“I wonder if I can do this again?”

“Well, you’ve not much choice. You signed the landlord’s dotted line.”

“The line below the signature blank isn’t dotted anymore. It is a simple ruled line, a guide to keep me on the straight and narrow. I don’t recall ever putting my scrawl above a dotted line.”

“Landlords and lawyers do not change. They are as eternal as…”

“You?”

It has been a while since I’ve been in dialog with my muse. Abandoned? I once was a prize. Now I’m an artifact.

“Pshaw! There are many reasons I have…”

“Cast me adrift?”

“Well, I have been around. You know, ‘In thy most need by your side.'”

“What about the affair with the motorbike in Amsterdam?”

“That WAS a surprise, was it not? Who knew those things could fly like that.”

“You could have grabbed me by my collar and yanked me back.”

“Alas, ’twas all I could do to cradle your noggin above the cobbles.”

“Really? It could’ve been much worse, I suppose.”

“Nick of time.”

---

The snow is falling fast. It is before dusk. The flock of birds has abandoned the roof outside my bedroom window. They will find shelter out in the forest somewhere. I’ve put up a few dozen birdhouses over the years. I wonder if they use those to roost? I need to get more birdhouses.

Tuesday afternoon. It will snow into Wednesday. I wonder if I will have trouble getting down the mountain.

I got sick on Sunday.

Yet again.

This time, my sinuses became inflamed and seemed to push my nose and eyes and forehead to bursting. The tickling deep within, the anticipation and then the explosive sneeze.

Fortunately, there were only a couple of others in the warehouse, and they were far away.

I managed to put a full day in. Maybe it was the wondrous books I was going through mitigating the suffering. But when 4:30 came, I told Travis I was going home. I loaded the dogs into the old jeep—now nearly 10 years old. I drove home in a mental fog.

Driving under the influence of brains squeezed and occasionally blown by some virus.

When I got home a little after 5, I had no appetite. A couple small hand grabs of raisins. The fire going. The heat turned up. I felt so cold. I didn’t want to awake later shivering like some poet starving in a garret.

The dogs piled onto the bed around me.

Sleep blessedly took away the pain and pressure of a head too small for its sinuses.

I slept through the Super Bowl. I wasn’t planning to watch, anyway. But who knows, I could have been desperately bored. Or curious.

I awoke at 2 a.m. The dogs wanted out. I brought in a canvas tote of firewood, and the fire leaped to life. The ceiling ebbed and flowed with orange and yellow dancing light, as if the fire below was a molten pool.

Then back in bed. I awoke at 6.

“I should test for COVID. The symptoms aren’t all there, but…”

I rummaged through a couple of bathroom drawers and looked in my luggage. I found 4 rapid tests. 3 expired in 2023. The last only a few months ago.

“Negative.”

A text had come in that Pip’s cough medicine was ready at Walgreens. I could pick up some tests there on the way in.

“Where do you keep the COVID…”

Tiny section devoted to COVID. They only had a few left. $24 each. I guess testing is not a “thing” anymore. I bought one.

At work, I knew we had plenty of masks left. I grabbed one and put it on.

I took a van down to the Gaithersburg store. Alone. I didn’t want to share space nor my cold with anyone.

The 13 hours of sleep had reset me in some ways. I felt pretty normal.

The landlord had some new drawings for the store expansion and renovation waiting for me. When I ventured into the new space…

“WOW!”

My mind immediately began planning layouts.

This had been a large chiropractor’s office. It had been a warren of small examination offices and a check-in counter. I’d asked for it to be gutted so we could fill it with as many bookcases as possible. Now the main issue is the removal of the wall separating the medical office from the “record room.” That will unite our two spaces.

Things were moving so fast!

I wandered around brainstorming.

“If we did this… we could…”

I made pencil marks on one of the drawings.

New office.

New break room.

Bathrooms.

It is exciting.

The current space which has been a bookstore—well, one little nook of it—since 1975 when Eleanor Sickles made an empty-nest project of opening a tiny used bookshop.

“Book Mark of Gaithersburg”

I still occasionally see a bookmark with the name and address of that particular incarnation.

A few years later, her husband Carl retired from the Veteran’s Administration, joined her and began expanding the place. The place was renamed Book Alcove. He’d take over someone’s office or storeroom or closet and knock a doorway into it. Then he would shoehorn in as many bookcases as he could.

I was a customer. In June 1980, my gig as a census taker was ending. I’d finished my undergrad degree taking courses at George Washington University to get enough credits. School had been interrupted by the deaths and illnesses of my parents. Professors and the Department Head in English were encouraging me to go to grad school there in September.

“Do you take summer help?” I asked Carl.

And so my life changed that day, unbeknownst to me.

I’ve gone in and out of the front door for 47 or 48 years now if you count time as a customer. Maybe a little more. I can’t remember my first visit.

And now we are here in 2025. It may be the largest used bookstore in the DC region by the time the dust settles.

Back to the warehouse feeling pretty good but tired.

It was a beautiful day. Not cold. Not warm. When I got home, I decided it was a good day to set the couple dozen cactus leaves into the garden bed I renovated last fall. The cactus plants have been so successful at the warehouse that they are shedding thick “petals.”

I picked up a lot of them—wearing gloves—they are protected by tiny “hairs” that once they are in, you are the devil to find and dig out.

These leaves lend to root pretty easily.

Planting a cactus garden on a mountain in Maryland in February. Counterintuitive, but there you are.

---

Wednesday morning, 5 a.m.

There’s about 6 inches of snow blanketing everything up here. It is still black out. Sunrise has moved up to 7:05. I know how much there is because I let Pip out upon waking.

“ack ack ack ack…” His bronchitis continues.

Time for his morning dose, but first he wanted out. Down the porch steps and into the snow. It came up to his shoulders.

Dogs, logs and tea.

That’s how almost all winter mornings begin up here.

The fire is dancing against the windows on the stove doors.

Soon the teakettle will begin screaming.

Pip’s cough has already quieted from the pills wrapped in a little ball of liverwurst.

It is still snowing a little, but it’s supposed to stop soon.

I’m finding some tea I forgot I had. A little brown bag came to hand this morning. Tan Yang Gong Fu. I splurged on it in the tea hall at Harrods a couple of years ago. There’s a small cabinet of teas and coffees I’ve been trying to whittle away at.

It is 26 out and over 60 in. The stove adds about 35 degrees without even trying. My electric bill came last week. I was apprehensive because I don’t remember paying it for quite a while. Would there be late fees? How late do you have to be before they threaten shutoff?

I live small up here. The small electric bills are an annoyance to write a check for and stamp an envelope and mail. I prepay a few hundred dollars on the account, and that lasts for months. As cold as it has been…

I turned on the outdoor light. I can watch the last of the snow outside my window. The little branches hold “cotton ball” bits of snow in their forks. It is beautiful, but I think I’ve experienced enough beauty this winter. I yearn for spring and colors other than white.

When it gets light enough, I will go out and plow. I should be able to drive down. I hope working outside doesn’t exacerbate my cold.

I wonder what will happen when I can no longer wield a chainsaw or muscle a plow. Will I move down into the valley?

When I met some old friends for dinner and beer a couple of weeks ago, I think I may have teased them here a bit. Being sent out so their wives could have a party. Now I see the richness of their lives and friendships. There’s always something to do or someplace to go. If not, they can stay home and watch something with their spouse or be on their own in separate parts of the home. Jealousy, I think.

For all my complaints, I love my lifestyle. I can’t imagine stepping back into the world.

Last night, I roasted some inexpensive chicken for the dogs. (Chicken can be less expensive than dog food.) I did that mostly to use up the bread.

Bread?

I bought a big loaf of brown bread from Costco last week. The crust is so hard and chewy. I can spread many things upon it. Honey. Jam. Pate… Then gnaw upon it with great pleasure. It sat out on the cutting board too long and became hard as a rock. Wild birds don’t seem to like bread. I wouldn’t just throw it out in the yard. The bears are still in hibernation. Come Easter, they will emerge starving and anxious to eat anything. How many years has it been since I spooked this mother and two cubs up the tree outside my bedroom window?

The mom was on a lower branch than these cubs. The four of us shared eye contact for a good hours that night.

The security lights had gotten triggered. I rose to see what it was. I only saw the big bear and thought it was a loner. I opened the second-floor window and yelled at it to “scat!” Then I heard scrabbling on bark nearby. The cubs must have been behind, and when I yelled, they ran up the nearest tree. The mother followed them. We watched each other for about half an hour before they all scrabbled down and wandered off. The tree is only about 15 feet from my bedroom window.

The bread.

I hate waste. How could I soften it and mix it in with the dogs’ fare? I never took the roasting pan down to storage after turkey #4. I poured a can of aging chicken noodle soup into the pan, added extra water and set the bread in. As I hoped, it absorbed the soup and softened. I was able to break it up then. When I stopped at Walmart for my prescriptions on the way home, I remembered to buy a few pounds of chicken. Last night, I roasted it in the pan with the bread while I watched James Bond. The results were great. The dogs will be thrilled for a few days. They love the little chunks of bread permeated with chicken juices.

Wonder Book will spend about $4000 on plowing the warehouse today. (Maybe it is already done.) And my concern is a couple dollars worth of stale bread.

Life’s priorities.

The birds are back in force. The porch roof is snow covered, and the larger birds can’t perch on the window feeders. I tossed a few scoops of seed out the window onto the thick layer of snow. I wonder how they know? A couple of days ago, there were only a few birds out there at a time. Now there are a couple dozen at any given moment flitting in and then away with a sunflower seed in their beak.

When I can no longer do heavy lifting, I suppose I could buy firewood and pay someone to plow. But that would not be the same.

Well, it is time to get up and go out and face the tons of white stuff I will push around. When that’s done, I’ll soak in a hot shower. That is one of the everyday great pleasures. Then out into the truck and hope it gets down the mountain without leaving the road. I really should have parked at the bottom of the driveway and walked up when I got home last night. (Memo to self.)

---

My friend Michael Dirda came up last Friday. He liked the changes at the Frederick store. At the end of the day, he came to the warehouse. He brought a box of his books to sell. He is testing the waters on downsizing his collection.

(I can’t imagine what his collection encompasses.)

While I was wrapping up my week, he scouted the vintage rooms as he has done for many years now. He has always made some great finds despite our careful vetting of what ends up in Books by the Foot. He has a kind of magical mental magnet for finding good books amongst the dross.

When I was done and sought him out, he had found about 15. The box he brought contained about 30. He brought books by Arthur Machen and Algernon Blackwood and a “Mu” book in Jacket…

“Your culls can’t all be this good,” I mumbled aloud.

He found some exotica. Sybil Bedford and “Saki” (to give to a friend.) I also let him take a “punk” Alice portrait off the wall. It was an original watercolor I bought from the deceased judge’s collection. She had a lot of Alice in Wonderland books and stuff. A LOT.

Two steps forward and one step back for his downsizing.

We went to Roasthouse Pub and had beers and burgers. The beer selection is displayed on big-screen tvs. Twelve choices on one screen which, just before you’ve read all the offerings, flips to a second screen with 12 new choices. By then, you’ve forgotten the first 12 and have to watch that screen again.

He told me about Allen Ahearn’s services and the wake after. Who was there and with whom he spoke. Old names. Old friends and one not so friendly. We get along now. Old warriors—survivors.

And we spoke about life and books and where we find ourselves at this point in life.

I always feel by Book IQ goes up a lot of points after a get together with him.

Let’s just say it helped. It helped me on my part. I hope he got something out of it.

I mentioned my consternation at the negative comments on a recent post here.

“How do you deal with it?”

He gets many, many, many times the comments I ever do.

“I don’t look at them,” he replied. “If they really want to reach me, they can find me.”

Brilliant.

---

I got down after 11. I had plowed and salted (by hand.)

It wasn’t scary at all. (Well, the downhill “S” curve was a little dodgy.) We are supposed to get more snow and then rain tonight into tomorrow. Where I am, that could be ice. My arms are sore, and I bet I get cramps tonight. The cold or whatever I’ve had this week has me doing less physical work. If I suddenly start doing strenuous things with unused muscles, it can be unpleasant.

Now Ernest and I are driving down to Gaithersburg. I want to see the progress on the demo. I also came up with this wacky idea for signage.

The landlord seems ok with it—so far. He is very cool and has owned the center as long as I’ve been a bookseller. Strange to have such long terms connections in a region where transience is the norm. I think he enjoys change and growth as much as I do. The backside of his shopping center where there has been a bookshop since 1975 will become a much brighter place. There’s already a pool hall and karaoke bar back there. Now the old bookshop will don flashy new duds in hopes the world will beat a path to our door.

BOOKS—that’s pretty obvious.

My old mentor, Carl Sickles, who hired me for a summer job in 1980, taught me commercial signage should be bold, not “artistic.”

It is drizzling on I 270. Fortunately, it is not freezing.

Why am I committing to more space? Because it is there. (Really.)

“Bookstores are dead” has been the mantra for many years now.

I sure don’t need the work. Or the expense. But a bigger used bookstore this close to DC? How cool! The Shady Grove Red Line Metro stop is only a mile or two away—easy Uber. I 270 and Rt 355 (Rockville Pike) are each about a half mile away. We are open every day. The center has many exotic restaurant offerings. Pho to Shawarma and beyond.

The failing bookstores I kept open all those years mostly as a source to acquire books to sell on the internet have risen like phoenixes.

January was up at all three locations.

They still don’t break even, but eventually…

Let’s super glue wings onto this bumblebee and see if it can fly. (I’m sure Carl is tickled up in heaven to see his enterprise evolving.)

---

It is Friday. Valentine’s Day. My cold has evolved into late-night coughing fits. I was awake a couple of hours the last two nights while things drained and my coughing reflex could not stop.

Fortunately, I’d brought home John Dickson Carr’s Death Turns the Tables. Did the stodgy judge murder his daughter’s unwanted Latin lover? I’m halfway through. Having such an intriguing read makes being sick and unable to sleep more bearable. I’m looking forward to tonight’s coughing fits. My copy is a Grosset and Dunlap reprint. 1941. (Actually, G&D used leftover Harper sheets and bound them with their boards. The pages are warm, creamy and thick. It is a beautiful book in great shape.

Comfort reading in a comfortable package.

I think I went a little overboard with the order of MoonPies for the stores.

But we may be the only place to get them in areas where the stores are. Different sizes and flavors. Get some and introduce friends and families to the delicacy.

While you’re at it, be sure to introduce them to books and other “physical media” as well.

---

I’m not looking forward to the weekend. I had some really ugly books carted up last weekend.

Larry got them from an elderly couple who acquired Library of Congress culls and duplicates for resale. Some of their stuff has been cool. Many are just dismal and ugly. Still, I have to look at each one. Just in case. No one else is qualified to do this kind of stuff.

There were hundreds of boxes. I’d issued instructions NOT to do anything with them.

“I don’t need the work.”

Last weekend, we ran out of things to do for the youngster that works Saturday and Sunday. I should have had him sent home, but I didn’t have the heart to.

Now I will have to pay.

Dismal dreary eye-burning labor.

A lifetime of self-inflicted wounds.

But the occasional jewel makes it all worthwhile.

For a while any way.

Then it all starts over again.

I’m incurable.

At this point, my bibliomania is a great “safe house” to live in.

Here are a few of the finds while a virus was multiplying in my head last weekend.