I sort through a lot of worthless books as part of my work. Occasionally I find something impossible to put a price on.
Today that happened.
I am getting ready for my bookshop’s annual 4th of July Sale in which we cover the sidewalk with shelves and tables full of books for one dollar a piece. I have been gathering books an entire year in anticipation of this event.
Almost every day someone comes into my bookshop to sell, trade, or donate books to me. Usually I turn some away. Occasionally I trade money or credit for some books. Every time (over this year) I have offered to keep some or all of these books for the 4th of July Sale.
You might worry that I am a pack rat, but by July 5th all these books will be gone one way or another.
In the stacks on the 4th of July holiday shoppers will have the experience of searching, sorting, and calculating if this is worth their time. But I know the truth is that we love to make a discovery, overlooked by someone else. We gain some happiness knowing that we persevered to find our story, as hidden and misplaced as it is among the rest of this refuse.
Make no mistake. The rest of the books will be recycled if paperback, tossed in the dump if hardcover.
However many, several, or even numerous titles will be selected to find a place of honor on the shelves of our stories, if even for a short time.
These stories will be special.
Today, before I rejected two full boxes of books in my shop, before I drove to the next town over to reject a houseful of books, I was reunited with a book more valuable than any in the world I can think of.
My songbook, like my guitar, had been neglected for at least 15 years. Beyond neglect, the songbook had been lost.
Between several moves the thing ended up in a box stored somewhere. Even amidst a divorce in which I thought I had opened every box in our joint possession I did not find it.
My ex-spouse unearthed it in my old home and was kind enough to give it to me this morning. This evening I turned every page of this book and sang out many words I had forgotten. However, they all returned like old friends, literally long lost.
I was surprised as the tears began to flow. Was it because I had regained something I thought I had lost for good — this old songbook? Was it because I had remembered something of who I was before embarking on a personality changing two decades? Or was it simply because these songs are that good? Maybe all of the above.
I will share more songs here in the future. I would love to trade songs with friends at parties. Seeing notes in my fellow singers’ hand in this book helped me remember that music can bring people together. I’d like to be together some times.
Learning to play guitar on my own was so healing in my 20s. If today is any indication, remembering to play in my 50s is going to be reinvigorating, both of my self and my community.
May you have music in your life. May you find your story.
Solomon Everta 