If on a winter's night a traveler
By Italo Calvino
I recommend it to Ken, and to the rest of you who need a dose of
existentialism, for feeling grounded and interested in being around for
awhile, waiting for that next inspiration, or just smelling the
daffodils.
QUINN EVANS | ARCHITECTS
Ilene Tyler, FAIA
219 1/2 N. Main Street
Ann Arbor, MI 48104
[log in to unmask]
www.quinnevans.com
v 734.663.5888
f 734.663.5044
-----Original Message-----
From: Automatic digest processor [mailto:[log in to unmask]]
Sent: Wednesday, April 24, 2002 1:05 AM
To: Recipients of BULLAMANKA-PINHEADS digests
Subject: BULLAMANKA-PINHEADS Digest - 22 Apr 2002 to 23 Apr 2002
(#2002-111)
There are 26 messages totalling 1267 lines in this issue.
Topics of the day:
1. New thread: weird collections (4)
2. Bent-Nail Ethic (long) (3)
3. Confederacy (3)
4. Confederacy of Bush Prostates
5. Leaf time (4)
6. Better and better day by day. (6)
7. St. John the Divine, 1933, Lewis Mumford:
8. Voodo in the old South (3)
9. Blah Blah Blah. He asked for it.
--
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 2002 08:59:25 EDT
From: Ken Follett <[log in to unmask]>
Subject: Re: Leaf time
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In a message dated 4/22/2002 1:53:55 PM Pacific Daylight Time,
[log in to unmask] writes:
> Perhaps this is a good chance to ask how others make sure they have
> some leaf time!
I stand in a bookstore and wait for the first set of insistent words to
pull me to lifting a book and looking inside. I find that standing in a
bookstore I am able to comprehend what I am reading much better than
anywhere else. Which goes to say that my most lucid education comes out
of the thin air of a bookstore. Here I tend to get lost and forget,
however briefly, all the small things that I am nagging at me. I do this
on Friday evening towards the end of my commute, which is a time when
the nagging wants to explode with all sorts of frivolous difficulties
accumulated over the work week. I also do this while wandering around if
I happen to come upon a bookstore, particularly one that I have never
found before. I plan my business wandering to accomodate the bookstores
that I know along the way.
Just prior to my receiving the speeding ticket in Poughkeepsie I visited
a bookstore on a corner outside of the confines of Vassar. It was a
quite small bookstore with a college-reader oriented collection. I was
curious what titles, particulalry femenist, would be present for a
woman's college audience. Not as radical as I had anticipated.
The proprietor was a nervous fellow that seemed quite excited to be
selling me a few books. I got the idea a sale does not happen often
enough. The elderly couple, somehow connected to the proprietor, I could
not tell if employees or parents, and who were fidgeting with piles of
books, paper bags, and the logistics of putting on and adjusting the
buttons on the elderly gent's spring clothes in the back of the store,
preparing to depart on an errand, I found interesting while I perused
the three-foot shelf space of the local book section. Used, Hudson
Valley and Catskills lore with agricultural reports and autobiographies
of forgotten barons-in-their-own-minds. Collections of used books tell
me stories about the people who collected them. So, when I got stopped
and ticketed my head was in a good place.
][<en
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