Friday, August 16th.
Another cool morning. Next week’s highs will be in the 70s.
This year’s dog days of August are more akin to fall than pavement-melting scorchers.
The dog days or dog days of summer are the hot, sultry days of summer. They were historically the period following the heliacal rising of the star system Sirius (known colloquially as the “Dog Star”), which Hellenistic astrology connected with heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck. They are now taken to be the hottest, most uncomfortable part of summer in the Northern Hemisphere.
My dog days are with the three companions who lie around on my bed immobile, furry lumps seemingly melting into the counterpane.
I stepped out just now to get something from my car, and a fox was trotting across the driveway a dozen yards away.
“Hey!”
It turned at my call and then descended into the woods, rustling through the dead leaves.
An omen? Of what?
A surprise to see the burnt orange flash of color in this the dead end of summer when nothing is in bloom and forest is dominated by greenery.
The only real color in the gardens now are the Italian arum seed heads.
The second half of August. Just over a month until summer’s end.
I planned to report on the visit to the three Baltic States this week. I even wrote a great deal of it, but the week got away from me with work and distractions, and there’s no time left to complete it.
Next week.
Distractions… A disgruntled customer who dropped off junk when no one was here to make an immediate offer. In an email, he ominously warned of it being “undervalued.” I trebled what Ernest was going to offer, even though his offer was more than fair.
“Tell him $125,” I asked a customer service person here. I was willing to pay to make the disgruntled customer go away.
He countered with an email, “How about $150?”
I bristled with anger. The stuff had been dispersed, so there was no question of suggesting he come take it all back. (Half of it will be recycled.)
At first I was going to say no, but just wanted it to end. I emailed him. “Ok. We won’t accept any more material from you…”
Another customer had rarities that she wanted appraised. A brief list contained an early Ayn Rand and a Seven Pillars of Wisdom signed.
Subsequent images showed the Rand to be a later edition and T.E. Lawrence died before that book was published. It was disheartening because it would be a “no win” situation and time wasted almost certainly.
Meanwhile, carts of books were backing up in an ever-increasing herd.
I found my phone yesterday morning. I’d despaired and thought a chunk of the day would be lost searching for it. It was in the Explorer. When I got in to finally head down to work, the laptop screen lit up with the ‘hotspot” icon. I’d done this before with no results. I also looked all through vehicle—under the seats… everywhere. I hadn’t looked in the handhold you use to pull the passenger door closed.
Relief and self-recrimination.
When I got to work, there were workmen at the stormwater pond. It is still not draining as it was designed to do. They were fiddling with a pump to drain it and drill for core samples to see why the permeable substrate is not permeable.
A moving truck was pulling in, delivering the 3000 books I’d inspected last week as an “Angel of Death.” Seeing it reminded me of that sad scene.
So, I entered through the rear of the building and was immediately amidst the bustling people moving books and carts and pallets, much like a busy little city scene.
The contractor was coming to tear out bookcases and install new ones at the Frederick store.
I needed to be there for that so I could oversee the process.
The day before, the cases had been emptied to facilitate their moving or removal.
I had the big truck turned on to warm up. That takes about ten minutes, otherwise it sometimes stalls. It would be needed to bring back all the wooden book and video cases we are removing.
When I got to the bookstore, it was a hive of activity.
Unscrewing and screwing. Carrying, sliding, dragging.
I reviewed the overall plan and then got out of the way. I headed to the eastern end of the store to finish the “War on Religion and How To.” Those huge sections were filled with aged, duplicated, obsolete books. Maybe 70% of the How To books were deemed unsaleable. Those were tossed into tubs. “Pulp Tubs” and “BBTF Tubs.”
I laughed at some of the very old dates codes I found on books. This one set a record though.
We have not been Book Alcove since 1983. Somehow, this sad title survived two moves and over 40 years of culls.
Amazing.
Well, these sections will not be neglected any longer. I finished the ruthless culling. Now they will be condensed, and the sections resized appropriately to their financial contribution. We will be able to greatly increase Modern Fiction and American States and History into the voids.
Meanwhile, the construction continued on the western front of the store. The progress was striking.
Today, the last bookcases will be installed.
Sadly, we have to wait for the glass doors to be delivered.
But I’m excited for the changes.
The old store has been reinvented without losing any of its serendipitous charms. Customers will be able to get lost in the aisles, as they have been since we moved to this location in 1990 and, on a smaller scale, in the other locations since 1980.
I’ve been reading Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders. Though this was Rumpole’s first case, it was one of John Mortimer’s last books. Throughout the decades of Rumpole mysteries and short stories, the author often alluded to the Penge Bungalow double murder.
It is great fun to circle back and experience the mystery of those mysteries as Mortimer ties up the loose end.
I spent many happy hours watching the BBC or Thames Television series. I was a young bookseller watching the inimitable Leo McKern define Rumpole on 44 episodes. Back then, the sad British filming technology was made worse by the poor technology of VHS tapes.
TV used to be damned “fuzzy.”
VHS is making a solid comeback in the stores surprisingly. A younger generation is enjoying the retro feel of magnetic tape, much like they are with records (or LPs or vinyl—or whatever you want to call the 12 inch plastic discs.)
Last weekend, Ridgley handed me a story from The Washington Post about poisonous books.
Wouldn’t you know it?—I came across a mid-19th century green binding which I strongly suspect has some quantity of arsenic in it.
Fortunately, these bindings are not common.
August 12. A Monday. 58 degrees.
The windows are open, and coolness flows through the house.
In my bedroom, there are east and north windows. The air flows over the bed.
Last night, I stretched with pleasure. Hands and feet could reach no edge. An endless plane of cool cotton. A flying carpet to carry me in my dreams.
The timeless call and response of cricket chorus hums in the forest all around.
Now with dawn approaching, it is birdsong’s set. Distant and near—right outside my window.
It has been a tale of two summers this year.
June and July, relentless heat and drought. Depressing days to struggle through. No question of working outdoors in the gardens.
August came with rain and cool nights and mild days. If the forecast is correct, the month will play out with no days above 85.
Maybe I can get out and rescue some of the stressed beds.
The weekend was sweet for all the pain of hard labor. On Sunday, I was alone there but for one other. My Copenhagen cough gone, I made up for missed time, going through dozens of cartloads of books and dusty ephemera and collectibles of indeterminate value.
By Sunday evening, I was satisfied with my labors, proud of my knees and back and brain behaving as if they were decades younger.
What did I find? Signed runs of Ondaatje, McEwan, Clive Barker. A big old Grotius folio. Three pristine jacketed old The Old Man and the Sea in various states—pretty as pictures. And the perhaps poisonous book.
Annika returning from a week off will have her work cut out for her. But she will have great fun. The cornucopia of books seems bottomless.
Dinner with an old friend on Saturday. Old Fashioneds. Old stories. Old dreams. Old passions.
A pensive night at home balancing the fullness of memory with the emptiness of the present. Adding pages to the latest journal the next morning.
Yesterday’s joys on a scale balancing against today’s melancholy.
The sun pours in the window now. Sun. Cool air.
What more could one want?
Things that cannot be attained in this world at this time.
The joyful morning horizon will yield to a sunset and a darkening horizon.
Pippin relaxes in a ray of sun.
The old dog is sick, and I hope some mitigations can be found. Does he dream of battling groundhogs twice his size and chasing golf balls down and up the mountain until I tire of throwing them?
We’re been together since 2011. He was born that February.
Tuesday
I had a bizarre dream about Lorien.
There were animals there. A huge giraffe. Leopard. Jackals. Domestics. Strange people. All milling around the back gardens.
“I should call Barbara and let her know. Text some pictures. She’s in Hawaii?”
Then things began getting unsettled. The creatures were restless. I decided I should go inside. I walked around to the far side of a long addition (which never existed) and went through a door. I made my way back to the front, where I could observe things through a screen door. Some people wanted inside. There were in period costume—early 19th century (when the stone home was built.) One vacillated.
“Either in or out,” I said.
Then I awoke and couldn’t return there.
It was so real. Of course, when consciousness came, I remembered Barbara’s been gone since August 2013. And Lorien has new owners.
Perhaps their new plans planted the seeds for the fantasy.
They’ve started a new Instagram account, @sanantoniofarmatlorien.
I wish them luck and success.
Monday became a massive day.
Big changes are coming this week to the Frederick Wonder Book.
I went over with Ernest and Bryan to do some planning. Also, I really want to get the last major culling and resizing of categories done.
I sent Ernest to the Religion section. It is far too large for the sales it generates.
In the same aisle, we will ruthlessly cull How To and Crafts. I did some sampling and much of the stock is dated, duplicated or stale.
When the aisle is done, we will have 10-12 free bookcases—maybe more—to put a more viable category there that deserves more space.
This is no “war on religion.” It will still be very large. You will still find 150-200 Bibles there of all varieties and vintages. Dated commentaries and explications by no-name writers will be gone. It will become “living” section.
The store will turn 44 in September. In that location since 1990.
It is so gratifying and exciting to see new people and new generations discovering it.
My cough is almost gone, but I’m still tired from whatever disease I caught on the Baltic tour. But when I got home that evening, I felt I really should do some outdoor work. I changed into sweats and started the Husqvarna gas weed eater. I knocked down a lot of stuff in the few “tame” acres around the house. I need to get down on hands and knees and do some manual weeding.
Then I got out the pole trimmer and chopped off the upper crown of the redbud tree just beyond the porch roof outside the bay window. The thing keeps growing up into the “View.” When I first moved in, it was a little volunteer sprig.
A few other little chores, and then I decided to dig the first taters. The plants didn’t produce many each this year. Maybe the heat and drought hurt production. But I found plenty for the next few meals.
I boiled them in salted water for about 15 minutes. Sprinkled some of the olive oil I imported from Italy over them. Some garlic salt. Some dried hot pepper.
It was heavenly.
It is late Tuesday morning. Ernest and I are going back to the Frederick store to finish up culling that last aisle. When that is done, the store will be perfect.
Until the next tweak seems essential.
We got a late start because I needed to work on changes to the copy on our print ad in The Washington Post. We are doubling its size—mostly to include a discount coupon for the stores. Print advertising may seem counterintuitive.
Counterintuitiveness has been the secret of this company’s success.
If they say out can’t be done, try it.
On the way back to the warehouse with Andrew.
We decimated Crafts and How-To. Those are sections we’ve ignored—likely because there was no call for them in Books by the Foot.
The oldest book I found?
1992.
1992! I was a young bookseller then.
Wednesday
Another beautiful morning. Cool. Sunny.
All three dogs piled on the bed sleeping.
They just slept all night. Pip is coughing a bit. He got his morning dose of hydrocodone, and now it’s calmed down. He had a vet appointment late yesterday afternoon. I told them his bronchitis (if that’s what it is) has gotten worse. They prescribed another round of antibiotics to see if that helps. And now he will be taking two codeine pills a day. $730 for 5 minutes with a vet, some shots, pills. Insane. I need to check around.
Such a trooper.
It hurts so much to see him in decline.
When I got home, it was about 80.
Fall in August.
I did more weed whipping. I finished pruning the redbud so no errant branches rise above the porch roof to obstruct the view. I also pruned a maple which had been topped off several years ago. Branches sprout from the “totem” like a wild hairstyle. It is hard to kill a maple tree. Cut it to the ground and the stump will start sprouting. The pole trimmer extends to about 12 feet—maybe more. It is awkward and heavy pushing it through the canopy and getting the business end to the right branch where you can saw it off or use the rope and pulley to pull the blade and chop a small branch off.
Then I got the blower out and cleared some of the paved surfaces and the deck.
The grounds are looking much better with their haircuts.
This is the sad time for the gardens. Nothing is really in bloom anymore. Some perennials are dying back already.
The fern brakes are still gorgeous. The forestry guy last week reiterated that they suppress other plant growth so there’s not much that can compete in the blankets they form.
I emptied the truck of firewood. There’s still some to get from the deadfall over a month ago at the bottom of the mountain. At first it was too hot. Then I was away. Then I was sick.
I had just enough energy left to pot some plants. A giant chunk of aloe broke off an even larger plant. It was too good to waste. A cactus pot got knocked off the porch and busted. A few others had shoots that broke off or needed repotting due to misadventure.
Just what I need. More potted plants.
I dragged myself inside, put the potatoes leftover from yesterday in to heat, opened a tube of Giannini sausage and flattened it in a skillet to cook. A shower to get the sweat and bits of plant material off me. Then I could rest.
A good physical day.
19 new glass bookcases… it’s so exciting. Our selection of collectible and rare books will expand by a third!
I wonder at all this activity. I’ve seen enough estates to know that people often have a burst to get things in order in anticipation of… in anticipation of…
There’s a baby shower this weekend. My younger son and his wife are expecting in September. I’ll be a grandfather twice in a year.
Thursday
Another cool morning.
My phone is gone. Frustration at my foolishness.
I’ve looked everywhere. (Except where it is.)
I’ve walked around with my laptop hoping the “hotspot” icon would appear if I got close to it.
Did I leave it at Lightfoot’s Restaurant in Leesburg, Virginia last night? Doesn’t seem possible.
Well, that will spoil some of the day for sure.
Worst-case scenario, it will spoil “everything.”
Damn!
I put bird food out as I do every morning. Something made me think that I’ve opened that window thousands of times over the years.
I awoke feeling very introspective. That’s been blown away by the practical matter of my missing phone.
And it will be a massive day.
The contractor is coming to install the 19 bookcases. A lot of old bookcases will need to be removed. It will be a bloody mess until everything is where it belongs.
An added benefit is that I will install some of the bookcases we remove into the conference room. That will mean I can get all the great books off the floor in my adjacent office! Then I can get some custom made bookcases built for the office and bring the books back for proper display and storage and protection.
Then life will be perfect… for a moment.
Wednesday was a blur with all the prep going on.
I visited the store to check on things. They got all the glass cases and wooden cases empty.
Back at the warehouse, I sorted through a couple dozen carts.
There were some cool finds. A first of Stuart Little in a decent jacket. Langston Hughes—a children’s title on Africa I’ve never seen before.
What will the day bring?
Joy and success?
Frustration and despair?
Time to shower and get down to work and see what the day brings.
So ends another week.
So much was accomplished at work and at home.
The new and rearranged cases look great!
When the last few are installed and the glass doors fitted, it will be a massive upgrade.
But I feel empty. Unaccomplished.
I FINALLY started going through some old boxes of paper that have been festering in the “Great Room” for a year or so.
I found a stack of old manuscripts. 15-18 years old. Some, I’m pretty sure, were recorded. Glancing at others, I was surprised at their rediscovery. More work to do on the past.
The weekend will be the usual. Books and carts. It will be punctuated by my expected attendance at a post baby shower get together.
The fox this morning was so beautiful. Not really red but more an orangish brown. It glanced over its shoulder at me, and our eyes met briefly.
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