I’ve been struggling for topics to blog about, but surely there can be no more chilling thought for a writer than people not wanting books even when they’re free. Someone posted, on a mystery mailing list I belong to, that she boxed up what I’ll presume were mystery novels, and placed them out in front of her home, labeled as free . . . and had no takers. This was in a small university town.
The story surprises me, because in our former neighborhood, where our back yard faced a community college parking lot, we had excellent luck putting things out in the driveway for free, including boxes of used books. Sometimes people took entire boxes rather than a book or two. Nearly everything we put out found a home, including an old sofa we’d acquired already well-used, which I was certain we’d wind up hauling to the dump. Ours wasn’t a busy street except during classes, when students parked there, so I have to assume it was sometimes students who took those items. Then again, my experience with that was ten years ago. Now everyone I see walking around has a cell phone stuck to one ear, and I’m lucky if they avoid colliding with me. Maybe they wouldn’t SEE the books, even with a big sign.
When I was a student, I would’ve browsed through any box of free books on offer, even though I had plenty of other reading that I should be doing instead, for school. My grandmother used to say that no one in our family could clean an attic, because we’d stop to read everything. (That was before bubble wrap, when we used newspaper to wrap fragile items.)
Which reminds me, I dreamed just last night about the car I drove as a student. I hadn’t thought about that car in years. It was a white 1964 Mercury Comet that had a lot of miles on it before I got it. The dream was a mini-nightmare, not because I found myself in that car, but because this creepy guy who’d just followed me out of a bank removed what I thought was a disguise — a wig, under which he had a shaved head — then tried to get me to give him a ride. I was suspicious of him, so first I told him that if I did that my dad would kill me. (I must’ve been a teenager in the dream, which explains the car.) He argued with me, but I got into my car and locked the doors. It isn’t the sort of dream that usually qualifies as a nightmare for me, but it woke me up, heart racing.
That first car had some real-life nightmarish qualities. One was its tendency to overheat if I drove it to a higher altitude. I love the mountains, so not being able to drive my first car to the mountains without it overheating frustrated me no end. As the car aged, it developed other idiosyncrasies. I think my dad and I were at one point the only two people on earth who knew how to start it, which involved pumping the gas pedal just the right number of times, then holding it down . . . oh well, I don’t remember the sequence now. It had other problems too, and I have to wonder now at my desire to drive the thing, but when you’re young I guess you just want to go. You don’t care what you put up with to do it.
That car’s most nightmarish problem was the front passenger door’s sticky latch. My parents paid for my gasoline on the condition that I drive my grandmother anywhere she wanted to go. One day the door didn’t catch, and it flew open when I made a turn. Grandma didn’t fall out, but that incident qualifies as more nightmarish than the dream that ratcheted up my heart rate last night.
What about you?
Do you rummage through boxes of free books whenever you see them?
What was your first car like?
Do different things scare you in dreams than in real life?
1.
The car question is the easiest: a 1965 VW Beetle convertible, red with a black top. I called it my little fire engine because it would hum as I drove. Or maybe that was me.
I likely wouldn’t rummage through a box of books very long; just pick up the whole box and walk away.
The scariest dreams, the ones that wake me are the ones that are so real that when I awake, I’m not sure of the difference.
Comment by susan — March 15, 2007 @ 4:28 am
2.
So you squandered two ideas in one blog
I really don’t get on with cars. They are a kind of cross I bear, even if they do bear me across town. When I was in college — commuting — I drove an old Plymouth my parents owned. That car was notable for being mostly fiberglass patches and because you needed to stop for oil more often than for gas. No exaggerration. I’d get looks stopping at a gas station and saying “Fillerup. With oil. No. I don’t need gas yet.” Thing left a trail like a rocket going down the highway. Wouldn’t be allowed on the road today of course.
In New York City, as a student, I got bits of furniture from the curb. In Rochester, if I had a chair or something to throw out I’d make sure to put it out when it wasn’t raining. Someone would always take furniture. When the kids got too old for their swing set I dissassembled it, but I put all the screws and bolts and washers in a plastic bag and taped it to one of the larger supports. the set was gone in two hours. All it needed was a little spray paint and it was nice to know someone would be getting use out of it.
Comment by Eric Mayer — March 15, 2007 @ 6:38 am
3.
My favorite used bookstore in North Hollywood always has boxes of books free for the taking out in front. They are the books that have been brought to the store but the store either considers them unsellable-front cover partially torn off, for instance-or they are not the kind of book the store wants to carry-for example, dietary recommendations for sufferers of Multiple Sclerosis.
I’m a sucker for free books, even though there is not (and never will be) a paucity of books in my house and there really isn’t room for one more single book. Really. I just can’t resist taking away another bit of an unknown universe with me, taking it home and maybe someday getting around to reading it.
Comment by Sarah — March 15, 2007 @ 11:21 am
4.
Since I live in the world of Portland, Oregon…home of Powell’s Books…I don’t think anyone would ever GIVE away books, they would go sell them at Powell’s. And Portland has the most book stores per capita in the country. And our library is one with the highest circulation rate in the country. So, we are book lovers. And I personally have at least 15 books waiting for me to read, right now. I am always reading at least three things at once.
Comment by violetismycolor — March 15, 2007 @ 7:44 pm
5.
I love books and could care less about cars, except when I don’t own one.
I’ve moved so often that books have to be weeded with each move or the moving
costs would be astronomical, and it KILLS me to let books go. Nor could I pass by free books without rummaging.
I have so many unread books in this house right now that I’m even embarrassed to count them. But they are my babies, and eventually I’ll get around to them.
My first car (age 19) was a choice made by my family against ALL my wishes (a brand new Chevrolet sedan instead of the VW bug convertible I wanted). From that moment forward, cars lost all appeal to me except as transportation.
Comment by Beverly Jackson — March 16, 2007 @ 5:11 am
6.
oh…and scary dreams…speaking of scary dreams…I dreamed just the other night that I went to cover my mouth with my hand (as in sneezing) and there was a tarantula nestled in the palm of my hand that I didn’t see. It bit me in
the face in four places. Talk about terrified.
Analyze that, someone? eeeeek.
Comment by Beverly Jackson — March 16, 2007 @ 5:13 am
7.
My first car was an old Buick, which we called the Sherman Tank. It was so big that when I went up hills, I looked between the steering wheel spokes to see.
I read a lot, and am always thrilled to get books at a low or (even better) no price. I would definitely stop to look. But wouldn’t take anything that I didn’t plan to read.
Have a nice weekend!
Comment by cassie-b — March 16, 2007 @ 6:56 am
8.
First car-a ‘49 Studebaker that ended up using almost as much oil as gas.
I tag my “mind candy” books with a Bookcrossings ID, then leave them at the local coffee shop. There’s a pretty rapid turnover of books there.
Comment by sue — March 16, 2007 @ 4:35 pm
9.
My first car was a junker station wagon. I can’t remember anything about it except that it was free and I was thrilled and I drove it till it no longer ran.
I ALWAYS rummage through free books. Alas, too often the titles don’t appeal to me, but every so often my fingers land on a gem.
Comment by Reenie — March 17, 2007 @ 7:30 am
10.
Great post and great questions, Barbara.
Free books: I always look, even if I don’t find anything that makes me enthused enough to stick my hands in and rummage. I’m currently saving all the paperbacks that come my way for a local cat rescue’s spring book sale. When I mentioned to the rescue president that I had the books saved, she nearly came through the phone to bear-hug me. “Mysteries and thrillers — people will love those!” I think she despairs of placing the romances and science fiction books more than she does the cats.
First car: Mine was a ‘74 Buick Century. It had been an “island car,” meaning that it was kept on one of the islands off the coast of Maine back in the days when cars that remained on islands didn’t have to be registered or inspected. “Rustbucket” would have been a compliment. It We called it the Milennium Falcon, after the line in the first Star Wars movie: “You got here in that thing? You’re braver than I thought.”
Stuff that scares me: The things that scare me in dreams (though I very rarely have nightmares): being chased by shadowy strangers, missing connections, doing something completely wrong and getting called out for it, stuff like that. The things that scare me when awake are: heights, getting lost, and running out of coffee. Oh, and Dick Cheney.
Comment by blogdog — March 17, 2007 @ 2:43 pm
11.
First Car Experience. “I think my dad and I were at one point the only two people on earth who knew how to start it, which involved pumping the gas pedal just the right number of times, then holding it down . . . oh well, I don’t remember the sequence now”.
Unfortuanately, I remember the sequence too well. Pump, pump,pump,pump rrrrrrrrrr pump, pump, pump, pump very agressively with pumping while the rrrrrrr’s continued and pumping while not turning the key. This could be a minute or 30 minutes with a dead battery finally and me bouncing away on that tiny leather seat of that 72 pinto very frustrated.
Comment by Lynn — August 20, 2007 @ 9:07 am
12.
hello-great fun.
I am writing a book on autos. May I use the quote by
Cassie B.
I will reference you or cassie as she wishes.
Or not, if you give me permission.
thanks!
ajt
ps. I will enter a studebaker story if you want!
Comment by Anonymous — September 11, 2007 @ 11:54 pm
13.
My second car was a red 64 Sutdebaker Daytona Covertible.
My first car was a fabulous Fiat 1500 Spyder. My old man
made me sell it when insurance go to high. We traded it
for the stude and got $200 in cash besides.
This car would stop for no reason at all. Usually on 101-
My mom, a wonderful RN- whom I would be transporting to
the hospital-would be amazed that I could get the
rattly convertible going-by simply getting out of the car
and kicking over the right front tire.
I later learned this was the site of the fuel pump.
Someone told me that that was the name of this part.
I ordered to Canada for one. It took 3 months for it to
get back to Santa Barbara.
Meanwhile, my buddy Mark, loaned me his Rambler Classic
for weeks and weeks. The Rambler was a more reliable
auto.
As for all you bad night dreamers—simply think of
something really nice instead. Sweet Dreams!
Instead of kicking the fuel pump-order a new one and
borrow something from a friend that defeats the problem!
Comment by Anonymous — September 12, 2007 @ 12:01 am