Although knowing full well that esteemed writers and their equally-excellent publishing houses would definitely not approve, I celebrated, nonetheless, the bonanza of literature acquisition that came my way yesterday. 

On a visit to our local Salvation Army thrift shop, we never miss perusing the groaning book shelves.

Invariably, we will find something of inestimable value to us.  A picture book representing an inventory of antique furnishings, for example, or the great houses of Britain or Austria, or a publication featuring some of the world-renowned paintings of a particular public or state art gallery. 

Biographies of people we find useful and educative to read.  And novels written by those with imaginations matching their command of language. We are seldom disappointed.  And this time around the choices were almost overwhelming. 

Which means, to us, that there are an awful lot of people reading excellent literature, generous enough to part with them once they have finished.  To our great advantage. 

The price is a pittance compared to what we pay through Amazon.ca, when we order books selected by our granddaughter; must-haves for her voracious reading appetite.

For ours, we will continue, with the odd resorting to commercial book stores, to haunt the Sally Ann.  Yesterday, my acquisition-fare, and mine alone included:

• The Climb; Tragic ambitions on Everest, by Anatoli Boukreev
• Baudolino, by Umberto Eco
• Happenstance by Carol Shields
• Wolves Eat Dogs by Martin Cruz Smith
• The Help by Kathryn Stockett
• No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod
• The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill

My cup runneth over.