Sarah, take me by the arm
Tomorrow we are
Where westward sails the golden sun
I had the oddest dream last night. Either we were in heaven, or somewhere similarly unimaginably wondrous and nice. One could paint in the air with one’s finger, regardless of normal artistic ability, and go right into pictures with more ease than Bert, Jane, Michael and Mary Poppins. Dimensional barriers were only as thick as water. I wish I could remember more.
I found some more classics to chew on at a little used bookstore today, many for a dollar each, and a fine-looking scholarly Tolkien book to add to my collection. The “Friends of the Library Bookstore” is only open Wednesdays and Saturdays, from 9-noon, so the hunting was not as long as I would have wished. Amazon or Half.com are easy ways to search methodically when a certain book is needed. But what can beat the excitement of pulling an unexpected tome from a dusty shelf, recalling how “I always meant to read this,” or exclaiming you'd found “Another by that one author who was so wonderful!” and then, wonder of wonders, you find it bears, in the top-left corner of the cover, the special Orange Dot of one-dollar-ness?
If I can pull myself away from the thick fantasy book I’m reading (which shall NOT be before finishing my deliciously warming mug of chai tea) I’ll go visit the library and raid its DVDs. And run to Wal-Mart for my mom. (I should say “on behalf of my mom,” for the items to be purchased are more along the lines of milk and bread.) The new one on the south side is so much less crowded, and the floor layout is exactly like the new one in