Books From Sneaks

Isolated in a dry spot are four books purchased online; they are lovely, whole, unding-ed and had been advertised in Very Good Condition. Just what I was looking for.  I was especially impressed by how two of them had been packaged, wrapped in plain paper folded in origamic precision, taped neatly, and supported by cardboard panels before being slipped into the ingenious boxing of layered, solidly glued finality.

 More fun than a puzzle: opening the seductive peels of papers thick and thin between bubble wraps until, until, there it is!  The desired core, the authored work, the book of books; anticipation frothed up further by the positive reviews, and so far the external examination of cover, binding and corners is as the seller offered.  A few nips in the dust cover do not bother me, nor stains or an occasional bend, for what I want is the information.  However, when these proffered tomes are cracked open...

Fungal spores wing upwards in victory; mildew has invaded, flinging microbial tendrils throughout what are now My Books.  Tell you what.  I don't give up easily and so dug through online suggestions of how to get rid of the smell forever simply and without extended effort.  Wrap the books in a plastic bag with a cup of cat litter.  Freeze them.  Slip newspaper between pages to absorb odor.  Har and har and har.

Plenty of piney cat litter later, the cats are now digging through now-mildewed litter dumped back into their kitty boxes, without complaint.  The next trick, three weeks in the deep freeze, resulted in frozen books that proved mycelium continue to live at temperatures colder than ice cream.  Diligence is all I got from inserting newspaper between the pages, for which the mildew said thanks, lady, more paper to digest.  I went as far as the three-way blast of littering and newspapering the books, and again stuffing them into the freezer.

The one thing left to try is baking soda, again a cup in a plastic bag with the affected literature.  After that, I will inquire at the library as to procedure, for it's always good to learn how to do something.  The hardest part for me so far was to provide realistic reviews for the sellers; it didn't make sense with the cost of shipping to return the books as they really didn't cost as much as a bag of Chinese take-out.  Further, someone who sends out a mildewed book knows darn well the book is damaged, so "contact the seller" chit chat is like telling the mugger you want your wallet back.

The other twenty or so books purchased since summer have been adopted and shelved by category, all in the decent condition advertised.  None of them were wrapped as securely as the damaged ones, so now if you send me a book cloaked in neat, obsessively straight, folded paper, my antennae are up.  Sneaks and miscreants must have folding skills and access to metal-edged rulers for exacto cutting of cardboard panels.

So they stand alone, like the cheese at the end of the Farmer in the Dell.  Worthy books, once clean books, they may be revivable but I will forever keep them apart from the rest of the library.  This place is pretty dry, so new growth making forays and settling in the new world isn't expected.  I love books and find them a wonderful way of communicating.  I don't do as well with online reading as the glare of the screen tires my eyes, and usually paging through paper bookmarks is faster in hand than waiting for a stubborn web page that I've lost track of anyways to load.  Nope, like books better, even with the amount of information accessible online.

At night, before bed, I dig through the pile of them under the table stand, reading of mycology (I know Thee well, O Fungus!), conchology, film history, or of people who have contributed to living; currently and forever Twain, Dali, Buster Keaton.  It's a small respite from the turmoils of the day.  Night is for a separate life, one that recharges through dreams and layers of deepening brain activity.  Winter night is lovely, for the stars are brighter in cold air.  Physically, it holds fewer particles than warm air, making a clearer path for the light from thousands of years ago to reach us.

Here is another reason: in our part of the world, the summer sky actually has more stars, for we are then looking inwards towards the dusty center of the Milky Way galaxy, which makes things hazier and more congested. In winter, we are turned towards one of the spiraling arms of the galaxy, where there are fewer stars that shine without as much competition, showing off in clarity.  Our sun is in one of those arms, where stars are larger and also a bit closer to us.  So, see what you learned?  Kind of gives a sense of immensity when you realize galactic physicality is observable by little us, with only our eyes and both feet on the ground.

Let the stars spin overhead, sail through ribbons of light circled by systems of planets and guardian suns. Dream safely, be ready for the hard work of the day to come, it is all worth it, all some part of the whole.
Sleep in the deep, lovely darkness of earth's night, you star-spun navigator. Good night.