Winter of Discontent

Reifsneider Book Article

Monday

59 inside. 16 out.

A winter wonderland.

Winter Wonderland

About 8 inches of it.

I will be the 5th time I’ve plowed this January. This one will be rough. So cold.

Well, it goes with the territory. LOL.

Some years are tougher than others.

I bought this place in December 2009. 15 years ago.

I didn’t think it would turn out like this.

Me. 3 dogs. 75 plants. Make that 80. I potted 5 Christmas amaryllis last week.

Sunday was a strange day. Only 4 of us at the warehouse. Checking the weather every hour or so to see about the snow.

It started about 10 but didn’t start sticking to the road until about 1:30. The temperature was dropping fast. 2 left about then. Travis stayed til 3:30.

I remained a while. Alone in the vast building. English soccer in the background on the laptop.

Then it was time.

How bad would the roads be?

I loaded Giles, Pip and Merry into the snow-covered pickup truck and headed out.

It was pretty harrowing. The highway was slushy. There were two cars spun off the road with cops helping before my turnoff to the rural road. That road was a mix of snow cover and heavy slush.

I passed the tree where a man ran off the road a few weeks ago and was killed on site.

Then to my road. One set of tire tracks preceded me. Their ruts were filling fast.

At least I could walk the last mile up the mountain if I got stuck, but it would be a stretch for poor little Pip. The snow was about as high as he is tall. When he was a younger dynamo, neither of us would blink at the prospect.

The tire tracks turned onto the private lane. At a fork about a half mile up, they turned off, and I continued on virgin snow for the remaining half mile home.

There’s about a quarter mile of flat plateau before my steep driveway. It is a mystical path. The forest is all around as well as above. The trees were so heavily frosted.

Would the truck make it up the paved driveway? What’s under the snow? Ice?

The truck never slipped, and soon I was backing toward the side door.

Home.

The weekend of books was tough. Most of the carts were difficult. Exotic collectibles that hadn’t sold and were removed from the shelves. I had to determine to either have them put back online (at a much lower price) or send them to the stores or relegate them to Books by the Foot or The Boutique.

There was a flurry of new finds towards the end of the day Sunday—the snowstorm looming of me above the building’ roof.

A scrapbook labeled “Newspaper Clippings” promised to be tedious. It was battered and missing its rear cover. But when I looked inside, it was a scrapbook. Cornwall in the 1890s. Dozens of photos and many decent original drawings.

Cornwall Scrapbook

My 2023 visit there with my son was a fun trip.

I’d rarely look at the Bob Hope book. It is so common. But I was drawn to open it.

Bob Hope Book

Sure enough. Signed with a crazy flourish.

Bob Hope Signature

Billie Burke?

Billie Burke Signature

Glinda—the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz.

All of a sudden, every Pearl Buck I came across was signed. I went back and checked the old carts to make sure I hadn’t missed any.

Pearl Buck Signed Books

So many others. Some made it to the Instagram accounts. (@wonderbookandvideo and @merryandpippinlotr)

I made another mountain of books to go to the stores.

Books to Store

The glass cases at the Frederick store will get several big piles of jewels.

Well, it is after 8 Monday morning. Time to bundle up and go plow. I wonder if I’ll get down today. I’d enjoy being trapped. Maybe I’d actually settle in and write and seek that satisfaction rather than find ways to fritter the day away.


The plowing went well. The sun was shining, and even though it was only 20 degrees, I hoped the black pavement peeking through the white stuff would start to melt the steep drive.

I came back in and put my phone in the charger. It had died while I pushed snow down and up the mountain.

When it came to life, it started screaming the alarm that you get with Amber and Silver Alerts. I stepped over to check on it.

“SEVERE WEATHER—SNOW SQUALLS!!”

What?! The sun is out. The phone had predicted no more snow!

Not for long. It began as light flurries. Now, an hour later, it is snowing heavily. Completely unexpected. The weather map shows blue and pink clouds hovering over only the Frederick region. It seems to be centered right over my home.

“Snow expected to end in the next 30 minutes.”

It said that an hour ago as well.

Now the header reads, “Severe Weather Advisory until 5 p.m.”

Great.

Trapped.

For how long?


I went out and made a five or six passes down and up the driveway with the plow. That got it scraped down pretty bare, but the pavement isn’t showing. It still doesn’t look right. It looks “dodgy.”

The downside with trying to get down over potentially slippery conditions is that once the truck starts sliding, there’s no place to go—except off the pavement.

It’s been a bad few months. But that could make it worse.

So, I guess I will just wait things out and see what happens.

What happened? Single digits the rest of the week.

5 on Tuesday morning.


In last week’s story, I wrote about being in a celebratory mood. Exactly why I’m not sure at this point. But I did end up going out for a martini on Friday evening.

The newest hot spot in Frederick is the Wye Oak Tavern. It is in the chapel of the Visitation Academy. This was once a cloistered convent and girls’ school. A mysterious place. It is surrounded by a very, very high brick wall. To keep people out or in? It closed in 2016.

Visitation Academy Chapel

Though the chapel was deconsecrated and religious adornments like crucifixes removed, there had been some scandal about Marriott and the Voltaggio Brothers putting a bar in the ancient marble altar. The rest of the old church had been modified into a restaurant. This included a mezzanine—for the choir maybe?—with a huge old pipe organ still overlooking everything.

Wye Oak Tavern


Wednesday

The morning is moving toward 6 a.m. The temperature remains at 5.

Again.

I slept well. Maybe it was exhaustion from the weather work the last 2 days. Maybe it was just that mind and body gave in to resignation. One can write about the weather, but you can’t do anything about it.

I slept well, but for Giles’s soft whining around 2 indicating he needed to go out.

I followed him out to get a piece of wood. The fire was aglow, but I could see that it wouldn’t be strong until morning. I ran it hot when I got home yesterday afternoon. It was up to 71 when I surrendered to bed after 9 sometime. The ceiling fan near it was on to push the hot air through the house. I wanted to read or write, but the cocoon of covers and comforter soon had me in dreamland.

Dreams… I was out of town for some event. Friends and colleagues and family were there. I wanted to escape, run away, go home to the mountain. But I was responsible for a couple of rides, and I went searching for someone willing to take care of that for me.

“Like sands through the hour glass—so are the days of our lives…”

Mom used to watch that soap opera. I couldn’t stand it. Likely couldn’t understand it as a 4-year-old. It would have to be a pretty bad show for me to leave the tv room.

The log I brought in after 2 was pretty big. It was no struggle to get it in, but it filled the fire box. I think it sort of smothered the coals and fire. I think that is why it is cold. I think the cold air on my exposed eyes and forehead and the sound of the furnace is what awoke me. I pushed the top of the atomic clock, and the number 5:11 was cast in digital numerals on the ceiling above my bed.

Another day. If it had been warmer and the furnace wasn’t burning money, I might have rolled over and hoped to find dreamland again.

Instead, I got up and stepped to the stove ten paces away. The bulky wool socks I got in Estonia last summer are so warm. I’m trying to be careful not to wear them out—putting on slippers or slipping into clogs when they are close. There was still some wood in the 2 big black canvas totes next to the stove. I chose a smaller log—about 5 inches in diameter. Placing that next to the smoldering larger log would encourage combustion and get them both burning.

The dogs didn’t stir on the big bed. I returned and joined them.

I did get down late Monday afternoon. I bought Snow Melt at the Southern States Cooperative. My driveway was treacherous. That night, I hand-spread the snow melt from the back of my ATV. I’d drive down 20 yards, park, walk back up with a scoop and toss the granules onto the barest part of the ice and snow.

Tuesday morning, I went out to look. The stuff didn’t work much at all. I looked at the bags. No instructions. The “ingredient” was potassium chloride. I researched online and learned it doesn’t work below 12 degrees. It was 5.

I waited. By late morning, the temperature had risen to 15. That was warm enough to activate the potassium chloride (salt) I spread Monday night and Tuesday morning. I had Giles in the truck with me. It was too cold to leave him out in the pen, and I don’t trust him loose the house.

(Poor crazy, stupid, sweet, goofy thing. Such a burden. I think about “re-homing” him and then… it is a responsibility. Even though it was thrust on me.)

After I finally got down the mountain, the world was pretty normal—if frigid cold.

It was late. Too late to get to Allen Ahearn’s funeral service. I felt bad, but it was just impossible. I’ll see the family soon, I hope.

Work was a mess. Lots of people out. I did what I had to. I emailed a message to the lawyers to settle as soon as possible. Dreadful nightmare situation. Lawyers… the things they are willing to do. When I was a kid, I had this crazy notion about truth and justice winning out. Sometimes that’s how it works. Sometimes it is just a game of “gotcha.”

I sent payment to Alan Robinson for the Dr. Dolittle painting he did.

Alan James Robinson Dolittle

He’s been so ill. It took a few hundred hours to paint, he wrote. The Doctor looks a little familiar.

Alan James Robinson Dolittle

I mean the human on the right.

LOL…

This might be a future t-shirt design.

So might this.

Socrates Quote

I wonder if Socrates copyrighted that? Maybe I should check.

Lots of emails and other business to catch up on.

I needed to get away. I got a van and ran away to the Frederick store. I don’t think I’ve been since the holidays—they seem so long ago.

It looks great. We installed new lights so brighten the showcases we put in a few months ago.

Such beautiful, wondrous books! When I despair about the slings and arrows of outrageous commercial duties, those “rescue” books remind me of the greater mission.

Back to the warehouse. Giles was being annoying. I needed some supplies.

Liverwurst for Pip. I put his cough pills in a little ball of liverwurst, and he gobbles it up without a sniff.

Shampoo, conditioner, face cream, popcorn (I gave away most of what I had to the boys along with the air pop machines as Christmas presents) and whatever serendipity laid before me. As much as anything, I went to Wegmans and Marshalls for cabin fever relief.

I got two packs of vegetarian sushi at Wegmans for dinner. I’m tired of my own cooking.

I bought some stupid stuff—but they were great deals. I’m pretty good about using stuff up. And if I never open something, I can put in the pile of food donations at the warehouse.

Four 12 packs of flavored sparkling water. My “healthy” tipple.

Then toward home. Going up the mountain was no problem. One of the neighbors put rock salt on the “S” curve. (That was a stomach-churning stretch on Monday when I finally dared to descend.) My driveway had a 5-foot strip of bare pavement exposed. The KCl Snow Melt had done its job with the warmth of 17 degrees and the sunshine.

I really wanted to crawl into bed and write, but by the time I hauled all the food and supplies in, I was tired and hungry. It had been a long few days.

I put the sushi in a bowl and poured some oyster black soy sauce in a puddle around it. I squeezed out the tiny packages of wasabi and ginger and went in to watch Bond. James Bond. Sean Connery was back in the next one.

The sushi was not rolled very tight. It disintegrated with chopsticks. Frustrated, I went and got a fork. It was the first time eating sushi with a fork, I think.

I’d poured 2 fingers of Old Overholt over crushed ice. I put in 4 maraschino cherries, which I considered a portion of veggies and roughage.

The second course was a couple chunks of hard seeded bread I’d put in the oven to roast and get a bit crusty. Some of the olive oil I imported poured into a small bowl. Garlic salt. A few dashes of hot sauce. The bread dip was wondrous, if a bit sloppy.

The ATV needed to be put in the barn. I bundled up and forced myself out into the frigid air. It took my breath away. But the smell of wood smoke was sweet as well as savory.

The hockey game came on at 9. I watched a while and then went to bed to read or write.

Nope.

Dreamland lulled me away pretty fast.

Now it was nearing 8 a.m. Wednesday morning. I can’t miss any more work. Got up to put another log in the woodstove. I had to straddle Pippin, who was toasting in front of it.

“Jack Russell roasting by an open fire…”

The temperature has dropped to 4?!

Well, I can complain about the weather, but I can’t do anything about. Most of the lane is still snow covered, so I’ll take the truck down again. Giles will ride with me. He loves going for rides. He loves getting out of rides. Then he wants right back in. He loves contrariness.

There are a few score birds coming and going from the porch roof. It is as if there is a “Free Food” sign on the house. I guess their usual foraging spots are snow covered, so many more visitors are flitting in than usual. 400-500 pounds of sunflower seed goes out every year. It is a task I do for myself as much as them.

The tea I got in Paris last spring is wonderful. I need to make some decisions. Travel decisions.


Thursday

Things are finally warming. It was up to 6 degrees when I checked this morning!

The iPhone says the temperature will get up to the low forties Monday and into next week. I’ll get the suntan lotion, cargo shorts and tank top ready.

The three dogs are all piled up against me.

Giles is the problem. He is so needy. It is too cold to leave him out in the pen during the day. I dragged a big pen up from the downstairs garage in one of the previous snows but have hesitated putting him in it all day. I’m concerned he’d get frantic and burst out of it and maybe hurt himself. (He somehow pried his way out of the outdoor pen when I was in Amsterdam. It is a heavy-duty chain link, but he somehow burrowed through the bottom of the gate.) He’s been coming with me to work all week. I can put him out in the pen there for spells. Inside, I need to get him well segregated. And sometimes he’s a whiny distraction.

So, it has been a lost week.

The private lane is still mostly snow covered, but navigating down is not the white-knuckle experience it was Monday and Tuesday.

The missed time… I’ve been trying to get in the mindset to treat it as if I was on vacation somewhere.


So often, what is found inside books can be more interesting than the book itself. This 1967 article cut out of the old Star newspaper is an example.

Reifsneider Book Article

The Evening Star was Washington’s afternoon newspaper. When I was a kid, it struggled against The Washington Post‘s growth into the behemoth that it is today. (Or was. The Post isn’t what it used to be.)

When the Star finally ran its last issue in 1981, people rushed to get one. It would be collectible.

Hmmmm… that and Kennedy assassination Life magazines. Sellers used to tout their virtues and value. As a young bookseller, I quickly learned the so many people saved these and other iconic publications that scarcity was not the issue. Fending off aggressive sellers was. They couldn’t believe that the Life magazines their dad had saved in boxes in the attic weren’t worth a fortune.

Now? Kennedy assassination publications are far more common than the general run. We do offer a lot of old magazines—including Life. They don’t go for a lot. Condition is crucial. And the valuable ones tend to be niche things—icons who have withstood the test of time? Beatles. Hemingway…

Back to Mrs. Reifsneider and her Park Book Shop on G St in old DC. I guess the irony is that her building was going to be demolished to put up a library.

DC in 1967. Vietnam. The sexual revolution. Wondrous music. Assassinations. Riots. Presidents choosing not run. A little later, President Johnson being hounded to resign from office.

But Amalya did find another location. A search finds three Washington Post stories about her.

2 in 1980 concerning a “middle-aged Apache Indian” employee she had named Ricardo. Apparently, there were problems.

Reifsneider Employee Article

But the stories are behind the paywall. (Maybe I should go ahead and pay the Post. I spent much of life reading it every morning. Either it or I was different back then. Probably both.)

https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/local/1980/12/06/intrigue-folly-and-anguish-in-the-rare-book-world/ec34f2d6-46ae-418b-95aa-5f7a90c7bfec/

The other was her obituary in 1982 at age 91.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/local/1982/08/30/amalya-reifsneider-91-dies/d0e80672-6fb3-41ef-b9e9-15208529a91f/

Her end coincided with my beginning. But at that time, I was struggling up in Frederick and living in Gettysburg. I’d have no reason to go to DC for “rare books.”

I hope the difficulty near the end wasn’t too stressful for her. She had a good run. Over 50 years in the book trade.

What I like best is her quote at the end of the Star story.

Reifsneider Book Article

“Books are my window on the world,” she said. “They are my friends, really. I’m not interested in myself. My shop is my life.”

Rabbit holes…


Now it is another Friday. The temp is 23 at 6 a.m.! It will rise to over 30.

A lost week in a lost month.

The dogs are curled up on the bed. I made tea while they were. A Harrod’s blend loose leaf.

The stresses of near zero temperatures, snow, icy roads, legal craziness and… the books.

I am so far behind.

I was in late every day. I left early as well. Giles was a huge distraction.

I spent as much time with the books as I could, however. In between correspondence and office and people problems.

Yesterday, Ernest and I went to the Frederick store. I decided to reduce the politics and journalism sections yet again so we can expand history.

Dirty business.

Perhaps the law section should be next.

We culled those sections brutally.

I noticed the African American section was overcrowded. That is not a section I’d want to cull. I brainstormed and decided to move a lot of dupes into literature. Douglass, Claude Brown, Sojourner Truth, Ralph Ellison… Maybe a different audience will find them there.

Spending more time at home this week, I did some culling and cleaning here as well. I should have written and read more. Foolish.

I missed Allen Ahearn’s funeral services. I just couldn’t get down the mountain in time. 5 degrees that morning.

He’d understand.

And I’d rather have the living memories.

My librarian continues to organize the collection here. She removed my stuffed toys from the shelves of vintage leather and vellum.

Chuck's Vintage Shelves

She felt they didn’t belong.

Chuck's Toys

They aren’t really toys. More like icons of my childhood. I don’t “play” with them… much. Maybe it is time to part with childhood things.

A text just dropped in from my vet. 7 a.m. A reminder of my appointment at 8:40. Maybe there’s a different medicine that will help Pip’s chronic cough. Poor fella. He’s in good spirits and still wants to romp and play.

It has been a very political week. Dirty business. But I guess, like the law, it keeps this democracy crawling along.

Lots of crazy people out there. Scary.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

I’m looking forward to the weekend. The weather will be not as brutal. The dogs can be at the warehouse with me, and no one is there that will mind. And I will be able to lose myself in books for 16 or 20 hours before I run out of steam.

The books “are my friends, really. I’m not interested in myself. My shop is my life.”

Warning—poem below.

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