Caroline

Dear Reader -  I apologize. I've been a bad blogger - or non-blogger, as the case may be.

I confess that I have been in a bit of a funk. It's not that things haven't been fabulous - they have. Little biblion is happy as a clam. We had our grand-ish opening on April Fool's Day, when Miss C and I didn't cut the ribbon (the Lewes CofC are very good stewards of their resources!):

(Though our Beneficent Landlord, Mr. Ted [just left of me], who also serves on Lewes' City Council, let Miss C cut a sliver off the end with the gianormous scissors.)

The after-party turned out lovely, thanks to the amazing talents of my friends Lorraine and Gary Papp, former pastry and executive chefs of the Buttery, who chose to simplify their lives and start a catering firm called the Essential Chef and Lorraine's delectable cake-baking enterprise, Beach Baker Cakes. Here's a video of Gary from his other life, teaching kids (dig the groovy tunage):

I dunno what Miss C and I would have done without their help. Lorraine was a wonder, making our tiny shop into a gorgeous feast for all of the kind-hearted friends who showed up, despite my funk-driven (I'll get back to that, I promise!) belated invitations! Our dear friend Preston (who's standing right behind us in the Chamber photo) was a blessing as our tireless bartender, and our friends Tim and Ingrid helped us wrap it all up at the end.

There were some amazing treats from our neighbors, Cafe Azafran (who provided some to-die-for tapas), R&L Liquor (who provided the yummy Cava and a tasty Malbec), and Lewes Bake Shop (who provided Miss C's favorite lemon bars). Amy of the latter is featured in this fun video promoing the town's upcoming celebration of the Royal Wedding (I'm sorry, dear Reader, but those who know these folks will find this beyond funny - Go Karen! Our new Queen Mother!):

The crowning jewel still shines today, in Mayumi's lovely floral arrangement:

 

The shop is now open seven days a week, thanks to the help of our friend Ingrid, who used to manage a bookstore and has very generously agreed to help us out on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. The only shot of Ingrid that I have is in profile, as she and her husband, Tim, check our friend Dean in at Taste the Fruit of the Vine last September (Ingrid's an amazing person and a perfect fit with biblion's vibe - we're so happy that she's able to hang with us a bit!):

As I said, happy as a clam.

So back to that funk.

I knew this was coming, but I've kept trying to turn to the side in the hopes of deflecting its impact a bit. But then my friends Britt and Cliff walked into the shop, and the full force came rushing back as I knew there were others in the world for whom this date would have a certain, heavy impossibility to it.

You see, dear Reader, our dear Caroline died just a year ago on this day (she was Britt's mother and Cliff's wife). Caroline had beaten the crap outta cancer two times in a row and had thrown in an impressive fight with heart disease in the midst, but the cancer caught up with her a couple of years ago, coming back with a vengeance just before her 70th birthday:

It was one of those it-kinda-feels-like-it-might-be-the-last-one moments, and in the spirit of keeping it as fun as we darn-well could, our friend Lynda threw a tea party for her (I, of course, brought the hats):

Then Miss C and I hit the streets in Reho, getting birthday wishes from the masses. Here's a sampling:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was awesomely fun, but, looking back on it, I feel so sad: while I'd hoped against hope that it wasn't true, Caroline never made it to 71.

Caroline and I fell in love in choir at St. Peter's. We found each other in the alto section and found kindred spirits with equally twisted senses of humor. We then found ourselves giggling in the corners of the ECW (Episcopal Church Women) meetings, and then in our EfM (Education for Ministry) seminar.

I didn't have to grow to love Caroline, I loved her instantly, and I treasured her friendship among the favorites of my life. What made it special was the stunning openness and honesty that we shared - something about the way we resonated together made it okay to share some of the deepest aspects of our selves (particularly our failures and shortcomings) with ease. We were able to be share the fullness of our humanity. And having lost my mom when I was in my 20s, my friendship with Caroline was a true gift. I always felt deeply loved, understood, and appreciated.

Which, I suppose, is why I felt so grateful and honored when she asked for my help last winter/spring as she moved toward death. I'm not sure if I was able to do much, ultimately, but I know that I was able to be there with her - and I know that that was good - for her and for her husband and family. Remembering those days tonight - the rawness of it, the stunning beauty, the tenderness of so many relationships drawing to a close - I am overcome. I miss her terribly, dear Reader.

So here's to Caroline. I went and bought a bottle of the last glass of wine we shared, a nice Italian Prosecco, and I poured myself a glass and raised it as I sat down to write to you. I'm certain that she's raising one with us:

Rest in peace, my beautiful friend.  - (a now de-funkified) Jenny

P.S. Appropriately, from In My Tribe:

Miss C on _The Hunger Games_

Dear Reader -  Miss C (who has hereby expressed her displeasure at being known in this way in Blogland, despite the fact that I call her Miss C_____ in corporeal life every single day [she told me on the way to school the other day that she'd prefer to be known as "Steak" - though she's chosen a single, non-meat-related image to be her signature here]) has decided that she's going to contribute some thoughts about books from time to time. Enjoy!  - Jen

Hey! I’m ‘Miss C’ (my mother chose it without my consent  : ( ) and from now on I will be writing reviews of books in the preteen-young adult area. For my first review, I will be writing about The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

This book could be described as dystopian, drama, action, romance, fantasyish, sci-fi, and probably a lot of other things, but personally I think it’s one of the most amazing fantasy-like books that I have ever read. It all starts with Katniss, living in her minuscule house in the coal-black district of 12 in Panem, the future of America.

If you have been born in the poor District 12, then you most likely won’t get out by the time you die, but Katniss breaks free when she takes her younger sister's place in a “game” organized by the government, where one boy and one girl from twelve to eighteen from each district (Districts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12) are thrown into an arena where they have to fight for their lives. Last one standing wins.

Once Katniss enters the capitol (the center of Panem, where all the rich people live), she is thrown into a whirlwind of political strife, heavily muscled teens with swords and spears, and a love interest, since apparently every teen book needs some complication involving love.

This story is good for both boys and girls, and can be introduced at any age, really, though I suggest not before the age of nine, but it also depends on what you, or you child, or your grandchild, like in a book. I guess this wasn’t really a review; but a person can’t really review a book and tell someone about it, unless that someone is themselves, because everyone has different tastes in books, so it would be hard for a book to appeal to every single person, so that’s my take on it.

The song that girl sings below is a song that Katniss sings to a friend of hers while said friend is dying from a spear in the stomach. It’s not really sung by Katniss, though, because Katniss isn’t real, and they haven’t made a movie…yet.

Happy birthday, John

Dear Reader -  It's been an absolutely lovely week. I was open on Monday, Thursday, and part of Friday (before I headed up to Dover for the Diocese of Delaware's 226the convention). These winter weekdays are gentle and quiet, allowing me a nice chunk of time to research the pricing on some of my out of print books.

You see, while I've kept all of the stuff that I've known is rare tucked away off site for future pricing and shelving, I went ahead and put everything else up on the shelves, simply marking the yet-to-be-priced books with a yellow dot on the spine:

I've made my way through most all of the fiction and biography, and am about to turn my attention to politics and history.

So as I neared the end of the fiction shelves, I came across two unassuming, un-dustjacketed volumes of John Steinbeck. One Grapes of Wrath and one East of Eden. As a girl growing up in a windy, sometimes dusty tiny town in Kansas, with a father whose lungs were visibly scarred by his days as a boy in the dust bowl, I gravitated to Steinbeck's work. Looking back, I'm not sure that I always "got" it all as a girl, but something about it resonated, and I loved it - particularly East of Eden:

Besides reading, one of my other favorite things to do on Saturday afternoons as a girl was to curl up in my daddy's big, brown vinyl recliner and watch the classic movies that the local networks would run in the middle of the day. And I'll never, ever forget discovering Elia Kazan's genius and his gems of movies, like "East of Eden" itself. Kazan brought the work to life in such compelling and evocative ways, with Dean's help (man-alive, this is what I love most about Kazan - how he again and again took little-known talent, like Dean, and gave them their break-out roles - his work is a treasure):

Anyhow, I hadn't thought much of these two Steinbeck volumes - as I said, they were pretty darn unassuming. Some first editions are clearly marked and often even stated as such. But many are not, particularly those that are less contemporary. And first printings are often even harder to reliably identify. Both of these books merely had the standard copyright year info behind the title page, so I figured that they could have been from any number of printings or editions:

But when I started to do a little more rooting around on some book sites about identifying first editions of these two books in particular, I found some helpful information. The first 3000 volumes of East of Eden that'd been printed included an error by a proofreader, who thought that the word "bight" was used by mistake and who replaced it with "bite."

I picked up my volume and carefully turned the pages, making my way to 281. And there is was on line 38: "bite":

I felt this profound sense of gratitude that somehow the universe had rescued this book - one of just 1500 first printed for the general public - from the oblivion of some forgotten, anonymous stack. And with John's birthday coming up tomorrow, it feels fitting that it should be discovered so happily close to this occasion, ready to be treasured again. The Grapes of Wrath, also a first edition, does not appear to be a first printing, but I have more research to do to confirm that for sure.

I've told several of my friends that my books feel like puppies to me - they each find me and then I hold and love them for awhile 'till their true owners show up to take them home. It's a joy every single time to see which books find which owners. I don't know if I'll be able to part with John, but if he's meant to live with someone else, I figure it'll be clear when the time comes.

In the meantime, I'm getting "East of Eden" again from Netflix. I haven't brought Mr. Kazan home for Miss C, yet, but I think it's time. I couldn't get the scenes that I wanted to upload from YouTube onto Blogger, so here are some links for you. Here's the seminal birthday scene (pure Dean genius), and here's a gorgeous follow-up, showing Kazan's genius mixed with Dean's.

Happy birthday, John.  - Jenny

P.S. And here's some Latin tunage worthy of John's Salinas roots, thanks to the inspiration of my buddy Todd:

P.S.S. Steinbeck's dedication to his editor, Pascal "Pat" Covici is tender and moving, particularly to my little editor's heart:

Love that the manuscript made its way into that hand-carved box.

Worth a thousand words

Dear Reader -  Today was another gift. Words fail.

But pictures are good, right? So I thought I'd snap a few with you as I was preparing to close down for the day. I hadn't yet taken the time to tidy up, so forgive the happy dishevelment of a day of browsing, but this at least gives you a little taste of how the space is beginning to take shape.

Here I'm standing back with the Borealis cards behind Miss C's couch, looking  toward the street:

(See Josephine's beautiful turtle rug in the foreground?)

And here's the view as you walk in the door:

(We made our way through several rounds of coffee table books on those front stands - guests kept adopting them almost as soon as I added new ones.)

Here's the nook to the right of the door:

And here's the one to the left:

The pictures of Miss C's couch and the darling rocker came out too dark - I'm not smart enough to tell the flash what to illuminate. I'll work on getting that one during the day for you sometime soon.

God willing, we'll be in again tomorrow - closed for Tuesday and Wednesday, while Sue helps me ready some more volumes. If you were among the many visitors this weekend, whether corporeal or virtual, thank you. Truly.  - Jen

P.S. Today I was digging Ray Lamontagne - I dig Ray a lot:

To kneel and kiss the ground

Dear Reader -  One of my favorite authors is the late John O'Donohue. After setting up my previously-scorned cash register this evening (that's a story for a later time), I toodled on up to bed, expecting to settle in with a few passages from his To Bless the Space Between Us. But when I couldn't put my hands on it, I grabbed my well-worn copy of Beauty instead.

A page and a half into the introduction, this quote from Rumi caught me in a way it never had before:

    Let the beauty we love be what we do.

  There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

I wept, dear Reader, for today I kissed the ground.

And I realized that I needed to tell you about it before I slipped off to sleep, where the dances of my dreams might overtake the magic of this moment - of this day.

First, you need to know: Tamiflu is a miracle in a little capsule. I started on it right away after my trip to the doctor, and by the next day my fever was gone, never to return. And since I was fever-free for 24 hours and therefore no longer posed a health risk to anyone, I opened up the shop just after Noon on Saturday after taking Miss C up to meet her dad.

As soon as I had everything settled, my first guests found their way inside, and the steady stream of visitors never ended 'till the Second Street shops began closing down around 5:00 or so.

Dear Reader, the wonder of it all is that it was everything I'd hoped it could be and more. People found their way in. Friends and lovers pulled out books and cards, giggling about them or striking up a conversation about history or philosophy or art. Children had a blast pulling out Miss C's children's books, finding affordable volumes to take home for their very own. People found Miss C's favorite little couch or the chairs around the shop, sitting down to thumb through volumes. Many found just the perfect gift or card. And total strangers connected over books and ideas. I met poets and artists and more kind people than I can count.

It was absolute bliss.

If tonight were my last, I'd end my days as a utterly fulfilled book-seller.

But as I anticipate the sun, I look forward to what tomorrow brings.  - Jenny

P.S. Folks were digging Rosa Passos today. Thought you might, too. Blessings on your night and on your tomorrow.

Regrets

Dear Reader -  I apologize for not having written this week. Thanks to the help of my lady friends, we're ready to take our semi-soft opening of last weekend (for which I still owe you a post which I've begun drafting) to a fully-soft opening today. However, a rather virulent flu bug as caught me, so I've been spending more time here than at little biblion:

Note the extra pile o' blankets that Miss C kindly came and put over me two nights ago when I was so cold I couldn't stop shaking. Note my pathetic aim for the waste basket. Note my deep appreciation for all medicines of the red dye number whatever persuasion: Cepacol, Sudafed, Ibuprophen, and now, thanks to the pharmacist's recommendation, Benedryl, which helped me sleep through the night for the first time in days. I just thought it was a bad cold, but my friends Libby and Margaret said "Get thee to a doctor!" They were right - now I'm on antivirals, awaiting that magic 24 hours without a fever, so that I can get back to greeting folks at the shop.

I need to get one picture to finish last week's blog, and then I'll get it off to you, dear Reader. Thanks so much for your patience!  - Jenny

P.S. I've been in need of something a little more mellow from my music box. Elizabeth Fraser and the Cocteau Twins have been keeping me company:

Progress, by the grace of God and my lady friends

Dear Reader -  My heavens, it's been a roller-coaster of a week here at Casa J & C. We have been working our little fingers to the nubbins, and, thanks be to God, our friends have been helping, big-time, along the way!

Here's some of what's been happening . . .

We've been unpacking books. Books like these:

and . . .

and . . .

and . . .

and . . .

And . . . our lady friends have been helping us each day. Friends like Margaret, who, when dutifully alphabetizing the biography section, cried out, "Oh my gosh! This is my absolute favorite book of all time! I don't know about his politics, but I totally love the man . . . and I loaned mine to someone years ago, and I've never been able to remember who - and I've never been able to find another copy 'till now!" This, dear Reader, is what I've been waiting for all these months - moments like these when the little books that've found me find the new homes where they're really meant to live. I was in absolute heaven as Margaret passed over her $5 for Airborn, our first book sale:

While every one of us has done our own fair share of label removal, returning the books to their un-besmirched state, Ms. Sue has been the Goddess of Goo Gone:

(See that water bottle, dear reader? That water bottle was later used by Libby to put out a little fire [not started by us] on Second Street - the crew at biblion is so darn industrious.)

And speaking of Libby . . . Libby has worked wonders with the blue seat cushions on those lovely Duncan and Phyfe chairs:

(What the heck happened on this one, I wonder . . .)

I went to Dreamweaver fabrics at the Midway shopping center, and they couldn't have been more helpful and lovely. They assisted me in picking out a few different fabric choices for the chairs, pointing me in the direction of this upholstery fabric in particular (which was super cool, since it'd been a discontinued model by the manufacturer that they'd picked up at a discount that they likewise passed generously on to their customers):

Angie's daughter (whose name I can't recall in the moment) and Beth helped me. When I went back to make my final selection after looking at the fabric at our shop, Beth cut it for me and then helped me determine if I needed to get new padding:

She cut away the decades-old blue fabric to see that I had near-perfect, high-quality cotton batting underneath. I left their shop with my gorgeous upholstery fabric and some instruction on how to proceed with the installation.

Well, I tried doing one with the help of my friend Judy. The results were just fine (we were actually pretty doggone proud of ourselves, Reader), but nothing like what happened when Libby up and decided to grab this ball. These old, once tired, chairs now look blissfully happy and absolutely stunning:

Finally, my friend Denise was the Book Whisperer. Her brilliant practicality and keen aesthetic could take any shelf of books and make sense of it. I turned my back for half an hour or so, helping the birthday cards find their new home, and when I came back around, she'd taken a problem with the fiction and biography sections and completely resolved it, tout sweet:

Oh, and speaking of cards, I'd be remiss if I didn't, once again, acknowledge the help of one of my gentlemen friends as well. Mr. Phil helped my assemble the Borealis card rack from Maine. One of the primary supports needed a little repair, so he did that, and then we tag-teamed the Lucite racks. Here's the result:

There's just one more card line that's on its way to us, but the rest have found their homes. The birthday cards are ready to celebrate:

The special occasions are spinning at the front of the store:

The Sigmund and all his buddies are ready for guests to choose them and then choose how to greet them with their unique little stickers (could there be a better Mother's Day card?):

And the letter-pressed bellamuse cards have joined Jonathan Wright on the rack:

Folks keep asking "when," and I keep chuckling away. I dunno, Reader, I figure it could be any day now, but I've realized that I'm not going to know when it's time 'till it's time (just call me the Queen o' Intuition). I told my lady friends that we're gonna do a little burlesque routine as our means to a soft opening. We're gonna slowly peel away bits of that paper, sending a titillating little mixed signal to our passersby, 'till we eventually get it all off.

If you're wandering by and the papers peeling and the lights are on, be brave, come knock at the door - we'll welcome you in!  - Jenny