I woke to a day of freezing fog, which seemed appropriate. I don’t like to fall into the trap of writing about “how different things were” or “in the good old days …”

The rosy backward glance is often obscured by optimism, though my early days still appear mostly fair, even under scrutiny. We yearn for a perfection, whether the past or the future, we know there’s a finer elusive place. In Joni Mitchell’s “Chelsea Morning,” she sings: “Oh, won’t you stay? We’ll put on the day. And we’ll talk in present tenses.”

My translation is that we can take on the day as it is and work toward what we know to be good, no matter how we feel. I’m not moving to England, yet.

Looking back over my longish history, there has been one vehicle throughout each decade that has provided my wardrobe to Narnia, the gate in my secret garden, a trip to Macomb, Alabama, in the 1930s, or aboard the whaling ship Essex, a place along the trail with Lewis and Clark, and so many more beautifully harrowing and emotional explores. That is, books. It’s so true. Books have always elicited emotions and taken me places that I didn’t know I needed to feel or visit. I feel sorry for people who can’t or don’t read.

We didn’t do much when I was a little kid, and that could explain why I fell overboard for stories at a very young age. We went for groceries on Saturday, to church on Sunday, and to visit my grandparents’ farm for special dinners and holidays, and those were all chapters, too, if I read them right.

Today, folks seem always on the way to somewhere else. Don’t misunderstand, I was happy, but I’m not judging modern lifestyles (much). I honestly didn’t care to leave home because I had a stack of books — passports. I could adventure anywhere I wanted to go. That fact also may have attributed to a lack of social skills as a young person, which I fortunately outgrew.

It follows that I have great regard for our libraries. They are top-notch. But my favorite book store for new volumes is Rebel Heart in Jacksonville. What store owner Eileen Bobeck doesn’t have on the shelf, she orders for me. I don’t flinch at paying $20 or so for hours’ worth of entertainment. It’s a rare modern-day bargain. She also sells my books.

So, fellow book lovers, please mark your calendars for Saturday, Nov. 16. From 1 to 3 p.m. Rebel Heart is hosting a local author book fair at the Jacksonville library. I’m honored to have been invited to join them. I’m as excited to meet and talk with fellow wordsmiths as I am to be there with my books and meet readers.

I’m also “working on” a new book. I mean, I have begun, which is something. But writing a book is agonizingly slow for me.

The story idea is a solid lulu, provided I can pull it off. I’m counting on a long, cold and lonely winter to keep me indoors and at the Dell typing out pages by the fireside with a pipe. Scratch that. Writing requires discipline — something of which I have been known to have in short supply.

And now, some of you have been wondering what the cat boys are up to. Anyway, that’s what King Edward tells me. Today, I ordered a bottle of Feliway from Amazon. It’s not cheap but it’s supposed to help anxious cats who hate each other’s cat guts to mellow out.

It’s Eddie. He is obnoxiously agitated at times. He chirps and meows around Cricket saying something that sounds a lot like, “Off with his head,” until Cricket has his fill and tears after him. I would, too. Neither of them hurt one another but the animosity is cluttering my cozy home. I’m thinking about a third kitty to really mix things up. Cricket could use a playmate, and Eddie would have another head to threaten.