There’s a thick fog outside the bedroom windows. The trees are just beginning to bud. Soon it will be a sea of green, but now they are black silhouettes—the closest ones are, at least—the forest beyond 50 yards or so is shrouded in gray.
When I pulled onto my short dead-end road after midnight, dozens of eyes glowed back at me. Deer were settled on the damp grass for the night. They stared back at my headlights impassively as I passed by. They were several dozen in small groups along the road and the lane before it turned to gravel and ascended the mountain.
Deer in the headlights. Lots of deer. Far too many. It’s the most I’ve seen for many years.
When I got to the house and let the dogs out, they were thrilled to see me. It was a long day for them too. Giles, who is affectionate but not usually demonstrative, nuzzled my hand as we walked to the house.
It was 55 inside. I was too exhausted to light a fire. I cheated and turned on the furnace. Soon I was under the sheet and comforter, and the dogs were pressed against me.
I awoke a couple of hours later. My bookseller buddy was banging away at his guitar in the next room.
“What the hell?!”
I got up from bed and shut the door.
Consciousness came, and I realized it was a dream, or nightmare.
Then some cramps. I rose and got a magnesium capsule. When I returned to bed, the dogs had moved onto the warm impression that I’d left. I didn’t have the heart or initiative to shoo them, but instead crawled onto the edge of the bed they’d left me. Soon I was gone til my internal clock stirred me. I reached over and pressed the button on the atomic clock, and sure enough, it was 5:55.
It is 43 outside. The week was cold. Next week will be as well.
Thursday was a massive day. So many books.
A bookseller friend is downsizing, selling off a million books, I’m guessing. Maybe the last of the old school remainder houses. There are not many “new school” firms. A vibrant market has disappeared. I guess the internet is mostly at fault. The world wide web killed off most of the independent bookstores. There was no one left for the remainder houses to sell 5, 10, 100 copies of a bargain titles to—no matter how desirable the price or the book.
They’d been very kind when I was starting out. Generous with credit and terms, willing to cut deals with this upstart.
Now the big warehouse is being sold. The owner called Wednesday and said the sale had been moved up, and there was a sense of urgency to move droves of books before… well, let’s not think of that. Maybe something will happen.
I’d left work at 4 to go downtown for the Caps game. I met a friend at the park and ride. We’d gone 9 years before when Ovi scored his 500th goal. That was a big deal. Ovi scored goal #895 last Sunday. He broke Wayne Gretzky’s unbreakable all time scoring record. (We are talking professional hockey, in case you’re wondering what I’m writing about.)
The trip started out smoothly, but then came the Beltway. The ETA on the car’s navigation would only get a minute closer every ten minutes or so. Then the George Washington Parkway, which will be under repair for the next century, I think. A single lane crawling along the south bank of the Potomac. Concrete Jersey walls only inches from the car on either side.
But we got there. Not enough time to have a cocktail before going into the stadium.
Ovi was going to be honored with a ceremony before his homecoming after breaking the record.
They rolled out carpets at one end of the ice rink. His wife, two sons, mother, father-in-law stood together. All Russians. His mother looked like she was out of central casting. How dreary the gray Soviet world she must have experienced growing up. Now her hulking son is a hero to millions in the homeland. Hockey is a big deal in Russia. Also present, the team’s owner. Other dignitaries.
Then Ovi skated out in uniform.
The air was filled with, “Ovi! Ovi! Ovi…”
The game was a good one. The Caps went down 0-2. Came back to 2-2. 3-2. 4-2.
They were going to win!
But the Hurricanes matched them at 4-4. Then overtime. Then the penalty shootout. The Caps scored 1 of three shots. The Canes zero.
A win!
Ovi didn’t score, although he came closed a number of times.
It was a late game, what with the ceremony and the extra time.
I decided to drive back through the city rather than the white-knuckle Parkway.
Such a contrast between the most powerful city on earth and my little patch of rock and forest an hour away (without traffic.)
I spent a ridiculous amount on a hoodie and shirts for the boys and a commemorative puck.
Why not? The feat was like Ripken beating Gehrig’s unbreakable consecutive game streak or Hank Aaron passing Babe Ruth.
Only it wasn’t. Although I attended a lot of Orioles games with Ripken at shortstop, this was unlike that.
Hockey is an incredibly fast and brutal sport. There were two fights last night. A number of penalties. Players only stay on the ice a couple of minutes before being switched out. Their legs can’t last longer. Play is at a sprint much of the time.
Yesterday, I sprinted all day at the book warehouse. Were there a thousand samples for me to review? I had them carted up and rolled to my “spot.” Cart after cart after cart… The printout is 20 pages long. If I was interested in a title, I’d rifle through the alphabetized sheets and find the title. I’d check the quantity they were trying to liquidate and the asking price per book.
“Only 47 copies?” I write in “All” after the last column on the line devoted to that title. It would be tacky to dicker over that small quantity.
“11,000 copies of a nice title on Buddhism?” I paused. “Never. A couple hundred?” And counteroffer as it isn’t something we do much with in bulk.
Cart after cart. Book after book.
I have no idea how many books I bid on. 100,000? I’m sure Jessica, the Books by the Foot manager, was rolling her eyes when I’d dropped the sheaf of paper on her desk.
‘Where will we put them? Did he order things I can’t sell?’ I could read her mind.
‘We’ll figure it out,’ I thought back at her.
The teakettle is screaming. It’s cold in here even under the bedclothes.
Soon I’ll have to end this and head down the mountain.
But there’s so much to tell.
Yesterday, I punted on the Library of Congress culls Larry brought—was it over a year ago? 10 pallets? I’d had one Gaylord carted up a few months ago.
“Please stack these carefully in a Gaylord. We need the carts, and I won’t get to these anytime soon,” I asked the kid who is so conscientious here. I just wish he’d stop bumping into things.
10 or 11 carts were back in play when he was finished.
Plus, I had to process a lot of other carts of used books just so we can have enough carts for tomorrow’s orders.
Sprint, sprint, sprint.
The drive, drive, drive.
Home and in bed after midnight. Awake at 6.
Peck away at this thing and try to squeeze in the interesting bits before time runs out.
…before time runs out…
We’d just gotten a truckload of remainders in earlier in the week from the same people as above. There weren’t as many samples sent for that load.
How could I pass on this Bronte?
We never have enough Bronte. (Any of them.)
Books by the Foot can’t use them. The stores will complain. But at least they will have “something” Bronte for quite a while. Perhaps forever—whatever that means.
The remainder firm’s owner called me Tuesday. “Chuck, I’m not trying to pressure you, but the building settlement’s been moved up…”
I could sense the urgency in his voice. The issue would not be so much about money.
“… I’m getting a pretty good price for pulp right now…”
It was more about the fate of the books left in his care and now awaiting their next fate.
Oblivion?
Rescue?
Prudence?
Folly?
I went to the landfill to get yet another truckload of mulch. I saw on their menu board that lists the price charged for dropping off tires or mattresses that “Compost” was not listed as “Sold Out.”
“You have compost?”
The huge front-end loader dwarfed my pickup truck.
The black stuff rattled and thumped into the truck bed.
When I was weighed going out, the lady said, “Almost 1400 pounds. You have your work cut out for you. $11.43. Cash or card?”
I love a bulk deal.
The work is good for me. I still have muscles and sinews. And my mind, I think. That night, the cramps came, and I awoke and wrote down a dream poem.
The legs can go
Hands lose dexterity
Old memories are sharp
Recent ones dim
———
We sat by the waterfall
Torrents rush past us
The waters would flow forever
Rushing to the precipice
Then falling, falling, falling
Crashing upon the stones below
Now, high upon the lonely mountain
a decade later so much has passed past
Further downstream the waters calm
Then pool into a vast pool
———
I don’t recall how I came alone here
Pen in one hand
Pad in the other
Chaos within
Order and sense without
Falling, falling, falling
Falling forever in eternal restlessness
———
I loved you forever and a day
Yesterday. Tomorrow
A decade ago
Just a moment in a long lifetime
I pray my mind outlasts the body
Weakness I could bear
Frail sinews but not senses
Niagara Falls is my dream. Of all things!
Monday
Cold wet spring morning. The grass has shot up with the weekend’s rains and cool temperatures. The landscaper will surely come this week, and I’ll experience the scent of the first spring mowing.
Andrew is driving us down to Gaithersburg. I haven’t been since Thursday when all the bookcases got put up. I’m anxious to see what that looks like.
Perhaps more of the new sales counter was built over the weekend as well.
I sent down instructions to expand the children’s books section. There will also be the creation of kids’ new arrival and premium display sections. The premium section won’t be any more expensive, but it will feature very nice copies of popular and hard to find titles.
I have other plans in mind for when we get there.
I hope the store will speak to me and help me decide where to shift things.
It wasn’t the plan for me to do all the organizational stuff. A little disappointed, I was left on my own. But you do what you gotta do.
Cold and wet.
The woodstove was fired up last night. The wood in the driveway was too wet, so I had to carry some in from the barn.
The house was comfortable last night.
I wasn’t. Sleep was elusive.
Now, driving in the warm truck, gray fog and drizzly rain outside—I’m sleepy. Yawning.
It was a family weekend. Thursday night, I got to see my younger son’s six-month-old son. He doesn’t get out much. Sequestered for some reason. Oh, well. I went downtown to the fancy toy store. The Dancing Bear. I found a soft ball made out of cloth.
And I bought a pound of fancy chocolate for my son and his wife.
“Two of those. Two of those…”
We are on our way back. There was an accident on the other side of the highway going down. Going back, we are stuck in the backup two hours later.
Cold, gloomy day. Gray. Wet.
I’m still yawning. Over and over.
The mission was successful, I think.
The new sales counter is progressing.
I asked Andrew to bring up all the Asian children’s books to the front. We will make them part of the 5 for $5 kids section. We get a lot of Asian kids’ books. Mostly Korean recently. They are beautiful. Perfect condition. Like new. But they don’t sell. Let’s see what happens when they drop to $1.
I wandered sleepily through aisles. Many of the same aisles I worked in two score and five years ago. It was here—on this same tiled floor that the bookselling journey began for me.
We are giving the venerable place a facelift as well as expanding it.
Romance is a problem. (Isn’t it always?)
It is in the wrong place. (Isn’t it always?)
Where can I move romance that is more appropriate?
Since they are 100% mass market paperbacks, it would be a waste to stock them on shelves deeper than 6 inches. Typically, pine shelving is sold in bulk at the following widths:
- 4″ (actually 3.5″—unsuitable for books)
- 6″ (trimmed to 5.5″—good for shallower books like mass market paperbacks)
- 8″ (7.5″—fine for standard size hardcovers—novels, bios, histories etc.)
- 10″ (9.5″—coffee-table size books)
- 12″ (11.5″—think supersize art books—rarely needed in our experience)
So, I wandered the maze of aisles looking for 6 inch shelving and enough of it to take on all that love.
Tuesday. Cold but clear. The rain which had fallen the last couple of days was frozen in the bed of the pickup this morning. It will only get to 42 today, so I put a log on the coals in the woodstove leftover from last night.
I felt terrible last night. Maybe leftover burnout and stress from pushing so hard on the weekend and brainstorming in Gaithersburg on Monday. It was raining and frigid when I got home. I put some clothes into wash and went to bed to warm up and read. There was also inspiration to write a pretty depressing poem. Verse has been elusive recently.
Somehow overnight, a couple of inspirations came to me about category shifts in Gaithersburg. In addition to expanding hardcover mystery and general fiction—pretty much in their current locations—plus the romance paperback move to accommodate mystery and general fiction, I came up with the idea of moving foreign wars out of the American History area. That pretty much means WW1 and WW2 and Korean War and Vietnam War.
Where should they go? In a perfect world, between Europe and Asia. I don’t think we can work that out.
Hmmmmm.
Then there’s religion. That’s always a pretty dead zone. The thought came to me that religion is really just philosophy. Just so happens we created a lot of space near philosophy which is adjacent to literature.
The proverbial light went on in my mental attic.
Begin with Buddhism and other Eastern religions right next to philosophy and then let it evolve into Islam, Judaism and Christianity. Christianity encompasses a lot of different kinds of books. From Bibles to the “Chicken Soup” series to minister resources to early church history and saints to Catholicism to authors like C.S. Lewis and Cardinal Newman and Aquinas. It constantly needs pruning, no matter how circumspect we are about sending too much. I think having religion adjacent to philosophy might help with it s relevance. Many see the word “religion” and head in the opposite direction.
I will try to map it out this morning.
Ernest can start pulling books for a tv show. A minister’s library, of all things!
Serendipity.
Clif can start the war mobilization.
One of my goals is to get all history categories to gain some space with the expansion.
After a miserable night of illness and doubt, I do believe some plans are falling into place.
It is much brighter and calmer heading back to Frederick.
I hope things work out.
Life is so much more bearable when things work out.
Wednesday
Another beautiful spring day.
But another icy morning as well.
Andrew is driving us down to Gaithersburg. I want to help with the initial movement of the latest large category shifts. I think once the dominos are in motion, so many things will fall into place to the benefit of the customers and the books. So many categories that deserve more space will be getting it.
(Speaking of Dominos, I ordered 19 pizzas for the warehouse staff before we left. Everyone loves a free lunch. I wonder what the delivery person thinks when they bring in stacks of pizza boxes to a book warehouse, of all places.)
I just took a call from a friend in the Midwest. They are selling their vast warehouse and downsizing tens of thousands of remainders.
Sigh… another icon moving on.
When everyone else is selling, should I be buying?
Will I be left holding the bag… er… book?
I just can’t bear the thought of good books being destroyed.
We are on the way back.
It is hard to stay away. There’s excitement in all the changes and expansions. The staff is excited too. I’m trying not to put any pressure on them. They are going full speed and making great progress, but I look around and see…
this…
that…
there…
here…
those…
A biblio-transformation!
While I was brainstorming for the next phases, Andrew moved the WW1 section and began moving the WW2 section.
History deserves more territory. I just need to be sure I’m not invading Russia in the winter. That’s never a good idea. (Writing metaphorically, of course.)
Speaking of which, I’ve been going through a vast WW2 collection at the warehouse for the last couple of weeks. Memoirs I’ve never heard of by generals I’ve never heard of—and I studied the Second World War a lot when I was younger.
Damn! This is fun!
…when it is not daunting.
The redbuds are all aglow along the sides of the highway.
Up on the mountain, they are just now opening and getting a deer-lavender purple with a glow that is almost electric.
(I wonder that I can’t see them in the dark at night.)
A lot of the Judas trees I planted or transplanted in the last few years are beginning to set out some tiny blossoms.
(The true “Judas tree” is from the Middle East. My parents used to call redbuds Judas trees. Close enough…)
I need to transplant more before they get too large to dig up. If they are in the wrong place, I’ll need to…
They can’t grow into the driveway.
The Dirda books…
His (perhaps) opening salvo of 15 boxes.
I had them carted up for last weekend.
“I can knock these off and send him a check. I hope he is satisfied.”
Another icon downsizing.
Only I couldn’t.
They were so cool that they made my brain hurt.
A graduate seminar in hard-to-find wondrous books.
Maybe I’ll be able to wrap my head around them this weekend. There are so many that I want to take home and read but…
I need to downsize.
What’s next?
I finished another John Dickson Carr mystery. The Arabian Nights Mystery. So many plot twists and surprises, it kept me up.
Michael made a comment on one of these stories a few weeks ago:
If you’re not tired of John Dickson Carr, let me recommend what I think are his best books. You may have read them already.
The Three Coffins (my favorite)
The Burning Court (unique)
The Crooked Hinge
The Plague Court Murders (Sir Henry Merrivale, as Carter Dickson)
The Judas Window (Dickson)
The Corpse in the Waxworks (Henri Bencolin is the detective)
The Devil in Velvet (historical with supernatural elements)
The Murder of Sir Edmund Godfrey (nonfiction reexamining a famous unsolved murder)
I haven’t read some of the later novels, which are said to be good, e.g. He Who Whispers, She Died a Lady and one or two others.
I may have more books than he does, but he has far more books in his head than I.
What’s next?
When this store expansion and transformation is finished a month or so, what’ll I do?
Some demon is whispering in my mind, “Open another…”
Insanity.
I couldn’t, could I?
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