Those of you who know me of old, know that I have long wanted a cannon. On Friday, after the meeting in which I was awarded about a thousand tasks in conjunction with this conference we're putting on in October, but before going into the college to sign C and D theses--all the A and B students and one or two of the C students had had me sign their theses at the time specified, on Tuesday--I decided to check out the going out of business sale at Portland antiques. Some of our living room furniture came from there, our record cabinet, for example. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but the ad in the paper said, "Up to eighty percent off." Right by the front door was the cannon I have been looking for all these years. It was a garden cannon--cast in two pieces and therefore not fire-able--perfect in size and shape, mounting and provenance. The only problem--apart from a small amount of obnoxious gold paint--was the asking price, which, though half the original, was still-- by my lights-- too high. Fortunately the owner was at his desk. He and I have chatted from time to time. He went to Lewis and Clark College and then fell for England in a big way, marrying an English woman, driving a Jag...the whole bit. Most of his antiques, including this cannon, are English. So we began a conversation... was the sign correct or did he have additional discounts in mind? He admitted that with the final closing auction five weeks away, there might be some flexibility. Did I realize that it was made in Birmingham? I had noted a second price tag on the floor. Was this, perhaps, an indication of how low he wanted to go? No, that was from another item and he certainly couldn't go that low. He said it was a signal cannon. I said that anything cast in two halves was likely to break into two halves with the least explosion, so no, not a signal cannon. The conversation drifted--with very careful steering--towards Jags and British cars. We were doing fine on that subject and then I made the mistake of inquiring how his wife was. His "second ex-wife" is what he called her, both of them English. I wasn't sure which one I'd met. The second apparently, identified by her love of carpets. Would a little more money be a good price for the cannon? No? I told a story about collecting my future in-laws from Heathrow airport in a very, very small FIAT. He waxed enthusiastic, having once had a FIAT himself. And then a Lancia or two. I had once tried to buy a Lancia. Would I be interested in a Jag? I asked what kind of Jag we were talking about. An eighteen thousand dollar S type Jag. Er, no. By this time we'd established that we were in a negotiation over the cannon's price, that neither of us was new to the game, that he was descended from Polish jews, that he owns about a dozen cars, that we had much in common, that he once passed up the chance to own a left hand drive London taxi. Why is this extraordinary? It had less than fifteen thousand miles on it, which is about two hundred and eighty five thousand miles short of its allotted span, this being a very sturdy diesel vehicle. At the price he mentioned, I would have bought the thing in an instant. Which was a little shorter than the time it took us to arrive at a price for the cannon, but arrive we finally did, with me happy and him happy and my car's trunk proving big enough for its latest task; my SAAB the cannon carrier. Home again, home again, clickty clunk. Today I bought some records at an estate sale in the neighborhood, brought them home, puzzled over why they didn't sound right. They were in perfect condition. My equipment looked fine. Eventually I found the problem--someone had turned upside down the rubber mat on which records sit. No one in the household did it. A mystery. If we are suffering from mat-turning burglars, I clearly bought my cannon in the nick of time. David Ritchie Portland, Oregon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html