I understand the analogy – under the weather, meaning feeling low, has to correspond with cloudy, rainy, windy days. Today was a variable day, meaning it seemed all day like it was going to rain, but it held off.

I worked really hard yesterday on the book project. Today when I went in, and saw what I’d done yesterday, I thought, huh, I worked hard. Today I worked equally hard. I didn’t think yesterday when I finished up that this was possible. But it was.

Children's nonfiction

I started work at 11:00 a.m. I put the bins of books that I might later distribute in the rear of my car. There were nine total, three bins of kids’ books, three bins of nonfiction, and three bins of fiction. I next cleaned the kids’ books that were on the table, categorized them and got them into boxes, then categorized the Dr. Seuss books, which will be cleaned and stamped by volunteers on Wednesday. I next did the same with the Emergency Preparedness Fair books. Pete appeared at 1:30 p.m. and he cleaned, stamped, and reboxed the 10 boxes of books going to the Alaska Veteran’s Museum this upcoming week.

I thought, when I was done with all this, huh, I’ll be able to take Sunday and Monday off. But this plan was dashed at 4:00 p.m. when Bill Schmidtkunz appeared with 13 boxes of books that he got earlier from the recycling center. I will have to work on Monday.

Pete cleaned and stamped a few boxes of fiction and I sorted and categorized the fiction, nonfiction, and kids’ books. As I was working, I realized that I won’t have Monday off. Nor will I have time to take care of any administrativa. It also occurred to me that perhaps I’m practicing writing avoidance. This is something that I need to think more about.

I next went to distribute the books that I’d previous put in the back of Phonix. (That’s the name of my car.) I was moving right along because Pete, who left before me, said he’d get the horses ready to go for a ride. I got to Turkey Red and was putting fiction in the shelves when a woman behind me said thank you for stocking the shelves. This happens often, so I didn’t give the matter much thought.

I stood up, turned around, and faced her. We chatted for a bit about the project, and then I asked her if she might volunteer. No, she said, she lived in Anchorage although she was hoping to move to the Valley. She added that she was looking for a place to rent, one where she might have a dog. I said I’d keep my eyes out for her.

The conversation kept going, as this woman, Barb, provided me with a summation of where she’d lived before moving to Anchorage. She then asked where I lived and I told her off Buffalo Mine Road. She said she used to live off Buffalo Mine, at the end of Murphy Road. I asked “on the corner of Sybarite?” She said “yes.”

“Jim’s place?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“We’re you the one who owned the peacocks and left Jim to marry an old man with a whole lot of money?”

“Yes, I owned the peacocks, but the old man didn’t have a lot of money.”

Our conversation continued, with me being incredulous about the fact that I’d run into Jim’s former sweetheart. Of course, her story as to why they got together and separated differed from his story. For example, he never said that she left because he got angry because he said she was using the wrong broom and he ripped it out of her hands and tossed it out the door.

And I never did find out what happened to the peacocks.

Pretty amazing. Such a small world.

Next: 262.9/24/23: Making Hay While the Sun Shines