Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: literature (Page 5 of 39)

Goodbye, my children. Good buy.

Where do books come from, Daddy?

It wasn’t quite worded that way, but a visitor to the book shop wondered where I found the books that I offer for sale. (For those of you who haven’t yet stopped in, we offer a few new titles, but the majority of the inventory consists of well-kept used books.)

There isn’t a simple answer to the question, because they come from so many different sources.

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The easy answer is – I have a book tree out back and harvest a few every morning. Of course, THAT’S a load of blarney (but I’ve come close to having that one believed…)

The truth is: I spend time looking for books that I feel someone might like to own, and I wind up haunting garage sales, book fairs, thrift stores, and roadside turnouts. There are some folks who bring in books for credit on a trade account, and later use that credit to buy books to take home. On the rare occasion, I’ve accepted donations from people who are moving or (mistakenly) think they have too many books at home.

I answered today’s questioner much the same way, and mentioned that I occasionally buy books at auction.

The thing about auctions – you can make a bid and you may, or may not, be the buyer. I’ve placed bids on any number of books that went to others with deeper pockets. I placed a bid on an 1853 first edition Charles Dickens which – Surprise! – wound up being the winning number. Then I had to pay for it. I’m happy to own it. Love to drag it out to show people.

It’s fun to bid on beautiful books, even when you don’t become the owner.

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Then, there is that thing they call “buyer’s remorse.” I don’t call it that. For me, it’s more “buyer’s What-Was-I-Thinking?” That was the situation with an 1863 history of the French Revolution. A four-volume set bound in calfskin leather and marbled paper. Solid hinges. Only the slightest aging to the paper. Beauties, the lot of them.

Written entirely in French.

What was I thinking, buying such a set?

Obviously, I was taken by the quality of the books, thinking “What a nice set that would be to own.” And – suddenly – I was the owner.

No remorse here, but I was resigned to the fact that I was going to have the books laid in the coffin with me, so I could read them in the hereafter – where hopefully my French will be much improved. Then, a lunch guest joked about a discount on books for anyone who ordered from the menu.

I’m always versatile.

Told him with a grin that I could work something out – especially on orders over a hundred dollars. “Does that include lunch?” he wanted to know.

Began to sense that he wasn’t just joking around. He wasn’t. He pointed out the French Revolution set, written in French, bound in calfskin and marbled paper and published in 1863.

His wife is a French teacher.

Well!

I have mentioned to any number of folks, only half-jokingly, that the books here are like orphan children placed in my care until I can find them a good and deserving home. And what better home for the French-speaking children than the library of a French teacher?

Their place on the shelf in the front of the shop is still vacant and may be for a day or two. It can serve to remind me that – in the purchase of a beautiful set of antique books – there is no regret that is not offset by the satisfaction of giving them over to someone who will appreciate them just as much.

Au revoir, mes enfants…

We’ll be here early in the holiday week, so

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Framed. And liking it.

Feeling a little Hoity-Toity. An evening visitor at the front counter looked across the store and said:

I love your Larry Greer.

As in… original watercolor painting by artist Larry Greer that’s hanging on the wall of the shop, a painting I’ve owned all of my adult life. And my customer is talking about it with authority.

That was from his post-European-visit phase, she said.

Oh.

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According to her – and I have no reason to disbelieve – the late Mr. Greer was first known as a painter of western-style art. It was a long time ago when I bought the painting and I don’t remember anything else that was on display under his canopy.

It was at the Italian Festival at McAlester, years ago. Back then, the event was a big deal and was attended by at least one of the big-city television stations every couple of years. I don’t know if it has survived as an annual festival or not – shame on me.

The year the Original Greer (I may start calling it that from now on…hoity-toity-like), the year it came into my hands, I was a young DJ working afternoon drive radio in McAlester. The festival committee apparently decided that the way to entice some higher quality artists to display their works was to guarantee that some paintings would be sold.

We were asked as business-folks to promise to shell out some money. I offered to spend eighty dollars (and what was I thinking?) That amount was – as I recall – the figure I was paying for monthly rent. Eighty dollars doesn’t sound like so much now, but think about your own monthly mortgage or rent payment.

Yikes.

What can I say? I was a civic-minded knucklehead and not so good with finances.

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The Italian Festival rolled around and – always one to stand behind my word – I dug into the cigar box and pulled out those saved-up twenty dollar bills. After polishing off a plate of spaghetti and ravioli, I wandered around the grounds looking for something that might liven up my apartment.

Maybe something out of the ordinary, just a tad.

Larry Greer handed over his watercolor and it has been in my custody since. I’ve never known much about it except how it came to be on my wall. Not too long ago, a woman spoke to Dustin about it and later returned with a printed page about an Oklahoma City art auction. It showed the sale of a companion piece to the one I own.

Same red-capped fellow in the same matte and frame, but painted in profile. Auctioned for some twelve-hundred dollars. It made me feel better about spending my eighty all those years ago. It’s still valued at about the same as a rent payment.

Then today, the lady says: I love your Larry Greer.

I may have gotten eighty dollars worth of satisfaction just having someone recognize it. Not a Picasso or Remington print, but still.

Nice to have a life-long companion get a little attention.

It’s Friday night – Late Night – in the Rose District! We’ll be serving lunch tomorrow, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Little Red Corvette (wannabe…)

Wow. Just as advertised.

Opened the cap and poured it into the tank. Got in the car and drove off. Two blocks from the auto parts store, the SERVICE ENGINE SOON light went out.

It has been on for weeks.

The plastic bottle label says STP Fuel Injector Treatment, and since I figured that was the problem – I grabbed one from the shelf and headed to the checkout counter. Best $5 purchase I’ve made in a long time.

As it turns out, you can’t leave gasoline in the tank for over year. Maybe you could once upon a time, and maybe back then it wouldn’t have turned out quite so badly. These days, the ethanol sold at most pumps begins to turn into corn syrup or some such thing after a while.

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Since Little Red had been sidelined in the mechanic’s lot for longer than I care to admit, the fuel had gone all molasses on me. There wasn’t much in the tank to go sour but after the repair I filled up with fresh Premium Grade – it must have still been thick enough to drizzle over pancakes.

The poor little Firebird has been huffing and puffing, chugging and slugging its way through the gears. It had just enough oomph to make it into the parts store parking lot.

The purchase. The pour. The startup.

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When I wheeled out of the lot and pulled out onto the street, I was thinking:

Nah. Couldn’t work that fast.

Then, a blink from the dashboard made me look. Two blocks away from the store and the SERVICE ENGINE light had gone out.

Vroom Vroom.

Miracle juice, I guess – at least for Little Red. I imagine there are any number of folks who have tried the same stuff without success. But hey! The car was a long way from curing itself before I emptied the bottle into the tank.

I think I’ve probably noted here already that my good friend Mark once pointed out that I changed jobs the way that he changed cars – and I hung on to my cars like he stuck to his job. (I probably would have met with greater career success had I followed his example…)

As it is, the little red Firebird will be celebrating its 20th birthday in a few months. I’ve only been here in the bookstore for half that time, but it is longer than any other place I’ve clocked in over the years. Still enjoying it.

And STP permitting, I’ll keep pulling Little Red into the parking space outside until we’re both best suited for the scrap heap.

We’ll be revving it up at lunchtime with something tasty, so…

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

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