47

of course i love libraries.  the hometown one played a large part in my childhood; when i was four or so, i remember always making a beeline to one shelf to see if there were any new books in a series about swedish triplets that liked to walk up hills (they had amazing names too, and i just spent five minutes on google trying to find them, but unfortunately computerized search results don't respond well to this sort of search query).  i had a little problem with returning books on time, and once was so desperate that i opened a new card with a fake name (my two middle names--i was eleven and no one asked me for ID).  public libraries are miraculous, and i thank andrew carnegie all the time (and try not to dwell on the whole strike busting/pinkerton/unsafe working conditions thing).

but oh, how i love used bookstores too, especially ones chockful of broken-spine paperbacks from the seventies.  libraries allow you to try out books without risk; used bookstores put some money on the wager.  growing up, just blocks from the virtuous library was volume one, which smelled of yellowed cheap paper and featured a cranky cat who took over the carpeted counter.  the children's section was so-so, the psychology section was full of self-help castoffs, the military history area was frighteningly complete, but where volume one shined was in pulp.  you didn't go to volume one looking for a particular book, unless that book happened to be a dean koontz that you hadn't gotten around to. 

volume one's exchange policy was one book for every five you turned in, with records of credit carefully marked on index cards.  for a long time, my mom tried to control the input/output, not letting me get a book unless i turned some in.  but then there was the sweet valley twins incident, where i bought back a book that already had my name in pencil on the title page "because i missed it so much" and after then she threw up her hands and stopped forcing trades. 

and really, that's the point of used bookstores:  you throw some back, but you also stock up.  you don't have to keep a book on your shelves that you're done with, but you also don't have a looming due date.  and because the books are yours, not on loan, you don't have to be quite as careful.  you can dogear the pages.  you can read in the bath.

(there are a lot of people who are horrified by anything less than a white-gloved handling of books.  they never lose book jackets and always use a bookmark.  i don't mind these people, but i know they mind me.  because when i read, i devour.  pages are turned down, notes are scrawled in the margins, spines are cracked so as to hold open with one hand.  it is a full-contact sport and sometimes there are fouls.  pretty much the only lines i draw are:  1) no burning and 2) no boring holes or hollowing out to turn into cutesy art project.)

there aren't a lot of bookstores in hoptown, although the kroger has a decent selection of bestsellers and walmart has an amish fiction area.  there is, however, a used bookstore (smell is just right; cat is named gatsby, although he's more gargantuan than disgruntled).  about two-thirds of the inventory is romance novels, while most of the other third is trashy mysteries, which is where i hang.  i've been doing a pretty impressive job of keeping a trade cycle going, but every now and then i refuse to return one.  on my last visit this saturday, i bought the poisonwood bible even though i've read it twice and know that my mom has a copy because i wanted one for my own shelves.  although it'll take a while to get there, since the reusable grocery bagful of books sits next to my coffee table for at least a week.  i pull one out, start it, decide i'm not in the mood, and toss (yes, literally.  calm thyself collectors) it back to marinate for a couple more days. 

it's been just a day and a half since i brought the last bag home, and i've already read two cover to cover and parts of three more.  the first couple of days with the bag are like thanksgiving--eat long past the point of hunger.  but now that the workweek's starting again, my pace'll slow.  everything will get chewed more in smaller bites.  i'll fall asleep on the couch with dog at my feet and book split upside down on the arm.  sooner or later, i'll realize that i'm on the last one in the bag, and then i'll decide which ones are staying and which are going.  and then i'll wait for the next payday and start all over.


volume one closed a while back.  for a while, another bookstore took its place, but it wasn't a used bookstore and everything seemed too clean and curated.  that store closed too, and now the space is something else entirely.  and every time i return and pass by second street, i mourn the loss.  because the library taught me to read, but volume one made me a book owner, torn covers and all.

46

habes and i (okay, fine, me, but she was definitely amenable) decided to start our own easter tradition and went down to an off-leash dog park in nashville today.  yes, i drove over an hour each way for a large fenced-in area (there were plans to get chipotle too, but apparently the burritos were observing the holiday.  chipotle!  you're killing me!)

within thirty seconds of unleashing, habie had gotten into it with an airedale who was not a fan of the HCMM lick assault.  and then she jumped up on a guy who made the mistake of sitting on a bench with a free lap.  at this point, it feels like the whole park is looking at us.  looking and judging.  because before we showed up everyone was getting along so nicely.  i was thisclose to leaving. 

but we didn't leave, because dammit i drove to another state to get to this park and we were going to get our gas's worth.  and so i calmed down and habie calmed down and this basset hound toddled over and all of a sudden habie was surrounded by about three or four dogs who apparently liked nothing more than to have my dog lick their bellies clean.  hey, whatever works.  the airedale's owner told me that her dog was a bully and i apologized to the guy on the bench and then a new puppy showed up and everyone headed over to sniff and i realized that this was not going to be a repeat of the first obedience class.  we were not going to fail the dog park.


because it's just the two of us, so often, and because i am neurotic, i worry all the time about habie, worry that i've messed up somehow, that she's horribly behaved, that i can't do this.  and yes, she's totally spoiled.  and yes, she refuses to learn the "off!" command, which can be mortifying.  but today was a revelation:  my dog is just fine.  we are okay.  and that's definitely a tradition i'd like to keep.