Dear friends,
Here is a small bit of optimism for this awful, scorched-earth week.
This past Saturday at the Bookmobile, our friend Tyler was out front running the sales. I (Jason) came out for a break. Mary had brought out some glorious vintage patio furniture from Back to the Fuchsia, and we two fellows sat down together next to the bus, iced coffees in hand. Tyler and I fell silent. We were surrounded by books and donuts. The breeze was high. The shade was generous. The plants on plant stands waved their leaves gently. Customers browsed languidly, a small pile of titles in each of their arms. All that was fraught in fife took a step backward into the blazing heat. It was a welcome pause, like the space between songs on a death metal album.
That small silence was beautiful. It gave us space so our thoughts could wander through important and personal places. Here we were, both 49-years-old, sitting in front of a vintage store in the east end of our hometown, assured and comforted. Whatever burdens were piled in our hearts could, at that moment, be tossed into the river. We became so calm and safe that a bird (this actually happened) landed on one of the tables and hung out with us. It was likely there to scavenge the donuts, and so was every other animal that came by, but nevertheless, it felt like we were one with nature. Folks ate little sparkly donuts. Folks bought discounted books. Folks crunched on the ice at the bottom of their coffee cups. We have finally become the men we longed to be——old, serene, porch-sitting men. The point is, every bad thing fell away in relief against the sweet goodness of that moment.
Our lives felt full.
I can say with confidence and experience that one of the benefits (one of the few benefits) of almost having your house burn down is that all you have left becomes a tool to build your world back again, and build it better.
It’s been 12 years since we opened our bookstore, and many of those years, bright and fierce as they’ve been, have been filled with challenges. Our shop has flooded twice. We closed its doors during a plague. We faced the Decline of the West. Our bus broke down at the side of the road from a busty transmission line. We had a literal dumpster fire in the back alley. We faced all of it. We faced it with you, and you made it a party, a celebration, and in recent years, an act of joyful resistance. Sincerely, simply hanging out in a bookshop is one of the best fuck-you’s to the conflict of life.
Come eat donuts with us in the weirdly shaped home we have created. We’ll reshape it with whatever this city will throw at us next, often just enough to build some beautiful new thing to share. Our little business is what carves out the shape of our dreams in real time. We live in a strange pocket of the world, slumbering in a swamp-like river valley, following bright and wistful desires. Sometimes life takes the shape of a shoddy festival downtown. Sometimes it is a moonlit night at a Middlesex County drive-in. Last Saturday, it brought us to the front of a vintage store and a handful of sparkly donuts. Tomorrow?
That’s entirely up to us, friends. We can’t wait.
Much love,
Jason & Vanessa
P.S. here are some books.
