James went into work this morning. I slept in and regretted it; lots of tangled, disturbing dreams, fear and confusion. I forced myself awake to get away from it all. Breakfast was...breakfast, not much help.

So I popped on my broad-brimmed hat, slung my pack on, and went out. At the least I had to get gasoline for the car. Near the house gas is 3.69⁹; closer to Costco it was 3.61⁹.

Costco was 3.49⁹. I'll wait. While I waited I listened to a Rick Steves' "Travel" about religions: he talked to one of his Turkish tour guides who is a Muslim—I now know what the five pillars of Islam are—and also to an Italian Jew.

When I finished there I decided to go into Buckhead (I'd thought about going last Friday, but Buckhead during the week is like a low-level New Year's Eve at Times Square). For a different route, I went through Powers Ferry Road; like Mount Paran Road, this is the sort of neighborhood where the homes are sold by Sotheby's and Harry Norman, large homes with curved driveways and immaculately manicured lawns dotted with ornamental flowering trees, neatly trimmed azaleas, and squared hedges, set on hilly slopes overlooking the pavement. The road curved through Chastain Park and past the stable area, where I turned left and headed on West Wieuca to Buckhead.

I'd intended just to buy a couple of books I was already going to purchase, the next in the "Mistress of the Art of Death" series, and the 97 Orchard book about life in a tenement house. Well, that was the plan, anyway. :-) I found the next book in C.A. Belmond's series, a Dover reprint of an 1896 book Home Life in Colonial Days, a linguistics book (The Lexicographer's Dilemma), a Richard Schenkman book I didn't know existed (Legends, Lies & Cherished Myths of World History—I love his U.S. History book), and a neat-looking book called See You in a Hundred Years, about a New York family who moved to the country and lived a year as if it were 1900.

Of course the magazine deliveries have already been halted. No more "Best of British." Dang it. I noticed certain sections were sparser than others. If you want business books and cookbooks, this is the time to get them. Many religion books still left as well.

Well, if there's any good to come of this, it means there's no need to go to Buckhead any longer. Oxford Books and Oxford Too are long gone along with Wolf's Den, Fantasyland Records is gone, so is Pearl crafts, and if I need to go to the Container Store, I can visit the one at Perimeter Mall. There's nothing remotely interesting at Lenox Mall and Phipps Plaza any longer. At Christmastime I'll drop in at Richard's Variety Store because of the Woolworths memories it brings back, but that's all.

So the simplest way to get home (with a stop for a newspaper on the way) was to go down Roxboro Road, to North Druid Hills Road, to the freeway. Simple.

Well, almost. The ramp at what we call the "whiparound," to I-75 north, was closed. Had I known, I would have gone back the way I came.

So I got off at 17th Street and turned right to cut through Atlantic Station [yuppified apartment/shopping/entertainment neighborhood] to Ikea and Northside Drive. I could get to I-75 North from there.

Except the freeway entrance is a HOV only.

Sheesh, guys, I only want to get home already. :-) I'm not on a time schedule, but after a big glass of milk and half a bottle's worth of water, I was a bit uncomfortable. The ladies' room at Borders had been out of order. And here I was, hitting every red light in creation between Buckhead and home.

Finally got to Spring Road, picked up a paper, and made it home. It took me over an hour to do what should have taken me 40 minutes.

So I had some vegetable soup for lunch, got some cleaning done, made the bed, read the paper—and cooked dinner much too early. I thought James was getting out at five, not six. But I kept it warm and it was quite good. Plus the first watermelon of the season for dessert.

Labels: books, cars, food

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 4:08:00 PM

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