspended above them? In other words, how much of the total weight of the string would be supported by the overhead magnet?    

What I found, to my disappointment, was that the kitchen scale was not accurate enough to give me a reading.  I'd need a better scale.  

The other day, I was thinking about the experiment and decided to buy a proper scale. The one I chose was a jeweler's scale, which has a maximum weight limit of 20 grams and measures to thousandths of a gram. 

This post will show you the results of that trial. 

These are the magnets I plan to balance on the jeweler's scale. They are on our kitchen scale in this picture. I wanted the big spherical magnet on top because I like the way it looks, almost hovering in mid air. And because it's heavy. It probably makes up most of the 57 grams. 

This is the arrangement.  You can see a bit of the powerful neodymium (N42) magnet in the decorated box above the balanced string.  The string of magnets is resting on the jeweler's scale. 

Do you want to make a guess on the apparent weight before you go further?

Here is the result.  It reads 4.920 grams.  

I was hoping to see an even lower weight.  

I tried to add one more Buckyball, thereby raising the string and the sphere just a bit closer to the large magnet.  I hoped that this might cause the apparent weight of the string to go down, despite the weight of one additional Buckyball, but this addition brought the large sphere a little too close to the top magnet and it pulled it up and it made contact. It's really touchy.  

So, about 91.3% of the weight of the string of magnets is being supported by the field above it.  

I intend to continue to play with other arrangements of Buckyballs and other magnets. What I'd love to see is how low a weight (by percentage) on the scale I could produce. I'll keep you posted.   -djf

Te Ika-a-Maui

It has been about five years since I bought my current camera and it's functioned admirably the entire time. It has many positive attributes. It's terrific for sunrises, and with a great deal of zoom available on demand, it's good for the Moon, Jupiter, and when pushed to the limit, for Saturn and Alpha Centauri A and B. However, It's a bit large to carry around.  

It is for that reason that I did not take it along when friends Evan and Ruth invited us for an overnight sightseeing trip some time ago. My phone fits so nicely in a pocket and generally does a passable job, as long as the light is good. I found that on this trip, my phone did perform adequately at all but one of the sites we visited. Unfortunately, that one site we visited had sights so remarkable that my phone just wasn't up to the task of recording them as accurately as I would have liked. Even my Nikon would have had trouble showing you the reality of the wonder we were walking through.  

Nevertheless, I do have some photos for you that will at least give you a taste of what we saw.  I guess the rest is up to me to describe as best I can. 

Here we are, walking along a boardwalk in dense forest on a sunny day. 

We're about to cross the stream you see at the bottom of the chasm we're in to the other side.  

As you can see, the boardwalk is built at the base of sheer walls of rock.  

Lush, sub-tropical plant growth is everywhere.  

This next picture defies logic. At least, I couldn't quite imagine what I was seeing as I reached this spot.  I need to explain a little before we go further.  

The history of this place began millions of years ago.  The rock that you're seeing along both sides of this stream is limestone. For millions of years it slowly accumulated and compacted  from sea shells and corals growing in the sea that covered this spot in those days. Then, through more millions of years, this bed of limestone was lifted ever higher as tectonic plates moved, finally breaking the surface of the ocean and rising to it's present height above sea level.  

Cracks in the limestone next allowed surface water to seep into the ground and it begin eating away at the limestone. Over time, this trickling water became the steam you see today. It continued over millennia  to eat away at the stone and eventually formed an enormous cave. At some point in the past, most of the roof of this cave collapsed, leaving behind the chasm or gorge we've been walking along.  

What you see  up ahead is the last remaining roof of this cave that has not collapsed.  Beyond this short section the roof is gone and the rift continues. I was told the roof of the cave is about 50 feet above us.  

As I said earlier, I stood here speechless. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open as I processed what I was seeing.  The bright afternoon sunlight and deep shade below made it hard for my phone camera to take good pictures, but I'll show you what I have.  

 

We climbed the steps.  

Our higher vantage point

This is the roof of the cave. You can see some stalactite-like shapes.

One last look from down near the stream level again at the remarkable rock shapes.  

I hope that you've enjoyed this look.  I won't soon forget it.    -djf

Road Trip, Auckland to New Plymouth

We were recently invited by friends Evan and Ruth to take a trip with them down to New Plymouth, NZ. They had both grown up between here and there and promised to show us the sights. 

The weather cooperated, and the sights proved amazing.  I'll show them to you over the course of three or four posts.  I'm showing them to you out of the actual order we did them, just because.  

The areas we passed through were very hilly. I can't quite call the landscape mountainous, but the hills are impressive.  They're steep-sided and run between 300 and 900 feet high. All limestone that was laid down under shallow seas ages ago, and then lifted to their present position over the eons.  

Travel through such country takes time. The roads run only in the narrow valleys between the hills and  wind back and forth interminably.  The average driving speeds are in the 30 to 40 mph range. So you don't get anywhere quickly.  

Today I'm showing you a tunnel that was cut through one such hill that was blocking access to the sea for a number of sheep ranchers.  

Back in their day, it was even harder to travel through the hills. Instead, sailing ships moved up and down the coasts, picking up wool from the ranchers who would haul their wool down to the beach and wait for the ship. These particular farmers would have had to haul their wool in wagons a long way, so they got together and dug a tunnel instead.  

Here it is.  It's at a place called Wai Ku Au.    

Here's the beach where the ship would load up.  As I stood here, I imagined all the work it would have taken to haul the wool through the cave, load it onto rowboats, and carry it out to the ship in deep water.  

Notice the black, volcanic sand.  It's high in titanomagnetite, a magnetic iron-titanium oxide. 

Here is a shot of the entrance from the beach.  

I have always loved caves and tunnels, so this adventure was especially fun for me.  I hope you enjoyed seeing it.    -djf

Battlestar

While I was a freshman in college, an eight o'clock class was something to be avoided. That was an unsuitable time to have to be up and at it, especially in the winter when the sun wasn't even up yet.  I found it much more to my liking to stay up late and start my day at a 'reasonable' hour. I would have preferred 10, but 9 a.m. classes weren't bad.  

I bring this up today because I think I may have been showing the beginnings of being a 'night person.' Of  course, I was still just a kid back then, relatively, and what kid wants to go to bed or get up early?

And then the real world hits. To earn a living and support a family, one does all sorts of crazy things. One gets up at previously unheard-of hours, and puts in long days. It becomes routine and somehow, getting up early becomes the norm and then the preferred way of living.  Looking back, I don't think Jeanne and I would be in the position we're in now if we hadn't 'done what we did.'        

All this reminiscing serves to explain my photos today.  I've told you in the past that our apartment's balcony faces East. We are on the second or third floor of the Atrium, depending on what country you live in, and so are positioned to witness some really impressive sunrises.  

Since we still rise relatively early, even in our retirement, they are not often 'wasted,' especially during our summers.  A coffee and sunrise is even better than a coffee and donut.  

While taking these shots, I was imagining the Sun being in battle (hence the title) with the clouds.  They seemed to be trying to hold it back as it tried to start its climb. The story has a happy ending though. I swear that it almost looked as though the Sun bounced upwards, just a tiny bit, when it finally broke free. (Has to stay on schedule, after all)   

Take a look.  In fact, stare all you like. You won't need to shield your eyes, or squint, or apply sun screen to view this sun.  This is a de-UV'd Sun.  Totally harmless to the optic nerve and skin cells.  Although I'm glad that the picture also limits the intensity of visible light you see, I do wish I could somehow retain a bit of the IR (infrared, heat) radiation you feel. It'd be nice as you view it to feel a little warmth on your face, especially since you're having the winter you are. 

As it breaks free at last, even the birds celebrate.  

The previous photos were taken on Jan. 12th.  The next was taken on the 13th, and the last three on the 14th.  It's amazing how the sky changes from day to day.

It's also interesting how the sky changes depending on how much I zoom in.  These last three illustrate that perfectly.  

The palm that borders the picture on the left is about 35 feet from our balcony. Look at the diversity of clouds we have today.

I'm going to zoom in for the next one.  

This one allows us to see the wild, lower left side under the blackness better. 

We finally get a close look at the diversity of clouds, even within this small part of the sky.  When I showed this several days ago to my sister, Mary, she commented on how many animals she 'saw' among the clouds.  I agreed.

That's it for today.  I hope you've enjoyed looking at what I prepared.  My posts have slowed considerably of late, but keep watching, they will continue to pop up now and then.     -djf

Favorite Things

When I say 'favorite things,' in the title, that really means that I've shown similar pictures in my posts in the past.  

If you're a long-term reader, you've actually seen bees and sunrises several times, but these are new bee and sunrise pictures, so I hope you won't mind another round. 

I admit that I am fascinated by being able to see a bee as it really is.  Not just a flash of movement and color in the distance that is too small and too fast to appreciate.  

 

Notice how smooth the backs of its wings are. This is a young bee. You may recall some photos that showed a bee's wings that were worn and bedraggled looking.  It never occurred to me in the past that I could age a bee as it flew past me. Now I can. Another favorite thing.  

This was a morning recently when I hoped to photograph an interesting sunrise, but got this equally interesting shot about half an hour later when the sun had climbed a bit.  

Notice that there are two trees in the lower right hand corner that will appear in the next photo as well.  

This one is a new favorite.  For years I have been trying to get a picture of the sunrise on our summer solstice, only to be stymied by the clouds. I could get them the day before or the day after, but this morning I got lucky. 

 

Did you know that there is an actual moment of solstice?  That is when the earth is precisely at that exact point in space, as it moves around the sun, that marks the change in its constant progression from tilting toward the sun as it does in summer to tilting away from the sun as it does in the winter. (And then back again, of course) 

Jeanne did a bit of research this morning and determined that today's solstice moment in time happened for planet Earth just two hours before this sunrise I'm showing you. I like that.  And, I like that there just happens to be two trees that frame its rising point on the horizon as it's seen from our balcony. Kind of a Treehendge sort of thing. 

In case you're wondering where these trees are in relation to our home, I offer the next picture. This was taken a few days ago.  

Standing on our balcony, I have turned to the right and am looking south east. You can see the two 'Treehendge' trees below and slightly to the right of the sun.  

That's it for today's post.  

And thanks for checking my blog. I can't quite believe it but I just passed the 150,000 views mark.  201 people clicked on yesterday alone. Like Fred always says, "Who knew?"  -djf    

Small treasures

Small treasures can give pleasure of immoderate measure.  

I often think of a guy named Dave I once knew when I consider my treasures.  He scoffed at one of mine and announced that money was his sole interest. I wonder if he has enough yet? The trouble with enough is that's it's very elusive. Enough can be for some, a little like tomorrow. It's perpetually out of reach.

I know that when I wade knee deep into my personal treasure trove, I have to mentally shove some of the many, somewhat bulky, nonmaterial ones aside, just to have a place to sit down and consider them all.  The nicest thing about small treasures is that they can be so abundant. And the nice thing about my trove is that it's infinitely expandable.  

As I sit here now surrounded by treasures, I pick up a few of the tangible kind that are closest at hand. Here's my picture of the Moon, Jupiter, and four of its moons. I took this one night when I got up in the wee hours to use the bathroom and noticed how close to each other they appeared to be. Here's my super-close-up video of a honey bee cleaning its tongue. Who knew that it's fuzzy on the end? Here's my magnetic display of attraction and repulsion. It allows me to see in our macro world, the astounding effects of unimaginably small quantum fields. 

I'm sure that my treasure trove is different than yours, but I sincerely hope that you have one, and that it's not like Dave's. I hope that it's a rumble-jumble of things and cherished memories that are close to your heart for personal, obscure and maybe private reasons. 

My real purpose in producing this post about treasures is to share my joy in obtaining a couple new ones.  These two are of the tangible variety. They're small and were surprisingly inexpensive.  

I heard recently that my favorite bookstore in Auckland, New Zealand, was about to move, or if a suitable new building could not be found to house its huge inventory, to close. I hurried in to visit it one more time before it became more difficult for me to reach, or if the unthinkable happened.  I found after talking to an employee, that a suitable location had probably been found. I relaxed slightly, and began to explore its many, interconnecting rooms, all filled to overflowing with every description of the readable arts and carrying that wonderful aroma of 'old books.'  I rank that scent right up there with 'new car' smell.  

Eventually, I got down to business, and located some books by P. G. Wodehouse. Of the dozen or so on the shelf, I located two first Editions from 1929 and 1939. The prices, written in pencil inside the front covers, looked almost worn away. They must have been priced many years ago and never changed. (Inflation had not touched them.) I was ecstatic.  My favorite kind of treasure.  

So, that's the story of my latest treasure hunt.  Here are a few photos of inside the store and of my books.

Under a set of stairs in a little cubby-hole that houses astrology books, there resides a character that watches over this bookstore. His name is Errol. 

Another such personage, named Athol, performs a similar function at the Hard to Find Bookstore in Dunedin. (I don't know if they're brothers, or just co-workers) 

On my way back, I pause on the hill bridge and snap a shot.  It's a long bridge. There are four more lanes to the right of this picture. It's about 11 a.m.

I suppose it could be seen as counter productive to be collecting anything at this stage in my life.  My family will just have to dispose of it once I'm gone. I've promised them though that I won't go overboard with my book buying.  These are, after all, the first two I've purchased in years.  And I'm sure if nobody wants any of it, it wouldn't be hard to donate my stuff.  

So, how about it?  Do you have a personal treasure trove that you're immoderately fond of? The items don't have to be valuable in a monetary sense.  In fact, they're usually even more valuable if they appeal to you for personal, obscure or private reasons.  I hope you do.  They're nice to wade into now and then, push things around figuratively until you can get comfortable, and spend some time just appreciating.    

   

Here is what's called a 'fast fiction' story that I wrote about my experience of climbing to the bookstore and finding inexpensive treasures.. Some call such stories, 'drabbles.' To be a drabble, they must  consist of exactly 100 words. (The title doesn't count.) My drabbles are certainly not great literature, but I find them fun to write and it exercises my aging brain.  

 

 #86  The Hard to Find Bookstore

Its only downside: its location on a hilltop. 

DJ, plus-sized in years and girth, inhaled greedily and repeatedly before entering the open front door. The smell of old books from inside restored him. The H-t-F Bookstore wasn’t, but it was a hard climb.

A repurposed convent, wood-trimmed rooms reflect past lives. Its books waft history. 

DJ burrowed in. Deep within the dining room he unearthed treasures on a bottom shelf, but one. 1929 and 1939 Wodehouse first editions, priced years ago apparently, the penciled numbers nearly illegible.     

Elation lifted DJ as he checked out and buoyed him during his descent.   

-----------------------------------------

Update:

I couldn't stay away.  I went back to the bookstore yesterday and found a few more books. One was this 1906 White Fang, by Jack London. How could I pass up such a cool little book, especially when it cost just $4.84 in U.S. dollars?

I think this book was originally given as a gift. Inside the front cover, someone wrote in an old-fashioned script and clearly with a fountain pen. It said:

"Mrs. Pat"

'The Madman'  May/'08

I understood that to mean, 'to' and 'from.'  

It's  amazing. This book is 117 years old, has survived two world wars, and I'm holding it my hand for pocket change.  (And it smells old too.)  The publisher was Thomas Nelson and Sons and it appears to be one of their 'Collection of Classics,' that they ran between 1900 and 1930.        -djf