Outside the "first serious windstorm of the season" is beginning. I feel safely ensconced in my concrete bunker with the Pergo flooring. I'm back home after an overnight trip to Portland. Besides eating, sleeping, and telling "Once Upon a Time" stories to my son, we made the mandatory visit to Powell's Bookstore, which was only two blocks from our hotel. We couldn't have been that close and not go in, and still call ourselves book lovers. There were three of us visiting the Rose City, and we each came home with probably five books each. Well, one of us, who shall not be named, left the majority of their books on the train. Thinking optimistically of most people, I believe that they will be in the lost and found box at the King Street station in the morning. My public demeanor is usually a disdain for fellow humans, but down deep I believe everyone has good qualities and ethics to draw from. The whole idea of "original sin" is an insult to our intelligence, and an immediate devaluing of children. We are born into this world as perfect little beings, but even perfection is not without its flaws.
It's much too late to ramble on about what books I bought at Powell's today, or what DVDs arrived in mail in the past week. That's all just trivialities that fade away with time anyway. Now, to be truly in love is to feel truly alive. Everything else can fall by the wayside. Yes, including books. (I can't believe I just wrote that!)