Tonight I did my regular stint at Starbucks in the Chapters bookstore after work. Finished reading Coraline [loved it!] and started reading The Infinities by John Banville. And drank copious amounts of coffee.
I also did a good deed.
A couple next to me left the place, and about a half hour later I noticed the woman had forgotten her purse slung on the back of her chair. So I carried it up to the Starbucks people and they put it aside, pending her return for it. About another half hour later I saw them retrieving it, the woman all aflutter. Ahh, another anonymous good deed by Mr. Bookpuddle. I'm a regular Haley Joel Osment -- "pay it forward" and all that jazz. Little do they know I took all her credit cards.
Then I browsed books in the Neil Gaiman section [he seems to have a lot of real interesting ones in the Fantasy genre of the store] and soon found myself among a display of Stephen King's 2011 novel entitled 11/22/63.
I leafed through it and read a bit of the book club discussion ideas at the back.
The first one was a question. "Where were you the day JFK was shot?"
Hmmm… and so I wondered where I was at that time, in 11/22/63.
And it really took me down memory lane.
Because on that day, I was in an amniotic sac. Thankfully, it was my mother's.
And I was fixin' to get out of there.
12 days later I was born into the world.
When I think of 11/22/63 though, I always think that it was also a day when two literary greats did the reverse of what I was about to accomplish by being born.
C.S. Lewis, and Aldous Huxley.
So it was an infamous day in many respects beyond the catastrophe of the assassination.
The political world lost a great man, and the literary world lost two masters of the craft.