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.   

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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