Homage to the Bookstore

This week marked the end of yet another era--the announcement that all Borders Bookstores will be closing thus leaving yet another void in our techno-driven lives.  So for a few minutes, let's put down the smartphones (unless of course you're reading this blog ON a smartphone, and yes I realize the irony), the Kindle, the Nook, or whatever latest gadget has created a frenzied craze, and pay homage to the art that was a bookstore, much like a handwritten letter---classic yet now antiquated, as it slowly falls by the wayside.
 
There are many reasons for me to feel sentimental about the closing of this particular store. For one, and probably most obvious, it is where Terry has worked tirelessly for the past 6 years, in so many different roles, but most recently as head honcho, General Manager (long overdue but that's just my humble opinion).  And when I say worked, I mean devoted, dedicated, contributed, and slaved over thousands upon thousands of hours to make sure that this store was always running at peak performance even in the most dismal of times. So many times our plans have been postponed, canceled, changed, or simply nonexistent because of his need to fill in for someone, or make sure that things were on track with the store.  So many times our schedules were opposite and we'd become like two passing ships in the night, barely able to see each other or spend any quality time together until we got our one day off together.  And so many times he'd have to stay late, because no one else would, and SOMEONE needed to run the building.  But that's just what he does. And that's what makes him so good at it, while also garnering the respect from his peers and subordinates.  I could write an entire page about his work ethic, which is unlike anyone else I've ever seen, except perhaps my own father.  But I digress.


The very first time I brought Terry to Maine, nearly 8 years ago, to 'check things out',  we stopped at the South Portland Borders because, quite simply, we love a good bookstore.  Many, of course, know our story of how we met at the rival Barnes and Noble, back in Arlington, VA in 2002 where he was Assistant Manager, and I was a lowly bookseller, working there as a second job because the nonprofit life in nearby DC is completely unaffordable when you want to actually live there as well.  But again, I digress.


One thing that stands out to me from that trip to Borders back then was the fact that for some reason, I remember this one particular girl who worked there. I'm not sure why I remember her (except I have a penchant for remembering the most minute of details) except that when Terry started working at Borders in 2005, she was still there.  And I believe she is still there now.  And who knows how long she was there prior to my seeing her that first time.  The bottom line? Longevity.  I also remember thinking to myself, upon that first visit, 'it'd be really cool if T ended up working here', and of course, after a brief stint at someplace that rhymes with P.J. Saxx, there he was...embedded back into the bookstore culture.  For those who have never worked in a bookstore, let me just say those books don't magically appear on the shelves. 

I have had a love affair with bookstores since I was old enough to read.  It didn't matter WHAT store it was--whether a Borders or B&N, Walden's, a good used book store (like Powell's in Portland, Oregon), or now defunct stores like Brentano's...I have always loved the art of browsing. And against the advice of the old adage, "Don't judge a book by its cover", that is *exactly* what I do.  I judge the cover, the length, how good the description of the story is on the back.  All of it is part of my decision-making process in whether or not I'm going to fork over my cash to invest my time into reading that story.  I love book sales.  I adore picking up books that have been well-loved and previously owned by some other avid reader, with dog-eared creases still evident on the page.  I love the smell.  I remember going into Powell's for the first (and only) time, taking a deep breath and thinking, "there's a story for each one of these stories."   Meaning, each book had lived its life somewhere else--maybe it was an exotic beach in Fiji or in someone's backpack adventure around Europe.  Whatever the case, there's an enchanting intrigue about where a book has traveled before it lands in your hands.  The bookstore also had become a meeting place--for book clubs, coffee drinkers, gatherings of all kinds. And while there is no shortage of coffee shops that achieve that same meeting place feel, it's a shame not to be able to browse the stacks for a hot best seller at the same time.


It was a dream come true for me to work a second, fun job at the B&N in VA.  Books and music? My two favorite things?  Who wouldn't love it.  To this day, some of my greatest friendships were formed after working that three nights a week, all day Saturday shift.  (Here's my opportunity to give a shout-out to pals Mike H., Greg H., K. Graham J., Natalie H., Melvin C., and so many others. More irony as a vehicle like Facebook is how we all manage to still stay in touch, but we'll always have that bookstore camaraderie to share)  The point?  Working in a bookstore is like being with family. A strange, dysfunctional, often drama-filled family, but a family nonetheless.  I remember I used to think at B&N that the bookstore itself was just a facade for all the crazy that went on behind break-room doors.  So I can only imagine how the folks at SoPo Borders (and all the others in Maine and across the country) must be feeling knowing that soon they will be locking the doors and turning off the lights for the final time. 

A month before G was born, Borders threw us an amazing baby shower.  Held in the Cafe, it was overwhelming for me to see just how much Terry is loved by his coworkers.  Keep in mind too that he works with a lot of women--women who have had their fair share of babies, toddlers, teenagers, grandchildren, etc, and so dote on Terry like one of their own.  It was very sweet for me to be told that when G was born, he'd have several Aunties who would dote on him and love him like a real family.  Again, there's that family tie.  Since he was born, he's had several hats knitted for him, some slippers, books given to him, and a really cool pirate ship (I admit, before he knew what to do with it, I had more fun playing with it then he did). Whenever I've walked in there with him, the employees dote on him, and don't take offense that he usually maintains his stoic, serious face.  They love him just the same. What a joy it always is to see someone else delight in your child.  Thank you, Borders family, for delighting in ours.  



I think about the mini library we have going on now for G---how I hope our love of books translates to him as he grows up.  Where will we shop now? While I love the convenience of online shopping, and admit to succumbing to many a web purchase, I cannot convince myself that buying a book online, without touching it, feeling it's weight in my hands, will do justice to how I'd feel when I'd browse the new fiction table at Borders.  Not to mention, I always relied on T to tell me when some of my favorite authors were getting ready to do a new release, or have him tell me that he'd think my book club would really enjoy this one particular read.  And I will never ever curl up with a cold piece of electronics that is an e-reader on a snowy winters day, or during one of the many lovely Maine beach days.  


So to those who appreciate the art of a bookstore--the loyal employees, the faithful customers, the moms who enjoy a morning story time with their kids, the authors who rely on promoting through a talk, and the regulars who just stop by for their daily cup of coffee and newspaper...it's time to find a new place to gather.

To T and the SoPo Borders family...in these final days, think not of the uncertainty which may lie ahead, but the memories created, the passion you had for your work (rare in so many of our own daily jobs) and your customers, and the foundation from which it all came from---a love for books.  


Happy reading...

I am Momma: chef, chauffeur, groomer, stylist, snuggler. A day in the life of...

Another week draws to a close. My nightly rituals are done.  The kitchen is officially 'closed'.  I reflect upon another day passed.  It begins waking to the shrill beep of an alarm, unless my bodyclock  alerts me first.  Those first few waking moments are spent intently listening for any murmurs, chats, sniffles or coughs that may come from G's room just down the hall.  

I drag my weary self downstairs, first peeking in to make sure he's still tucked snugly in his crib, and hasn't managed to escape to unknown places in the middle of the night.  I may cover up his little toes with the blanket, and replace the giraffe in his crib that he inevitably tossed out during one of his midnight soliloquies.  

Gabby, tuned in to the very moment I put foot to the floor after getting up from bed, is already waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, nub wagging, her favorite stuffy fox or polar bear in her mouth, offered to me as a thank you for beginning the day.  The ritual is the same. Empty her bladder before my own, fill water bowl, serve breakfast, all the while listening to the first gurgles of wakefulness. Shower. Get dressed.  If I was lazy the night before (read: too drop dead tired) then I've saved the tedious task of washing G's cups, plates and spoons til now, inwardly groaning at myself for the 10 extra minutes I could have added to the morning had I just done it last night.  What's that? Chatter coming over the monitor. The Prince has awoken!

Snuggle, change diaper, get dressed.  I could do this with my eyes closed, which is almost what it's like since the blackout shade in his room keeps it dark as night, except for the glowing yellow moonbeam nightlight.  A quick goodbye to sleeping daddy, and it's a mad rush to stuff him in his carseat with favorite riding companion, gather his diaper bag (hopefully I've remembered to restock it the night before), my work bag, and off we go.  

For 25 minutes, we commute together, sometimes chatty, sometimes not. I drop him off at daycare. Each day it gets a little bit easier, despite doing it for nearly three months now.  But my heart still gives a squeeze now that he's able to wave bye bye and seems less interested in me leaving and more interested in what toys await him. (But isn't that what I would want for a peaceful goodbye?)

My work day goes by, and soon it's 4:45 and I'm off to pick him up and see his squinchy smile when I walk through the door and he notices I've arrived. He mad-dash crawls to me, then stops short at my legs, kneeling in front of me with outstretched arms.  My heart squeezes again.  On the ride home, I like to think he's telling me about his day, until the chatter stops and I assume he's decided that NPR's "All Things Considered" is no match for having spent the day listening to London Bridge is Falling Down. I hear the gentle snore that usually accompanies his carseat catnaps. 

                                                                         

Arriving home, like every day, Gabby hears the car and anxiously awaits at the door to greet us with her "release the hound" moment of unabashed enthusiasm.  I rush to get his dinner ready, thinking back to what he had for lunch so I don't, God forbid, duplicate anything.  Then the challenge begins.  About half the time, he's fine and manages to eat a great dinner, without much fuss. The other half? He loses it.  He's tired, his teeth are bugging him, and nothing I can do appeases him.  Except yogurt.  Have I mentioned that? He is *obsessed* with yogurt.  Yobaby 3 meals in one to be exact. (I mean who wouldn't love a plain yogurt mixed with green beans and pear combo?) It's amazing what I've dipped into this yogurt to get him to eat, thus fooling him (or so I think) into believing he's just getting the yogurt and only the yogurt.  

Once dinner is done, it's time for a stroller ride around the neighborhood to walk Gabby.  This dog has been so patient with us all year, the least I can do is get a walk in before the boy's in bed!  And on a warm Maine summer evening, it's a delight for all of us.  Except for the pesky blood-sucking mosquitoes.  And nasty black flies.  Well, almost a delight.  

I try to point out all the things we see on our walks, but I wonder if he gets bored hearing me say "look at the trees! and the pretty purple lilacs! and the lush green grass! and the mailboxes, lawnmowers and cars!"  Now home, Gabby is still hungry, and, despite having cleaned up whatever of G's dinner made it to the floor, gets fed and watered.  In the meantime, G is reacquainting himself with the living room and all the things he left behind this morning. Pulling books of shelves. Throwing blocks across the room. (Seriously, this kid has the makings of an excellent arm)  Enticing me to play our latest game.  This involves me chanting the theme to "Jaws", which somehow, he has totally understood to mean "I'm coming to get you and eat you up!"  Then he's off! Frantically crawling away, hysterically laughing and occasionally looking back to see how close I am to catching him.

Soon enough, the thumb is lured into the mouth, like a magnetic force, signalling sleepy time.  Of course, some nights it's prolonged by bath time, and since he's discovered the fun to be had in splashing, and then crawling around stark naked after baths, this process can take much longer than anticipated.   We make our nightly trek upstairs, saying good night to daddy (if he's not working), to the kitties, the dog, and sometimes the little boy in the mirror who looks suspiciously like G.  Since there is no more bedtime bottle, more time to snuggle and read stories. 

The must-read is Sandra Boyton's "Moo, Baa, La La La". I *heart* Boyton's books.  Clever, witty, and easy to memorize and make into silly songs.  For some reason, G is especially hooked on this one.  If I try another, he leans over the side of the rocker, whispering "Ba ba ba ba" which signals "where is my book?!" And if I don't get it fast enough...

As I've said recently, it's become my favorite time of day.  I breathe in the delicious scent of his freshly washed hair and it reminds me that he's still this perfect little being, and as tired or hungry or whatever I may be, I wouldn't trade these moments for anything.  And when he gives me that toothy smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eye, and smacks his lips in his own attempt to blow kisses, it's then I wish I could freeze the moment so that down the road, if he's a moody, angst-ridden teenager, I will look to this very moment when we knew nothing but cherubic sweetness.

So we say goodnight to his stuffies, gets his multiple kisses from me, and clutches his favorite giraffe (by the tail no less).  Lulled by his lullaby cd and the ocean waves sound machine, he's out.  Yes, actually it really is that easy and has been since day one.  Or maybe day 60.  This kid is definitely a product of his instantaneously-asleep-when-head-hits-pillow parents. By now it's nearing 7:30-45ish and depending on whether or not I'm home alone will decide the effort I put in to making dinner.  


Then it comes. The first moments to relax.  I'm a nerd.  I dvr Jeopardy! if I know I'm going to miss it by putting G to bed.  I figure it balances out the rest of the bad reality or dvr'ed tv I may watch that night. I don't last long though because all I can think about is how comfy bed will be and how I really want to get in more chapters of my book before fatigue completely settles in.  Let the dog out for one last pee.  I peek in G's room, amazed that he's always in a different location in his crib then the last time I checked, but no less peaceful looking.  I always whisper "i love you, sweet boo!" and blow him a kiss. My day is done.  I relish in the comfort of my soft warm bed, surrounded by furry kitties--one at my side, one at my legs, and one, actually the 20lber, nestled comfortably on my head.  I try to read, and only when I get to the point where I've read the same paragraph over and over again, do I realize it's either lights out, or a reenactment of Tom and Jerry's eyelid-propping toothpick trick.  And the latter just takes too much effort.


As I go through the day in my mind, and prepare for the next, I feel myself completely relax for the first time all day, and much like the advice given on a shampoo bottle, prepare to "lather, rinse, and repeat" for the next day, the next, the next...And I wouldn't have it any other way.