thisnewday

This afternoon, I decided that I HAD to take the mail I'd picked up at our old house in the city and drop it off at the house, also on the east side, where my youngest daughter now lives with her boyfriend's parents. Together, the daughter and boyfriend have twin girls who are 5 years old and, in my opinion, deserve smarter parents.

The conversation with my daughter was cordial enough, having mostly to do with one of the twins having recently been diagnosed with possible asthma. But just as the subject was being brought up, the boyfriend walks past us and into the closed room where the two girls were playing, carrying a lit candle.

The reason my daughter broached the subject in the first place was that she was aware of my own late diagnosis of COPD and wanted to know if there might be a hereditary predispositions to respiratory problems that I knew of. She also mentioned that the pediatrician had been skeptical about the asthma diagnosis because of its apparent late onset.

I told her that, whatever hereditary factors might be in play, childhood exposure to cigarette smoke and other irritants, such as incense and lit candles, whether scented or not, definitely heightens the risk of childhood respiratory problems. Both the parents are smokers and, as she's shaking her head in agreement, it occurs to me that, once again, I should've saved my own breath.

After that, I decided that as long as I was over on the east side, I'd head a little farther out to the Barnes & Noble on Erie Blvd. While there, I browsed the biography section, just in case they might've gotten in something on Steinbeck, and found nada. Then I went to the fiction section, expecting the same result, and was thrilled to find a paperback copy of Cannery Row.

With that turn of luck, I decided to head over to the CDs and DVDs to see if the movie version might've shown up since the last time I was there. As I was about to enter that part of the store, the clerk who'd been working there appeared to be leaving so I was on my own. But after a quick look around, I concluded that I'd have to find someone to check inventory and availability.

As I was heading toward the central desk, the guy whom I'd seen walking out earlier spotted me and asked if he could help. He was a nice guy, willing to help, but after a minute he said, "How do you spell cannery?" When I told him, and he typed it in, he determined there were no copies in the store but they were available to be ordered.

(He said that he'd tried to spell it "cannary" at first, which I guess would be some kind of tin bird, but I couldn't find it in my heart to fault him for it because he'd been so honest about it and had, after all, been gracious in the way he'd offered to help me out.)

When I decided to go ahead and order the movie, he suggested we go back to the CD/DVD section where he could both place my order and cash me out.

On the way, he says to me, "So who wrote Cannery Row," was it Hemingway or Steinbeck? I have trouble keeping them straight." Again, I loved the honesty.

"Steinbeck," I said, Steinbeck wrote Cannery Row. But it's interesting you should say that because, over the years, I've read a number of Hemingway bios and only recently got into a vintage bio of Steinbeck. And based on what I've read about the two of them, Steinbeck comes across as actually being the man that Hemingway only pretended to be."

He thought that was an interesting observation and chuckled as he wrote up my order. He also explained that, with my B&N member's card, I could have the movie delivered at home with no charge for shipping.

So, now I can happily proceed with my Steinbeck bio, secure in the knowledge that I've now got Cannery Row and Sweet Thursday waiting for me, to be followed shortly by the movie adaptation of the two books.

Sometimes life is just too... er, hang on, don't wanna jinx it, lol...

LPK
Dreamwidth
4.4.2018