Nostalgic Goopery

I am a sentimental sap. I cry at movies, and t.v. and songs about Michigan. I don't know why, but it has always been so. I become unaccountably attached to inanimate objects, like my 1980 Datsun 510 Station Wagon which I WEPT over having towed away many many months after its practical purpose as a mode of transportation was completely over. I'm not a pack rat, but I do care about holding on to a handful of things that have special resonance for me. And this is more true for books than anything else.

When I was born in 1977 my grandparents gave me (via my parents) a beautiful book of fairy tales as a gift. The stories are dusky without being dark or scary, the illustrations are phenomenally beautiful and intricate, and this book has been the measure against which all things fairy have been compared ever after.

As one might expect, this book, being as old as I am, has seen better days. The cover has come completely off, pages have been missing from Thumbellina since I was tiny, and small rotten offspring belonging to my sister have drawn in it. So, I have been on the lookout for a copy in better condition for quite some time. Being out of print, British in origin, and 30 years old has not made tracking one down an easy task.

Then suddenly this morning, I looked on Amazon and a little tiny bookseller in Grants Pass has one in good condition for an utterly reasonable price. I was nearly beside myself with joy. So.

I'm making a pilgrimage to southern Oregon to fetch it. I loved the last trip I made down south more than I would have predicted, so I'm very much looking forward to making my way down there again. And I like the absurdity of driving all the way to Grants Pass to get a book I already have just for the sake of immersing myself in the past.