Fifty-Fifty

I’ll note here a pleasant, long overdue trip to the town of Lincoln City on the Oregon coast. It was a chilly, foggy drive, but by the time we arrived yesterday at about ten in the morning, the sun was shining brightly, the temperature was fifty degrees, and there was only a light breeze — a perfect day for sandals and a walk on the beach — after we’d visited Robert’s Bookshop, of course, and had a nice lunch at La Roca, a small Oaxacan restaurant across the street. Fifty degrees — fifty being an especially good number, as today we celebrate fifty years of marriage and the sheer good fortune of having found each other all those years ago.

The tide was coming in, the waves were crashing, and relatively few people were out. A joyful dog raced up to us barking, then kept going, while its human companion called after him in a voice he either couldn’t hear, or chose to ignore. Early on, we found an agreeably sculpted rock with holes in it that was too heavy to carry during our walk — and, wouldn’t you know it, when we went back to get it, the entire world had been rearranged and we couldn’t find it. Back in the parking area, I half-expected to find someone selling rocks with holes in them, but that person didn’t materialize. What did materialize was a large puddle full of splashing pigeons, fringed with a few blackbirds.

Les Provinciales de Blaise Pascal, published in Paris in two beautiful, heavy volumes in 1891 by Alphonse Lemerre.

In Thackeray’s London, by F Hopkinson Smith, published in New York by Doubleday, Page & Company in 1913.

Washington, by Ron Chernow, published in New York by the Penguin Press in 2010.

When we were paying for our books, the owner of the shop happened to be examining some maps at the counter. This was the first time we’d seen him. While the cashier was ringing them up, he looked at the books almost wistfully, as if he hated to part with them. “I’m always interested to see what people buy,” he said. A few seconds later, he looked again and said, “Oh,” with a tinge of surprise. The store contains more than 200,000 books, yet he seemed to know these personally, which I’m sure he did. I know the feeling.

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