Used. Not Used Up.

One of the (many) tight bonds between Wendy and her father, outside of early morning algebra, is reading. Books. Fiction mainly, yet not limited to. Books. You're familiar with them. Books... well... books rock. They're full of words, you know. Words formed with incredible twists of imagination and descriptiveness and personalities and stories that come to life and suck one into worlds which can be like, while also being unlike, any world one may have ever envisioned.

While we were in small town southeast Texas this week, I was honored with privileged inclusion in their tight two-person book-lovers circle. In fact, for most of the week it was a three-person book-lovers circle. How'd I get so lucky?

Wendy's daddy, Bo, introduced us to a store he frequents. A book store. A used book store specifically. The three of us piled into the big old boat Wendy's folks call a car and sailed on over.

I didn't have any preconceived notions of what a used bookstore in small town southeast Texas would be like. I've been in many pre-owned book stores in the suburbs. And in the city. But never before in small town southeast Texas. I figured it would resemble other such establishments I had experienced in other locales. I was excited to be going on such an outting with other bookloving individuals.

The building that housed the store was similar to so many other buildings in that small town: plain, with a patina of having been in that same spot for such a very long long time. Dusty. Hot. Dry. Old. Used. It fit the town. It fit the function. And it was just the other side of the train tracks. Like most other places in this 'burg.

Then we went inside. Inside was a veritable trove of treasure. I know I gasped aloud. Books. Books. Everywhere. Stacked ceiling high. Stacks in front of stacks. Rows and rows and rows of shelves. Books in boxes. Books on shelves. Room after room after room after room. Books of all sizes shapes colors topics genres and authors. Alpha by author by genre. I almost wet my pants. Okay that's an exaggeration, but only a slight one. I'm simple, remember? If this store was located where we are from, it would have been shut down as a fire hazard before it even opened. But in small town southeast Texas, here it was. Is this an advantage of a small town?

We prowled for quite a long while. I was mesmerized. Up and down the aisles, in and out of cubby holes, through short corridors, around corners, into other rooms and looping back again. My mind kept touching on the different authors I'd like to look up and then as I found one I was looking for and did a little browsing nearby, invariably I'd start off on a different trail with a different name of a different author in a different genre. Shopping. Browsing. Soaking up the ambience.

Wendy spied this sign, posted between the large room dedicated to romance novels and the sharp right turn leading to the action section. Every so often we'd call out for one another to share finds or make suggestions or ask for help in remembering a title or an author's name. Or just to reminisce about a book we'd seen that we'd read long ago and may like to read again sometime if only there weren't so many other books that kept jumping into line ahead of it.

Before our trip, Wendy and I had visited our sterile suburban used book store. It has but a fraction of the atmosphere of this small town southeast Texas shop. There I picked up a two mystery books penned by a recommended lesbian author. I'd finished one of them and enjoyed it enough to try more. So just for kicks, I looked up that author in this small town southeast Texas used book store. Nestled in with the other mystery novels, I scored another in her entertaining series featuring lesbian P.I. Lauren Laurano.

There's surely a story behind how that lesbian mystery book ended up for sale in this tiny Texas town. Now I've rescued it and brought it to a loving home in the suburbs. It will be in good company here.