Know Jack #497 Weekend Pilgrimage

Five years ago, some friends proposed that I write an autobiography. Now, I my opinion, an autobiography is the story of someone’s life that is so boring no one else would write it. After months of assurances that such was indeed the case with my life, I caved and agreed to the task with one caveat. The names were changed to protect—me.

That last line is more joke than true. For one thing, I was determined that the book was never going to fall into anyone’s hands other than the couple for whom it was written. The story, terribly slanted as it may be, was going to be true. Just how I was going to tell the truth and still make it sound like my usual fiction (in case it fell into the wrong hands) presented a problem.

The problem was solved when driving home from Gulf Shores, the sign for a little thrift store caught my eye. I decided to assign my life to a fictional guardian angel and have him tell the story. But even a fictional angel wasn’t willing to touch something that boring. How do you make plain dirt sound bookworthy? I solved the problem by giving the angel no choice.

He was taken to a thrift shop in heaven run by St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. He was told that he must choose an item from one of the shelves. Whatever “something” he chose represented a person’s life, and he was stuck with them and their story. He chose a dented, rusty tin soldier. No doubt in hope for some small measure of excitement.

He is disappointed, but that’s not important. He’s an angel, he’ll be okay. When the story was told, I decided to go all out. I self-published it on Amazon and priced it at a hundred dollars to keep anyone from buying it. I got an author’s copy and promptly unpublished the book. In the world of Amazon Publishing, books never disappear from their search. The original page for the book still exists.

This weekend, I returned to Gulf Shores for the first time. In a twisted kind of pilgrimage, I went to the thrift store that served as the inspiration. Unfortunately, I found no tin soldiers or windmills for such a soldier to tilt at. I did find a cup with “One More Chapter” printed on it. I could go for several more chapters (unwritten, of course) in the story of the Holy Spirit Thrift Store. So, I bought the cup. Poor angel.

The Holy Spirit Thrift Store is a real place on Highway 59. It’s not run by St. Jude, but for a few dollars, some very nice ladies let me take “something” home as a memento of days gone by.