I had a structural integration appointment this afternoon over in SE Portland. (It’s also known as “rolfing.” The structural integration, I mean, not SE Portland.) When I happen to end up on that side of town close to rush hour, I like to avoid traffic by killing time at the ultimate shopping destination: the big Goodwill store at SE 6th and Grand.
Let me preface this by saying that Goodwill of the Columbia-Willamette triumphs over all other states’ Goodwill stores. (David and I go to Goodwill everywhere we go, so I have some data to judge by.) Our Goodwill stores are clean; they are well-organized; basically, they feel less like thrift stores and more like retail stores. In fact, they now sell new items — Target seconds — as well.
The last out-of-state Goodwill stores I went to, in Arizona and California, felt more like junk stores. Kind of dusty. Dimly lit. Merchandise barely sorted into categories. I felt like I had to literally dig through heaps of things to find anything decent.
But I digress. When I went to Goodwill today, I got a little too caught up in the concept of “killing time.” After my usual overview of the store (first to board games for David, then to stationery to look for scrapbooking stuff), I decided to check out the children’s books. This location does a fantastic job of sorting out Newbery Award books from the rest of the kids’ books, so I like to see if I can add anything to my collection. I recently discovered, however, that they have not sorted the younger-kids’ chapter books in the same way. Ack! This means that one might find a lovely book like Cynthia Ryland’s Missing May right there with Nasty Little Beasts, Doorway to Doom, and Disneyland Hostage.
This effectively doubles the number of shelves one has to go through to find obscure Newbery books. While sitting on the floor going through the final chapter-book shelves (Why are the ones on the bottom always the sports-themed books? Do they think boys are more likely to not care about getting dirty?), I came across this classic that I had not read in years and years and years:
I wondered if I even remembered the storyline after all that time, so I opened it up.
Big mistake. Because of who I am as a person, I suddenly found myself on page 40, still sitting on the floor, blocking traffic. Rush hour was long over.
I did what I had to do. I got in the checkout line, cart filled with a Creative Memories scrapbook, an outdoor cushion to identical to the one I sent Q for his dorm chair, a sealed copy of Wits and Wagers for only $2.99 . . . and that copy of Daddy Long Legs. I mean, it was 99 cents, and I don’t think I already own it.
I know I don’t own Disneyland Hostage. I’m going to have to go back for that one.