the bookstore

I rarely unleash the emotions for things that are long gone. You'd think that in my senior-hood, I'd be more inclined to reminisce. To recall with fondness. To chuckle at a memory of some youthful transgression . But I don't often go there. Oh, sometimes I'll torture Ed by playing La ou je t'emmenerai ("where I'll take you") over and over on my smart phone. I consider it "our song" from years when we used to return each June to Sorede in the south of France. Hmm. Maybe I torture myself more than I torture him. But it happens rarely. The exception. My preferred path has always been to look forward.

But today I was pulled into one big nostalgic moment that lasted a good hour and it was intense.

It caught me by surprise. I had woken up way before Ed (whose sleeping cycle at the moment makes him a good candidate for watching the Olympics in China in real time, except that he's not a fan of watching the Olympics or any competitive sports period, even ones showcasing individual excellence; he says they're all too tribal and nationalistic). After feeding all those animals, I drove to Madison Sourdough Bakery because croissants on the weekend can be terribly habit forming.

And I took some croissants to my daughter's home, because that was the plan.

They'd munch on what would be their second breakfast and then we'd all bundle up and go.

Where? To the bookstore. 

Snowdrop had a Christmas gift certificate she wanted to use there and their mommy leveled the playing field a bit and told the kids they could each choose a few books to take home.  Sparrow was delighted.

Two things going on here: the fact that we are going to a REAL LIVE BOOKSTORE with a very large children's reading section (it's a chain -- Barnes & Noble, but still...), and secondly, the fact that we are going to a REAL LIVE STORE doing some REAL BUYING from REAL PEOPLE who take in cash or credit cards for your purchases.

When was the last time we all did any of that? The answer's too sad to think about.

Bookstores used to be an amazing place for me. When I moved from Poland to New York, once I finished my work as an au pair, I moved on to find work at a neighborhood bookstore. And I loved it! Despite the fact that it was tight and stuffy (the Paperback Forum, on Broadway, across the street from Columbia University), despite the fact that I was given the job of cashier -- way less sexy than actually shelving books and helping customers, despite the fact that I often had to close the shop at midnight and make my way back to the lower east side of the city, despite the fact that there were so many cockroaches that I could amuse myself by running an index card behind a cork bulletin board: it would always stir up a roach party -- despite all that, I loved that place and everything about it. If a book was hot (100 Years of Solitude!), I'd pick up a copy for myself (discount for employees!) and then read everything else the author wrote. In Poland I could only access English language books by raiding my parents' bookshelves. At the Paperback Forum, I had the written and published world before me. 

And that love of bookstores stayed with me. When I was looking for a home to move to after my divorce, I looked mainly at places that were within walking distance to Borders. And once I moved, I spent so much of my free time there! I was the person who hogged a cafe table with a stack of books to look through while I "sipped" my beverage. I spent a fortune in that shop! But mainly, I liked being there. I liked the proximity to great reading. So many shelves of great reading! 

 

 

(Sandpiper was a little gobsmacked by the whole outing today. A product of the pandemic, I'm not sure he's ever been inside a store. As for safety, for once I had no anxiety: one was vaccinated and all three had had Covid.

Many have said this, but I'll add my name to the very long list -- I surely think that Amazon has undone something fabulous and important, trading convenience and price (no small matter), and electronics (which do save trees), for sitting in a room with the smell of new books. Sure, the grandkids make frequent trips to the local library. They participate in the summer reading program there: read 50 books, get a free pizza. They love bringing home library books. But a bookstore -- that's a whole 'nother layer of pleasure. And my daughter was sweet enough to ask me to join in on the fun. And it was amazing.