The first post on a new blog is rather daunting. There are so many things I could decide to write about. The incredible history of the bookstore I own, the collection of regular customers who both amuse and annoy me, the BOOKS, the politics of owning a bookshop, the book business and where it is heading, what happens to books when a society becomes electronisized (hey Shakespeare did it, so can I), the importance of this bookstore as a community cornerstone, what it is like to be a woman in business, the list is endless.
Where to begin?
Where did it all begin…for me it was when I was four, I don’t remember learning to read, but I remember reading. 1974, riding around in the back seat of our giant station wagon reading every single sign I could see, a litany, “Brooks Ave; Willard Street Market; STOP; Grand Union; every sign with a word on it was meant to be read. I am sure it drove everyone in the car with me crazy.
I don’t know how I felt when I was four, but it seems to me that it must have been a small miracle. I was a nonverbal person when I was young and suddenly here was a way to communicate, a way to understand what other people were thinking without have to talk about it with them. The world opened before me and I dove in. I was reading chapter books by the time I was six and I remember being deeply involved with the lives of the characters. Who were my childhood friends? Laura Ingalls Wilder and her sister Mary, Alec and The Black Stallion, Anne of Green Gables and Emily of New Moon.
The most important lesson I learned was that I was not alone. There were others out there who thought and felt as I did, maybe all people shared similar feelings. I was no longer alone, but a member of a group…all I had to do was open a book.
This blog won’t be a treatise on my life, but really about books and reading and thinking, my thoughts on how we utilize story to connect and share our humanity, but I thought we should start at the beginning…and so we have.