The Stockpile

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Symbols are cool. Symbols are imagination inspired for the writer, thoughtful movement for the philosopher, love on fire on a stallion rearing before a storm-subdued castle for the romantic novelist, The Highlander in the form of Spanish Sean Connery in front of a storm-subdued castle for the soon-to-be husband of the romantic novelist. Symbols are cool because they fire you up. There is one thing I can always think of and it will bring a small, satisfied smile to my face—not just to the lips and mouth, but my eyes perk up, my eyebrows rise knowingingly, the wardrobe door in my head creaks open and not only does C.S. Lewis peak his head out, but also Wallace Stegner, Cormac McCarthy, Willa Cather, Bruce Courtenay, yes, Nelson Demille, Robert Ludlum, Bill Bryson, Edward Abbey, Isaac Asimov, Susan Cooper, Terry Goodkind, an innumerable host of mindset, stock market, and experiential writers, the under-appreciated, soft-spoken travel guide spokesmen (although I never feel sorry for them—their writing may be over-edited and muted, but hey, they were in so many places “researching”, more likely drunk half the time in a “hidden’ bar under some famous parliamentary building with two six foot tall Czech girls named Gabrielle who spoke five languages and had several degrees, none of which were in hygiene, yet still managed to drink you under the table).
But I digress. My symbol of imaginative delight in all shapes and sizes is The Stockpile—a mountain full of hillocks full of disguised underground bunkers full of tractor-trailers full of shelves full of books. Books from all generations and genres, except romance, retail operations management and maybe the growing Hollywood autobiography section where the spines aren’t big enough to show a pretty face. But I could still read those and get a good laugh, happily throw a bad read down to pick up a hometown classic, like the Power of One, the Count of Monte Cristo, Profitable Candlestick Trading for Dummies, or any motivational, hard-fought success story. I’m sold—don’t care the price, it’s worth it, even if I don’t read it, to know that I can whenever I have the time. It’s a symbol of hope—“Can’t wait to have the time to dive into Dante’s ‘Inferno!’ and not worry about staying up too late or answering the phone or pissing the bed (I recommend, on my soon-to-be brother-in-law Matt’s advice, Depends Undergarments). “…hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing never dies,” said Andy Dufresne. Well, now I have the time to dive in after stockpiling for 10 years. A portion of The Stockpile is here with me in the form of a large, blue-grey, back-crunching, tupperware on steroids crate with handles designed to sever fingers and a top that never completely fits. God, I love that crate!!! Best of a breed in there! Crack open the collection and get your greasy fingers all over it! Is this the first and foremost goal of this journey?: Discover interesting places to read from the Stockpile. I don't know, but it's one I've been looking forward to for a long time.
“Red...if you've come this far, maybe you're willing
to come a little further. You remember the name of the town,
don't you?”

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Photos

The Stockpile on Tour
A slice of Heaven.

Comments

[Tom Ulmer]

Zihuatenao????
Remember Red....Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things....

[Erin and Eli]

Zihuatenao....
...I found it on the map the other day. Looks beautiful. “I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.” Ellis Redding