I love the smell of a bookstore. It may seem odd, or you may wrinkle your nose, but it's true. I love it.
Maybe because I have fond childhood memories of going to the bookstore with my mom and begging for a book. Trading so many sink fulls of dirty dishes just to have that one book that I could sneak read with my flash light...
I love Tuesdays (almost as much as Wednesdays...new comic day!). Walking in, checking out the new release section. Looking for that new book to rush home to read. Or maybe spending a few hours with a hot cup of caffeine in hand, perusing the aisles for new treasure.
I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine, woefully sharing my sadness at my local Borders shutting its doors. She shared her sadness as well, telling stories of how she would take her kids there with homemade (and home brought) hot chocolate for hours of fun in the children's section. I made the off handed comment about how great their own bookshelves must look when she dropped the bomb on me.
They didn't go to buy books. They just went for the atmosphere. The free atmosphere. My jaw must have hit the floor faster than if you'd handed me celery with peanut butter (I hate celery, even if you put peanut butter on it.) because she asked if I was okay.
Herein lies one of the problems. Don't get me wrong. I'm sure this wasn't the only reason I've lost the main source of my credit card purchases. I'm sure she must have bought a book every other time, right?
Nope. At this point, I bit my tongue all the while my mind was racing. A bookstore isn't just a playroom. They have to make the rent and the payroll. My only hope is that her little ones got an appreciation for books and will carry this tradition on at a library.
And now? I travel a few more miles to get my fix, even if I can get new treasures cheaper on Amazon.
And who knows, maybe there will be an independent bookstore in my future...