I was driving down College Street on my way to work when I saw a woman standing by the driver’s door of a parked car. She looked like she was waiting for traffic to thin so she could get in.
As I passed her, I noticed she was holding a book in her arms. I could only see the top half of it, which was completely filled with a name: Ken Follett.
Three thoughts ran quickly through my head:
1. I wonder if someone gave her that book as a gift.
Never miss a local story.
2. Actually, I’m a bit fuzzy on the exact details of what occurred the 21st night of September. Although I knew love was here to stay.
3. I hope no one at work today crosses me.
Now, no one knows better than me that my brain is better than yours. So let me go into more detail about those quick thoughts.
But wait. I want be sure you understand the brain I meant in “my brain is better than yours” is that guy over on the corner wearing spats and licking his index finger. I didn’t mean you. You’re smart in a country way.
So let’s proceed. Here’s why I was thinking what I was thinking — flip-flopped in order in order to confuse Willie the Poorboy over there. (I tried to get a third consecutive “in order” in there, but it started to feel like work.)
So let’s, in fact now, proceed:
3. I ain’t a man to be crossed.
2. I listen to Magic 100 when driving. They were playing Earth, Wind and Fire. Ba duda, ba duda, ba duda, badu.
3. I give a lot of books to friends and family members as gifts, and the book I’ve given most often is Follett’s “Pillars of the Earth.” It’s a long, almost pageant-like tale about the building of an English cathedral in the 12th century. It has both a religious and humanistic appeal that everyone I have gifted it to has appreciated.
Even thinking about it makes me feel generous. So if you’ve never read “Pillars of the Earth,” send me an email and I’ll set up a Gmail filter that sends all your messages straight to Trash.
You’re welcome. If you can think of anything else I can do for you, don’t.