scribblechic

I love bookstores. Thoughts on paper and stories unfolding in the lives mingling around shelves and over coffee.  I love the clean scent of a new book and the crisp crackling of the binding as I nestle into the pages; margins blank for notes and corners as yet unfolded.

Last week I learned Borders was closing their doors.  A couple of years back our local Barnes and Noble closed.  These two locations just minutes from my home were more than stopping places between errands, they were familiar escapes on cold winter days and alternately hot summer afternoons.  My children and I would indulge in a treat and then embark on a treasure hunt for an unknown title.  We would return home, proud explorers, each of us eager to tumble into a new story.

These experiences echo the gift of public libraries in my youth.  I recall Saturday trips to the library to gather piles of books.  Like one having survived the Depression, I would stock pile stories like cans of food, sustenance for a rainy day.  I consume words with the same enthusiasm and necessity I breathe air.

As the landscape of retail bookstores change, I am eagerly navigating new spaces.  I am exploring small bookstores and revisiting used bookstores; making new friends across counters, building new memories with my children, and sharing a love that lingers on bookshelves.

Tagged: Books, Bookstore