Today I went to an estate sale and found countless books of every subject imaginable crammed into a little ten by eight feet room hewn out from the bowels of the owners home. On the neat, painted shelves were cookbooks, mysteries, biographies, religious books, fiction, non-fiction, best sellers, old, new, all sorts.
It was the kind of sale I, like a dog at feeding time, slobbers over. Most were over-priced to be sure, but a couple of books interested me enough to pay the price, one I'll offer on ebay.
My thoughts, though, were mixed, melancholy and joyful, at the discovery of the treasure trove. My thoughts became dark and I pondered if this is what we all are after we are gone? A collection of books, things, odds and ends?
I got his name from the inscriptions and I wondered just who, really, he had been. I knew him from what he had read. I knew him from what he shared with me, a secret insight to what he held dear, for a while at least. The things a man reads are an opening to his soul for it is what he dwells on, what a man thinks about, that makes up a man.
How many of the books were put there by others, crowding his space, taking up needed room for subjects he might have been passionate about? The cookbooks, perhaps some of the religious tomes? I don't know. He may well have been a gourmet chef or his wife might have just sneaked in her cookbooks to make room in the kitchen.
I do know he cared about the world about him because of the many books that opened the world to him. It was the broad breadth of his interest that struck me.
You see, I'm like that. I've got a lot of interests and I read up on them. Many are things about which I'm not expert, but there are others that I have read and learned everything I could. The internet has made this easier for everything is at hand. Knowledge abounds. I am interested.
What his collection revealed to me was in what he was interested. It told me he was compassionate about other cultures, learning, international politics, history, literature, both modern and ancient. What we read, what we learn, colors our thoughts, impresses upon our sense of right and wrong, forms our opinions, thoughts, desires, hopes and goals. His, too.
I never met the man, but I think I know a little about him and I would have liked him.
