Late-Breaking News | Newberry

Late-Breaking News

Today is the Third of July, or, as some of my friends call it, Fourth of July Eve. I don’t know whether Uncle Sam slides down their chimney and leaves them sparklers and bottle rockets. I am too busy worrying about who’s going to slide up to my door today, bringing me presents.

But you don’t need to hear about my worries. Uncle Blogsy lives in a fantasy land of books and beauty, and you want to hear how the Smurf Month worked out. So this is just a jumble of updates to previous remarks.

We got another one of those boxes of books with the printout listing all the books that were in the box, PLUS a little note. The note was either to me, to be helpful, or to the donor, as a reminder. “All these books worth very little online”, it said. Thanks for the hint.

In the world of boxes with odd inscriptions, we had the sweetest box come in. The original contents were sweeter, because it was a box from Palmer, the company renowned for its high quality chocolate Easter bunnies. Their trademark is a smiling Easter bunny face in the letter P for Palmer, and this rabbit, with all its associations of creamy milk chocolate, was shining out from each side of the box.

The box contained an assortment of books, but it had contained something else between the time the bunnies escaped and the books came to me, because right above the bunny’s face on one side, the original owner had written ‘WORLDS OF DARKNESS”. Unless, of course, Palmer is setting up a new line of video games. (Zombie Easter bunnies: I wonder…nah, probably been done.)

I had an entirely unconvincing print of flowers: the colors were quite wrong, and arranged in a thoroughly foolish manner not at all representative of natural flowers. I was checking to see if I could find the artist’s name and discovered this was, in fact, a set of pressed dried flowers. I’m a bookman, not a botanist.

Someone offered to bring me a toaster and a blender. I believe I said something about household items not being one of our core collections here at the Book Fair. Besides, everybody has a blender. I think they’re issued with marriage certificates these days. Single people who own blenders get them because some bridal couples have friends with no imagination, and wind up with five.

A book came in inscribed “To X, in memory of the night at Ravinia when we lay out under the stars and dreamed of romance…with other people.” I kinda wonder how that story worked out, because the date under that was in the early 1980s. X hung onto that book for a while. It was either true love or the murder weapon.

We have been offered a book donation by a real Chicago celebrity, but I can’t tell you who it is: bot so much because she wouldn’t like it but because I’m so short of pick-up drivers I might miss out. Honest, if you called before July 3, I am trying to get your books picked up for this year’s Fair. I just need to think of a way to do it without any of the volunteers shooting me. Bullet holes clash with my carefree lifestyle.

Which reminds me: I must just go get those extra wheelbarrows. Today is July 3.

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