Friends had made the decision to marry near the small town of Hudson, New York. This part of New York is rabbit's warren of little burgs that are filled with many cutesy gift and antique stores for NYC residents during the weekends and Summer months. The wife and I traveled into Hudson to meet up with another set of old friends that we don't see nearly enough now that we are well across the country. What was a 5 minute ride a cross the Rip Van Winkle bridge for us was a three hour car trek for them. We are in there debt for the trouble they took to travel 6 hours round trip with two kids who seem to have excessive amount sass. Lunch was boozy and Mexican. And it turned into a walk around the three block main drag. The kids were bored by the adults, and promises of a cheap present for the ride home needed to be filled. While they hunted for something appropriate in a CVS. I ducked into bookstore.
Immediately I knew that I would find Edward Gorey books. While the owner smoked her cigarette out front, I found a small collection about a quarter of the way into the store. About 10 books in all. It was a nice lot. Of the books available, there were two or three I already had. Maybe they were in better shape than the ones I owned, but I have yet to reach the point where I need to swap books for condition. Priced in my wheelhouse I figured I could grab a few without breaking the bank.
I had nice group of three books and was about to beat my retreat from the store. "So are you a Gorey collector?" The owner had sneaked back into the store and said words that I had never heard but wanted to.