As you may or may not know, we recently moved. It wasn’t a major move. I am still close to family, I am still in the same area. But a move just the same, from a town trying to become a city to a small town. Close enough to the big, stretching and growing town to shop and attend concerts and things. But not so close I get stuck in all the traffic.
However, I did move away from my favorite local bookstore. Now, instead of ten minutes away, I am twenty five minutes away from the little downtown bookstore I frequented. Twenty five minutes is not that much time, I know. But that amount of time changes it from a quick jaunt to a purposeful outing.
I wanted a local bookstore to which I could take a quick jaunt. So of course, I set out to find one.
I think it is important to find the local spots for your most frequented places. By local, for the purpose of this post, I mean close to you. When I find the local places to get my matcha (yes, I am that person), local places to browse for books, and local places to grab something I forgot from the store, the place feels more like home.
When I look around our town, I can say, ‘This is the place we get our tea and coffee, this is the place we get our books, this is the place we get our haircut.’ It slowly morphs from a random collection of buildings to places which hold memories and meaning.
For me, finding my local bookstore was a step in that direction.
I had seen signs for it for days. Curious signs with fish skeletons and floating hands pointing the way in and up. The bookstore couldn’t be seen from the street. Only a sign, which I hoped was not the last remnant of something old and forgotten.
One day, we decided to follow the enigmatic signs. At first, it led us to a locked door and my hopes plummeted. We backtracked, found another sign into an open door, and followed yet another sign up a staircase. More than the sign, books, maps, the paraphernalia of a bookstore led us up the stairs. I vaguely remember some of the curious pieces I saw on my way up, so eager was I to get to the store. When I go back, I am sure I will see more and linger longer, on the stairway.
We reached the top of the stairs, and there was the bookstore. The door to the room stood open, revealing the books inside and becoming an invitation to come in and wander.
The bookstore is small, technically. Not many steps from the front door to the backwall. But I still had a sense that I could get lost in it. The bookshelves were tall, and they wound around each other, sometimes narrow, sometimes opening up to reveal a couch, or a comfortable chair. Artwork lined the walls and bookcases wherever books weren’t. Paintings invited me to stop and consider them, alongside intriguing titles of books which begged me to pull them off of the shelves.
The first things I noticed about the bookstore was the large poetry collection. For a store so small, I was pleasantly surprised to see the shelves upon shelves of poetry. It made me think the owner of the bookstore loved poetry, and I liked the peek into the personality of the owner or keeper of the store. The next thing I noticed were the inviting chairs and couches which were tucked into the corners and nooks of the room. It made the whole store feel like an invitation to linger, to find a book and sit awhile.
We were the only customers the whole time we were there, so the store was quiet, though not overly so because there was music playing. For the first time in the bookstore, I did not mind being the only one. I could stand in one place for as long as I wanted, without worrying about who I was bothering.
We did not find the book we came in to find. But we did find a book, or I did anyway. A book I have been searching for and wishing to read for months. But if I had not found anything, I still would have enjoyed just being in the bookstore and exploring all it had to offer.
I can’t wait for my next chance to go and browse.
Have a beautiful day.
Shaina Merrick
The Beauty of a Story 