- April 19, 2024
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From the back seat of the van, I overheard a conversation between Grant, 5, and Jackson, 7. Grant said he was learning about mummies from a book.
Ellie, 1, piped up from her car seat. “Mommy,” she said.
“They rolled them in toilet paper,” Grant said to Jackson.
“No, mummies were made in ancient Egypt with bandages,” said Jackson the Wise. “Today, they use toilet paper.”
“Mommy go momma,” Ellie mumbled.
Grant was apparently satisfied.
It was a good morning for the kids and me, on July 9. With mom in Jacksonville for a few hours (thus Ellie’s concern at hearing anything resembling “Mommy”), I took them to the Flagler County Public Library book sale. I toted Ellie and perused the tables of fiction, while Jackson and Grant made for the kid shelves.
Book sales are my favorite shopping places. A whole book for a buck? Where else, besides a used book, can you get this many hours of enjoyment and for so little money?
On top of that, I always feel proud of my community when I enter the library. This is a place where we can all go, free of charge, to learn as much as we want about virtually anything. It’s miraculous, really — 200 years ago, people would never have believed it was possible.
(Note on the book sale: The Friends of the Library of Flagler County Inc. was formed in 1978. Funds raised by the nonprofit have steadily increased every year, from $54,645 in 2004 to $78,816 in 2009. The group’s website says the library hosts about 500 programs for children, young adults and adults with an attendance of about 20,000.)
I picked up each book like it was a fruit, trying to judge by the blurbs and by other experiences whether to buy it (and most importantly, by its cover). My mind was flooded with impossible dilemmas: I have two by this author, do I want another? Do I buy the hardcover for $2 or the soft for $1?
In the end, I decided on four books, including “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, which will finally enable me to read my Spanish version side-by-side with an English translation. (You might ask, “When will you have time to do this?” You and my wife would get along well.)
When I got home, I started thinking of all the books on my shelves already — books I hadn’t finished.
Grant came into the house and showed Jackson a picture of a mouse character, Geronimo Stilton, in a book he hadn’t finished before we left to buy more books we won’t finish. Like father, like son.
Grant held up the picture of Stilton, who was laid up in a hospital bed covered with bandages in classic cartoon mummy fashion. “See?” he said.
“Yep,” Jackson said. “Toilet paper.”
