Good Old Girl

I took my daughter's childhood kitty to the vet today. She's been put to sleep and we're getting her ashes to scatter in the back yard in a couple of weeks. She was a good kitty and a part of our family for nearly sixteen years.

Isabelle was a barn cat that my step daughter rescued and brought to her dad's house. She was not a cute little kitten.She seemed to be divided down the middle. Even her face was half one color and half another. She didn't like people much and I have a few scratch scars from trying to pick her up at the wrong time. My husband named her for his first mother-in-law, an eccentric woman whom he admired.

Issy was an accomplished mouser and even Oliver our dog knew not to mess with her when she was in a mood. She slept on the dining room chairs and left large amounts of hair wherever she lay. She didn'tlike our other kitty and he learned to leave her alone too.

Isabelle demanded our respect and we gladly gave it. She was a fine female and we'll miss her. The only other pet she liked was our cocker spaniel, Blondie. They used to curl up together and sleep the afternoon away. I hope when she got to pet heaven Blondie was waiting for her. She deserves a good freind and a good rest.

Books, by the Box

Today while cleaning and pricing used books for my new bookstore I got a visit from Bob the UPS man. It may have been a little difficult for him to negotiate the box he was carrying into the room because there are books stacked everywhere. My bookshelves are being brought to life by an excellent craftsman as I write.

This is the day I feel like a bookseller. Not just someone who uses Ronson lighter fuel (Thanks Rick and Joe) to clean the old gummy stickers off old books, not just someone who's been guessing at the right prices to charge for the used books and writing them oh so faintly with pencil on the first light colored page and cleaning them with diluted orange scented Fantastic.

You see, today I got my first box of new books from my supplier. It was a small box but I kept glancing at it all day thinking that I'm not just playing anymore. I have new books to sell. Maybe some of them will become Christmas presents or some kind of surprise for a friend. Oh, the possibilities!

My store already has that booky smell. You know, ink and paper and dust; the smell I have driven miles to experience myself.

Book people! Are you out there? I'm almost ready for you!

The Urge to Make Stew

Fall is officially here. The air is heavy with moisture, the leaves are changing colors, football is back and I have the familiar urge to cook hearty meals. You know, meat loaf and roast beef and stew.

Most of the year I don't have the urge to cook anything. I have to admit I am an uninspired cook. My husband contributes to this lack of inspiratio by being a really good sport about getting a turkey sandwich for dinner instead of meat and potatoes and gravy. The autumn comes and with rain and cold he gets a real diner once in a while.

So Bring on the ghastly weather, the pumpkins and squash and (gasp!) the holidays. I'll be in the kitchen buttering the cornbread and ladeling something hot and thick into big bowls.

Matty The Magnificent

When my son Matthew was about four years old his dad and I watched from the patio door as he sang a loud and nearly on key rendition of The Carpenters' "I'm On the Top of the World" in the backyard. He was wearing only his superman underoos and he was using the green garden hose for a microphone. He was bold and self assured and not at all self conscious and he gave us equal amounts of joy and aggrivation.

That lovely moment was during the before part of Matthew's life. The part that was happy and hopeful. The part before the brain tumor. Before surgery and radiation, learning disabilities and a lifetime of loss and disappointment. He didn't get a drivers' license, didn't play basketball, didn't ever go out on a real date, had few friends. We were disappointed for him, but he rarely let any of it get him down. He was the football team manager and participated in FFA and his classmates treated him well.

Matthew has had several close calls with death and we've tried to prepare ourselves for his passing as best we could. But he has always managed to get better. He's had transfusions, surgeries, long hospital stays, numerous tests and scans and labwork.

Last week while I was in California Matthew took another turn. His kidneys are failing and he's being cared for by the great people at the local nursing home and by a wonderful hospice nurse. I'm hoping he'll stay around for his birthday at the end of the month but I also want him to be free of this life. It's a strange thing to pray for death to come to a loved one.

I know I'm rambling but that seems to be how my brain is working, just roaming around grabbing onto a thought here and feeling a little emotion there. I can't get the little singer wearing only his underpants out of my head. He was magnificent.

Going Home

I'm going home tomorrow. It does't matter where I go or how long I'm gone. I always get a little giddy about going home. To my husband and my dog and my own bed. I'll get to visit my son at the nursing home on Wednesday and hope he didn't notice I was gone. Home to my new bookstore.

Yup, I'm opening a bookstore just when many small bookstores are closing down. I live in Salmon country so the image of swimming upstream toward a goal is familiar. It's a small store, not quite four-hundred square feet but I'm going to fill it with books and hope that people will come and enjoy the space, the books, and the company.

There are boxes of books there waiting to be priced and shelved so my fun has already begun. You see, I am an addict. I'm so distracted by books that I forget what I'm doing in my own house when I pass a bookshelf and see a book I remember reading and enjoying or a book I intend to read soon. They look good on the shelf, feel good in my hands, even have their own inky, papery smell.

When I was about fourteen I sneaked a couple of Taylor Caldwell's books off my mom's shelf and read them at night after she had gone to sleep. They were historical romance, a little steamy for that era and absolutely wonderful. I gradutated to F. Scott Fitzgerald and Mark Twain in high school and in college I fell in love with Ain Rand.

I haven't read all of my books. Not even close. But I love finding them. Used, new, in stores, online. My current favorites are a few Scribner Classics for children illustrated by N.C. Wyeth. They are breathtaking.

I hope a few people of like mind find my store. Even if they don't, I'm going to have a great time with the books.