Life in Geriatric Motion

I went to the library bookstore today to have a consolation book rummage since I missed the sale last weekend, but when I got there, it was closed because the ancient docents who run the sale were STILL cleaning up. Bear in mind that the sale consists of eight long tables full of boxes and a ring of shelves on the perimeter, so we're not talking the Library of Alexandria here. What's more, the sale ended at two o'clock on Saturday. This means that forty-eight hours after the book vultures descended and picked the carcass clean, these doddering fogies couldn't manage to remove eight long tables or call the book disposal people. I suspect it's because they're older than the dirt in Noah's asscrack and therefore easily tired, and because Sunday is the Lord's day, and everyone knows you're not allowed to do anything on Sunday but go to church and butcher the same five hymns and then fall asleep in your recliner. It is Bible Belt law.

So, no spree, and none for a few days yet because they're getting forty-seven boxes of new books on Wednesday and they'll need to count and sort those, so I'll be lucky if it's open by Thursday. I did find a book in the library, and Roomie found one for himself about the Hatfields and the McCoys, so it wasn't a total wash. I've set aside a twenty, and we'll try again another day.