Open Book

No matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow.

1. Reading the proverb that titles this Thursday Thirteen post brings a lilting happiness to my heart. And today, its message was really brought home with the discovery of a multitude of tulip and crocus bulbs busting through the dirt in my gardens. I also spied two cardinals, a blue jay and a passel of chickadees in my backyard this morning. So even though it's a rainy and rather dreary day out there, there is spring in my step.
2. I can't seem to get back into the swing of regular posting here, which has been a source of sadness and frustration for me when I've actually given a moment's thought to it over the past year or so. But you know? I'm going to let that go and let it be what it is.  Part of me believes that the fretting over it is a direct contributor to the stifling of it, in a very real way. One day, the floodgates will re-open. Or they won't.  Que sera, sera, right? There are other things flitting about this fluttery brain of mine, though; bits of minutiae in the scheme of things. Which - hello! - is my personal interpretation of the purpose this whole Thursday Thirteen thing serves. Also see: my default posting position. Again, also see: Que sera, sera.
3. Part of my blockage, I'm convinced, is due to the fact that there is a Very Big Thing looming and it's all consuming, in thought and deed. But I can't talk about it yet, and it's all I want to talk about it, and it's been a much more protracted process (since November! Gah!) than I thought it might be, and, well, you see the dilemma, right? Brain lock. Pure and simple. One day - hopefully sooner than later - I shall be free. One day. Soon. *fingers and other miscellaneous appendages crossed*
4. My mother has a dog! This is HUGE and somewhat shocking news. The Shepherd mix mutt had been wandering around her neighborhood for several days, when finally Mom couldn't take the thought of it being all alone in the world another minute and took her home. She did her due diligence in an effort to discern if the pup was reported missing, finding nothing but dead ends. She couldn't bear the thought of taking it to the shelter. So she didn't. 
5. A trip to the vet determined the pup to be about 10 months old, in need of spaying, but otherwise in perfect health. Gretchen - her new name - has quickly stolen my mother's heart. She's over the moon in love with this dog and it's all kinds of awesome to hear her wax poetically about her. Gretchen is patient with my dad, house trained, well-mannered, and so far - to hear my fully biased mother tell it - is nothing but a joy to have around. I can't wait to meet her...I have a new sister!
6. Three new things my husband of nearly three decades learned about me this week: I do not like (as in abhor) the very thought of eating a chicken leg; I rarely - if ever - listen to voice mails prior to deleting them wholesale; and I have a ferocious sense of brand loyalty with regard to certain household paper products one might find in one's bathroom.
7. A new obsession has worked its way into my daily routine. I've been DVRing episodes of Gilmore Girls every day at 5 pm and am now wholly invested in these people's lives. I know, I know - I am a sad excuse for a human being and the Gilmore Girls are soooooo Y2K! - but see? I watched the first season and then somehow lost track of it. Through the magic of syndication, I've been able to rectify this wrong and am now nearing the mid-point of the show's penultimate season. Lorelai proposed! Luke! Rory dropped out of Yale! Emily is a snotty bitch with a soft heart! Logan is all kinds of wrong for Rory! Luke! Sooki drives me batty! Luke! Did I mention Luke!? I'm a little heartbroken knowing that in a short couple of weeks, I'll have no new episodes to look forward to.
8. The other day I was making my rounds on Facebook when I saw it: my baby girl finally added her new married last name to her profile. I can't even begin to describe the mix of emotions that coursed through my body. Happy! Wistful! Proud! Gutted! Thrilled! Gobsmacked! Jeepers. Seriously, I need to get a grip on my sentimentality. Can you believe they are fast approaching their one year anniversary!?!? Where DOES time go when it flies off like that?
9. Jackson Browne is coming to see me. In case you're new here, he's number two on my "list." Husband shockingly nonplussed. Even paying for the tickets. What can I say...he's a confident guy, that one. ;-)
10. Typing that out, I was reminded of a story. Once upon a time, we were sitting around in my parent's family room watching 'The Sting' on TV when my mother volunteered, apropos of nothing, "Apologies to your father, but you should know that if Paul Newman ever came knocking on my front door and asked me to run away with him, I would have to say yes." My father, without missing a beat, replied, "Understood. Because I'd do the same for Ella Fitzgerald."
11. I don't think there has ever been a year when I've seen all - or even a majority - of the Oscar nominees for Best Picture. And now that the category has swelled its ranks with ten films in the running, that is unlikely to change anytime soon. But this year, we have somehow managed to stumble into seeing four of them, along with three of the of the five nominated documentary features. And I am  hoping to make it to 'The King's Speech' before the big night, if only to understand all the hoopla with some real frame of reference.
12. Things I learned on Twitter: there are 114 ways to spell Gaddafi. Qaddhafi. Kadhafy. Whatever. I say we all just use "Dipshitcrazyfi" and be done with it.
13. At 4:50 pm this very night, Shuttle Discovery will lift off for the 39th and final time, with only two shuttle missions left. I can't help but think how nice it would be if all of America were paying attention with awe and pride as this truly remarkable era comes to an end.  

 

But everything looks perfect from far away.

It's Valentine's Day night, and I'm sitting on a stool behind the counter at the bookstore, surrounded by the things I love, if not The Ones. The Ones are at home - or headed that way - for  a little Mountaineer basketball on TV and leftovers from the fridge.

Ain't no big thang, really. We had a full weekend of happy heart making, and it's kind of a thrill to know my being here is enabling the young pups who work with me to celebrate the special day with their significant others sans workplace responsibility. Makes me feel good to do a sweet turn for someone else, just because I can. Which, at its core, is an incredibly selfish rationalization  for doing a nice thing, but there you have it. I am as selfish as they come in that regard, I am.

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Store journal, January 28, 1997

Poetry people have gotten rather pushy as of late. If you are here and they ask you to get chairs, tables, whatever, TELL THEM NOOOOO!!!! They need to set up and take down all of their own stuff. If they say anything about it, tell them we can put up and take down chairs for our new STANDARD FEE OF $75. If they ask why you can't help, you do not need to give an answer. As far as I can tell, it's the taller, skinnier one who is being pushy. THIS MUST END.

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I've been reading through a series of 'Store Journals' that were unearthed in the great Loft Office Clean Up of 2011. They're priceless, miniature time capsules of this store's evolution and I'm glued to them. I even tried to encourage current employees to resurrect the concept, but they look at me like I have five eyeballs protruding from my forehead. I have a feeling the reticence stems from the daily howls we all get from reading about the days and trials and tribulations of birthing a bookstore. They want no part of being time-capsuled for future ridicule.

Pity, that.

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Store journal, February 14, 1997

I like Lady D. Her voice is fantastic and this place is FULL of romance. All of our regulars are here on dates holding hands to the music. Awwwh! <3 <3 <3  And also, our young check frauder has yet to return. He must be SCARED! 'Twas a great night!

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The store is excruciatingly slow and quiet tonight, with quick bursts of excitement every few minutes when a gentleman comes flying all Kramer-esque through the front door, looks my way and follows the extension of my arm pointed to what remains of our display of cards with hearts and flowers emblazoned across their fronts. It's sort of cute, and sort of pathetic; it's comedy hour, sweet and sour.

I have no doubt my own husband is an actor in this very same production, holiday in and holiday out, a piece of knowledge that, frankly, riles me up when I think about it too much. It makes me feel like a bit of an afterthought. But seeing all these men parade through here the last hour of the night of at least helps me know I'm not the only afterthought in the wider world. Having company assuages the misery. A bit. A weeee bit.

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Store journal, February 17, 1997

Don't know why, but it's crazy love today. Have had all three phone lines lit up wanting to see if we have books, a couple of ladies wanting to look at jewelry. I have two things to wrap, I'm out of one dollar bills, and there's a line to buy the New York Times. I wrote this AFTER I took care of all of this, of course. :-) All is now well.

P.S. I asked cafe' to come help me wrap or SOMETHING but they never came. Remind me not to help them clean up at night any more. Humph.

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I adore the people who grace this place with their presence. This evening alone, in the quietude, I've had fabulous conversations with a couple who has been married for 62 years (the secret? stay madly excited by the look in each other's eyes); a witty and charming gay couple, in from out of town, willing to run off to Provence with me for the summer and looking for a good place to eat; and a couple of bantering Bickersons who picked and pecked at each other the whole time they were here, smiling all the while. And just now, three young college-aged kids wearing skinny jeans, Chuck Taylors and Santa hats came in and handed me a cheap plastic rose with a bow, shouting, 'Happy Valentine's Day!' over their shoulders on their way back out into the night.

Beat *that* with a stick, I dare you.

Double dog-style.