There is nothing like a used book sale to help you figure yourself out. I mean, think about it. If you go to a book sale with five or ten dollars, you will only buy those books that really, really draw you to them. There's almost this mysterious attractive energy where, out of thousands of titles, your eyes light on exactly the books that most appeal. I came out of the sale with Martha Beck's Steering by Starlight: the Science and Magic of Finding your Destiny, and Louise Hay's classic (and perhaps now, particularly timely) of the metaphysical approach to health, You Can Heal Your Life. I also found two books about English cathedrals, an atlas of medieval history, a book about the Druids, and another medieval mystery novel. What was fascinating is that in the cathedral books (which must have had a single owner) there were post cards and brochures from the owner's visits to the various cathedrals. It was fascinating, the thought that two Americans passionate about these structures found each other, indirectly, through these old books. And then it turns out my friend's purchase of some other, totally unrelated book had old brochures from Salisbury Cathedral in it, which she immediately handed over to me. This still doesn't help me figure out my linking of these various manifestations of spirituality, but it's just so quietly affirming. What you love is what you love, and my book sale purchase of about $6.50 illustrated it perfectly.
Then sitting on a bench on the town green, watching a band gathering for their bandstand concert was just so lovely and poignant. The setting sun reflected off the tops of the instrument cases that were lined up around the bandstand, children chattered and ran around, grandparents held their grandbabies, and well-organized old people brought their solid folding chairs while younger folks easily jumped up and down from blankets on the grass. The band was too big for their bandstand and I am not quite sure how the trombones managed, but the music was celebratory and even I nearly cried as various service members stood for their branch of the military's tune in the musical medley.
However, later in the evening I did not join the throngs heading to the fireworks. I didn't quite cringe under the covers, but almost. They were so loud and sounded more like cannons than ever, but I tried to remind myself that most people don't seem to react this way. I guess it's just simply OK to say, fireworks are not something I love. It's really OK to say that. Phew.
