John Steinbeck worship

 Before we left home I made a list of bookshops because if I’m  overwhelmed or a bit anxious a quick sniff of some lovely new books can set me right. With such a full-on trip I knew there would be moments. Once I’d made the list, though, ticking them off has become a challenge. Not that we needed any extra challenges. 

We had a long drive from Yosemite to Monterey. It wasn’t very exciting, except for the acres and acres of tree farms. Unfortunately, the Long Suffering Husband wouldn’t let me stop to buy 20 avocados for a dollar, although on reflection I don’t know what I’d have done with 20 avocados. 

I was quite excited to find that we were booked into a hotel on Cannery Row. John Steinbeck was the first literary author I enjoyed. My classmates complained about having to read such a boring book but I read all night with my torch under the covers, crying over poor misunderstood Lennie and bristled with injustice. I went on to read The Grapes of Wrath and East of Eden but so many books, so little time has meant that my reading of Steinbeck stopped there. Cannery Row has been on my TBR pile for a while.

John Steinbeck grew up in Salinas, which was on our way and his family home has been turned into a restaurant run by enthusiastic middle aged Steinbeck fangirls. I felt right at home. 

As we were leaving one of the women beckoned me over and surreptitiously shoved and handful of something into my hand, placing her finger to her lips and looking round. This is where pockets in clothes come in handy, they are perfect places to hide contraband. 

“What did she give you?” the LSH asked as we left.

I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out enough printed paper coasters to host my very own drinks party. I’ve been chuckling about it ever since, although I think book club will enjoy them.