An Old Store, A Book...

"Old friends, Old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends,
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends..."
- Simon & Garfunkel, Old Friends

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

AUSTIN, Texas - There was a time when I thought books would come, would come calling on my brain, would make me dive into new worlds, bringing tales older than my hair, even those I bought in college that cost too much and seemed to do little. I've been messing with old books lately. Not just this past week, but lately as in the past 30 years.

Outings to the small, charming towns surrounding Austin seem to always yield a copy or two, aging, dusty books that throw me back to another time in my life, like some songs, some girls. It's easy for me to make associations that way, perhaps much like it is for you. It's a good time for me to be doing this, although the golf course calls as the weather turns spring-like and the day's sun isn't killing anything.

So, what is it about books?

Some in the publishing industry say the days of brick & mortar bookstores are numbered, that electronic books via Kindles and Nooks are the future. Buy a book, never worry about shelf space or dust. A Nook can store - what? - 3,000 books, all there at your fingertips, the entire library in bed or out on the porch at any time of the day you desire. I am not there, yet, no.

My office is not exactly a library, but it counts a number of books I enjoy. They're on a small three-tier shelf, not far from the fold-out futon, the coffee table and my tall stacks of old newspapers. In between all that stand my golf clubs (the corner farthest from my laptop and desk) and a sprinkling of stuffed monkeys and a small bear in a Zorro outfit someone will get for Christmas later this year. On the floor are several bottles of my beloved Shiraz wine and a variety of magazines strewn about the room. It is my refuge from the quiet storm that is rural life. My battles with traffic on two-lane ranch roads and that one grocery store across town and that idea that we have to drive some 10 miles to the heart of Austin if we want a choice in meals. It's a struggle living with so many people and with navigating killer I-35 traffic.

Books free me from all that. I enjoy reading my newspapers and magazines and my list of legitimate news websites and illegitimate blogs. They keep my brain dancing, the tunes changing, but my attention always on the mood. Don't send me mysteries or horror fiction. No, not that. I like a good, well-written story about human beings, not vampires or lawyers or space monsters. Biographies are cool. They're a full-open window into someone else's life, or so we hope. To me, the sound of a page-turn is the equal of a wine corking, of a fresh fish frying, of a thick, Land's End sweater falling over your head and onto your shoulders. It's one of those sounds forever free and always promising more. The last page got you wondering; the next page sets you back on course.

And when you get to the last page of a book, well, you read it.

You read it as if knowing that the last 300 pages were defining the journey and so the last page will settle all accounts, will bring either a smile or a nod - both silent, but both thoroughly enjoyed...

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