McIntyre Books...

I came into a bookstore today that was disturbingly quiet. I walked through the store filled with wonderful titles and pages full of knowledge I hope to one day retain. One book  called the lost art of reading grabbed my attention. I picked it up for a a little while, trying not to crack it open so far that it lost it's freshness. you know what I mean. the way a book feels when you open it for the first time and you know you're the first person to ever open that book because of the little resistance you feel and the crack that you can hear in the spine. I didn't want to take that experience from whoever would be purchasing this book. I politely put it back and kept walking. I also picked up a child's book by President Obama, I think it was called of thee I sing. I stumbled over some well known and less known titles until finally I found the clearance table. Full of gizmos and gadgets and forgotten books full of poems by authors who worked hard just to get their work on the 50% off table. I finally found something worth purchasing (at 50% off, of course), Ninja bread man cutters. That's right, next year for Christmas I will not be making silly gingerbread men, I will be adorning my little ninjabread men with ninja belts and face-masks  made of icing. 

I found this bookstore on a long lonely drive, giving myself sometime to think. I wanted to find a hole-in-the wall bookstore where I could relax, and I found one. At first it was a little too quiet, I was the only car in the parking lot. But right now I am sitting on a comfy sofa next to a fireplace across from an elderly gentleman waiting for his wife to make her literary purchases. It's nice, relaxing. 

The gentleman and his wife are discussing a book called cutting for stone. "It's just interesting to see that such a thing has been written" is what the woman's granddaughter says when grandma offers to buy a book she showed interest in. The granddaughter, (who I only assume is a granddaughter and not a daughter because the way they interact. Just looking at them she could be their daughter, but she is being far too cordial to be her daughter) mentions a fascinating book she is reading right now. I try to catch the title as they all walk out of the room with the fireplace but the music covers her voice as she nears the register. Such is life. I'll never know of the fascinating book this well-behaved granddaughter is reading. Which is probably for the better. I have my eye on quite a few books at the moment that I may not ever read but would like to pretend I have knowledge about.

So as I sit here, alone again by this lovely, warm fireplace with the soft, smooth music playing, in the middle of nowhere in a bookstore that's been around since the 1890's I anticipate writing in my journal and taking my time. And since it's 1:30 in the afternoon I am also anticipating my late lunch that I wish I had packed along for the journey.