Several months ago I went through a self-righteous anti-materialistic phase, the main feature of which was getting rid of about a third of my books. Most of the books I don’t miss. But one of the books I divested myself of was Clark Emery’s The World of Dylan Thomas, given to me by my kid sister on my 23rd birthday, when she was a precocious 17. I discovered that I missed the book, not so much for its scholarly merit, but because of its sentimental value.
Yesterday I went to the used book store on Dickson Street where I had sold the book, and there it was, with my name still written inside. The price was $7.50, and I bought it back. I don’t know how much credit I was given for the book when I sold it to the store, but I’m sure that I suffered a net loss of three or four dollars.
Would that all mistakes were undone so cheaply.
3 comments:
I like your post, and your acknowledgement of your "self-righteous anti-materialistic phase."
I like the picture too, but I had no idea that you played croquet in high school.
Acknowledgment and intention to change are two very different things.
This is the first time I have ever been to your blogspot, but now that I know about your penchant for selling away the presents I buy you, it will not be the last. Consider yourself forewarned.
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