French Chocolate Kitchen

Happy, Happy Birthday, Nellie!

2011-10-21T10:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - Today is Nellie's first birthday!

It's hard to believe that she's only been with us for these few, short months - she feels so much a part of our lives here at biblion and Casa J&C.

We're celebrating the day with a little "sale" in her honor - giving an extra 5% off to anyone who spends $21 or more!

Here's the first picture I ever saw of Nellie (she was Penelope then - safe in the arms of her breeder, Candice Kane):

Her eyes turned out to be just as compelling in person, if not more so - and, as you may remember, it was her eyes that brought her to us, as mentioned in my first mention of her back in June (what kind of insanity makes a newly-minted retailer decide to get a puppy just before the resort summer hits, and then to save that darn kitten to boot? - ah well! - Nellie and Spot have become the best of friends, wreaking havoc on our household [and especially the other cats {yes, I'm in danger of being dubbed a crazy cat lady, gone beyond my two-cat minimum - I've decided that because Miss C and Nellie are part of the equation, we haven't tipped the scales, yet}]).

She has turned out to be an awesomely awesome shop dog, save for her tendency to bark (okay, she yaps, it's embarrassing really; we try to tell her that nobody likes a yappy dog - that it's simply unattractive - to no avail) at other dogs. Here's a shot that I took of her with my iPhone to share with one of my card reps the other day. She spends most of the day sleeping under my desk, coming out to greet the guests who want to be greeted:

So, stop by if you can and join us in wishing Nellie a happy, yappy birthday!

Celebratorily yours - Jenny

A worthy reason to get back up on that blogging pony, sister!

2011-10-05T05:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - I've missed you. And I feel like my life's awash in a sea of biblion stories that're just aching for a place to funnel 'em.

But what's brought me here today is the 10th anniversary of the start of our War in Afghanistan, an action precipitated by the attacks less than a month before and followed up a couple years later with the Iraq War.

Right about the time of the art show this summer I received an email from a local author named Terri Clifton:

Hello. My name is Terri Clifton and I am contacting you about the book A Random Soldier.
My son Chad was a 2003 graduate of Cape Henlopen High School. He joined the Marine Corps that summer and went to Iraq in 2004. Before he left he made me promise to tell his story if he didn't make it home. Chad was killed in action in February 2005.
I wrote and self published his book, but have only in the past year regained the energy it takes to attempt to bring the book forth. It is available at Browseabout but I stumbled across your store (while having dinner with my husband at Agave) and wondered if you would be at all interested. Both Chad and the book are easily googled.
Thank you for your time,
Terri

I totally remembered her son. biblion's Memorial Day commemoration included pictures and brief bios on all of the men and women from Delaware who'd been lost in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and Chad's strikingly youthful face was hard to forget:

I also remembered how the young people at our church were devastated the day that we heard of his death.

Terri and I eventually connected after the fray of the art show, and I immediately began carrying her book (it's worth noting that Terri is not selling her book for profit - she's just looking to cover her self-publishing expenses - to that end, biblion isn't profiting from it either). As Terri'd mentioned, she hadn't yet put much energy into marketing the book, for understandable reasons, and I began noodling on how we could do more to get Chad's story out than simply having it out in the midst of our shop.

And then it hit me, the tenth anniversary of September 11th was coming up and, of course, the Afghan War started shortly after. Sure enough, I went to Google it and found that October 7 was the date. Given that the "drumbeat" of 9/11 anniversary coverage was already audible this summer, I expected that the media'd have a field day with the war. As such, I thought that a low-key reading by Terri would be a nice counter-point to all of the Sturm und Drang of the politicized coverage on the 24/7 news networks.

Boy, did I turn out to be wrong.

At first I thought that the fact that I wasn't hearing anything about the anniversary was because I'm watching/listening to the news so infrequently these days, caught up in the Sturm und Drang of the happy fray of my own little life. But then I started doing Google searches and found virtually no mention among the major news outlets. Thousands of lives lost, tens of thousands of lives shattered, and no words.

But enough of my dismay . . .

Terri agreed that doing a reading on that date seemed apropos, so we put it on the schedule:

Friday, October 7

6:00 p.m.

Reading

Saturday, October 8

10:00 a.m. to Noon

Meet and Greet with the Author

What I love about Terri's book is that it gives the reader a direct, unfiltered, and unapologetic perspective on one soldier's experience of war - and likewise some sense for what it was like for his family and friends. Since I didn't have any personal experience with war myself, having no friends or family who'd served, I found Chad's words and Terri's reflections truly enlightening and compelling. And from what I've seen at biblion, those who have served or been part of military families have had a different experience with the book, often finding it to be a bridge of understanding between the service members and their stateside families. I also love that there's absolutely no political agenda in it - no romantic war-related ideals, no anti-war drumbeats. It's just about a young soldier and the people whom he loved:

So it you have a pocket of time on Friday evening or Saturday morning, come on down and mark the day with us at biblion. We'd love to see you. - Jen

P.S. I've had an issue with getting the word out about this earlier in the Cape Gazette (got the wrong deadline from a new guy, per Bernadette), so I'd appreciate anything you all can do to help folks know about this - I think that Terri's words could be a real help to many families as they live the realities of war.

P.S.S. I thought I'd find a way to work Chad's dad into my stream of consciousness-ness above, but the flow took another path. That being as it is, I still wanted to share Rich's incredible work with you - seeing that he has two such creative and extraordinary parents speaks to how much we've lost in losing Chad, too. Rich is a nationally-know wildlife painter:

You can see more of his work here at www.RichardCliftonWildlifeArt.com.

Amazing Chocolate Omelette

2011-09-25T23:06:00.000-07:00

Ok, this is totally decadent. I love making this pillowy-soft chocolate omelette for weekend breakfasts and usually add a bit more of a frosting of powdered sugar on top. You could decorate the plate with raspberries, but I prefer the omelette on its own.
Amazing Chocolate Omelette
Serves 2
Ingredients:
6 eggs, beaten
4 tablespoons heavy cream
2 ounces dark chocolate, melted (or Nutella) (recently I've been using Baker's Semi-Sweet squares)
4 tablespoons confectionary sugar (plus extra to dust on top)
1 shot of dark rum (coconut flavored rum is also great on this)
1/4 teaspoon of salt
Method:
1. Whisk together the 6 beaten eggs, cream, melted chocolate, confectionary sugar and a pinch of salt until well blended. Don't worry if it looks streaky from the melted chocolate. When you cook your omelette those bits and bobs melt into luscious gooey pools.
2. Melt butter in a medium pan and pour in the egg mixture. It will look like a lot of eggs for the pan but be patient and gently lift around the edges as it cooks to allow the liquid part of the omelet to get to the bottom of the pan to cook. Keep the top of the omelette wetter than normal and when it looks good to you, take a spatula and fold the omelette in half.
3. Slip the omelette onto a heatproof serving plate, dust with powdered sugar, pour the rum over the top and light with a match. After the flame has gone out, sprinkle more confectionary sugar on the top and serve immediately.

Lament of the Resort Retailer (Erstwhile) Blogger

2011-07-31T05:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - A month! It's been a bl___y month since I was here last [she exclaims with the requisite level of incredulity]!

I thought at the first of the summer that it was just my initial adjusting to juggling home, charity, and shop commitments that was my blogging stumbling block, but now I see that the stumbling has not ended, nor do I see an end in sight.

It makes me sorta sad, 'cause I do love sharing stories (oh, and heaven knows, dear Reader, we've had more than our fair share of 'em at little biblion this summer!), but I have to resign myself to the realities of the laws of physics (my dear grandfather, Fred, born in 1900, went to catch the train to college in a buckboard wagon - he eventually made it from Sedalia, Missouri, to Baldwin, Kansas, where he graduated with a degree in physics from Baker - he always said, "Everybody needs a little 'fuzzicks.'"). I cannot do everything. Balls must drop. And I must be content with standing here and watching them lying on the ground. I'm thinking that Grandpa and Grandma would understand much more than my childlike perceptions of them would guess:

The good news is that even while I sit here, rather ineffectual as a blogger, the world does move on. And we have been having a spectacularly lovely summer here at biblion. The magic that happened last February hasn't stopped. And folks keep finding us - from all corners of the world.

This week we received a call from Dan Shortridge of the Wilmington News Journal (since Delaware's so tiny, the NJ is kinda like a state paper, though we have some awesome local papers - like our own, independent Cape Gazette, which has been awesome to us). He was pulling together a story about the used book market and spent some time chatting with me - and then he sent his photographer, Jen, down to take a few shots of the shop (which, before she arrived as chock full of regulars and visitors, the last of whom cleared out as she opened the door - and, as soon as she left, as she predicted, the shop filled up again!). They were sweet enough to run a picture of biblion on the front page of yesterday's edition and to include some great quotes from our guests to lead the article. It was super kind of them. Very happy.

So I'm off now to gather up a few books to fill in the shelves, yadda, yadda, yadda. As Miss C said in a dreamy voice yesterday, "I just love the shape of our life!"

Contentedly - Jenny

The Love of My Life

2011-07-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - After Miss C, our houseful of pets (by the way, our home for Spot fell through - they had lots of love to give, but they also had lots of houseguests coming between now and August who're allergic to cats - if you know of someone who could provide an appropriate home for her, just let me know), and now little biblion, the love of my life for the past five years has been St. Peter's Art Show:

This year marks the show's 45th anniversary, and I've had the privileged of chairing the event for the past five years. Always held on the first Saturday of July, St. Peter's is a mainstay of the Lewes Independence Day festivities.

I love it. It's the perfect blend of small town charm with some really wonderful, "big city" fine art and fine crafts. And everybody and their brother's dog from St. Peter's pitches in to help make it happen.

We have a great mix of stellar local talent and other artists who travel from as far away as New England and Florida to be a part, with 140 total exhibitors:

In addition to the four blocks of artists, the show also boasts a featured artists' raffle (this year it's Judy Hagen, Peter Saenger, and Kim Klabe, each of whom have donated gorgeous pieces), a fantastic silent auction (to which our artists have donated around 100 items), and our Famous Turkey Salad Croissant luncheon (for which Connie Miller has been making the salad since 1983, following in the footsteps of her mother):

There's even a fun jazz combo from D.C., a children's art project (sponsored by Rehoboth Art & Framing), and face painting by Karen Letonoff:

So if you have a bit of time tomorrow between 9 and 4, stop by and join the fun! We'd love to see you there! (Don't forget - there's free parking down at Sheild's Elementary and the old Lewes School, with a free shuttle running all day, provided by Prudential Gallo!). It's a happy dance kinda day! - Jenny

Spot: A long story long

2011-06-25T11:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - Well, it's been an interesting week, with a wee bit of extra texture to add to the girl-starting-new-business-while-running-old-one-and-gearing-up-for-the-large-special-event-that-she-runs energy!

Here is the lion's share of the texture:

Miss C and I have named her Spot. Why?

When I was driving back from (the awesome) Canterbury Used Furniture in Felton with my new filing cabinets last Sunday, I was cutting over Fourth Street between New Road and Burton, heading through a little stretch of woods. A bit of movement drew my eyes to the right, and there I saw a tiny black spot hopping into the dense undergrowth:

A kitten! A kitten that appeared to be all alone!

I quickly pulled over, put on my hazards, and went to peer into the woods. Sure enough, there she was. Not a minute later, a Lewes PD car stopped by to ask if I was okay, I explained that I'd just seen a little kitten, thinking maybe the fellas'd help me find her, but they just nodded and went on their way.

As the kitty had hunkered down in the brush, looking pretty darn terrified and not the least bit interested in my heeere-kitty-kitty-kitties, I decided not to lumber after her into the woods, sensing that that'd be counter-productive. As I crouched at the edge of the woods, a few more cars slowed as they passed, some folks warily asking me, "are you okay?" I explained about the kitten, watching her sink further into the woods with each encounter.

I then decided that food might be the key. So I told her I'd be back, hopped back in my Pilot, and headed around the corner to get some food at the house. I dumped all my stuff in the entryway, grabbed an old plastic Chinese takeout container, filled it with some of Midnight (Miss C's kitty that Santa told her to rescue in first grade) and Sinai's (the "transitional object" that Miss C's dad and I rescued in 1993 or 4 [I can never remember]) food. I headed back over, shook the food bowl while reciting my heeere-kitty-kitty-kitties, and the placed it at the edge of the woods.

I proceeded to plop onto the sidewalk, keeping my distance and giving Spot some calm space and time to approach the bowl. I sat there for awhile, fielding the inevitable "are you okays?" that came my way. And then I glanced up and saw what appeared to be someone walking their little Yorkshire Terrier straight down the sidewalk in our direction.

"Crap!" I thought. "That's not gonna help get this kitty outta the woods at all!"

But then I did a double-take and realized, while I initially hadn't seen the dog-walker, I assumed they were obscured behind one of the trees along the sidewalk:

But in that double-take I realized: that darn dog was walking down the sidewalk all alone! I looked over at the kitten, creeping toward the food bowl, I looked over at the dog, blithely walking our way. "Really?" was the only thing that went through my little head. Utter dismay.

I hopped up and headed for the pooch, immediately motivating it to pull a u-turn and head back down the other side of the street. I moved quickly down the street after it, trying not to send it in to an all-out freak-out mode by running madly. I did however, start to flag down the cars heading towards us, not wanting them to squish the little doggy. The first car stopped and the woman in the passenger seat hopped out.

"I have no idea who's dog this is," I cried out. "Oh my gosh!" she replied. We proceeded to coral the dog, and she grabbed her. "We're just on our way back to D.C.," she said. So, of course, I took the dog, glancing wistfully back toward the cat, wondering what in the heck I was gonna do. I asked a few other folks out for walks if they knew the dog, to no avail. Then I pushed the food bowl a little further into the brush, so that a passing dog wouldn't get at it, and the dog and I hopped into the car.

The "what the heck am I gonna do" thought went through my head again, as I knew that my vet's office wouldn't be open to check if the dog was microchipped. Then it hit me: we keep an extra kennel at the shop for Nellie, so I decided to head there. I stepped on the gas and drove in that direction, swerving around one of the out-for-a-walk ladies that I'd seen earlier who was stopped chatting on the side of the road with a passing pickup truck.

And when I was about make the next turn it dawned on me: "I bet those people were asking her about the dog!" I swung back around and gunned it back to the woman, swerving over to the side of the road and asking her, "Were those people looking for the dog?" (the dog snugly tucked under my left arm). She said, "Yes! I just sent them back to where I saw you last!"

Off I went, the dog and I driving like mad women after the truck. We finally managed to get their attention. I hopped out the car, running up to ask them, "Is this your dog?" "Yes!" the man cried! "Her name is Precious!"

The man's name was George, and, being a very kind man, he immediately wanted to help me with the kitty. I was a little concerned, remembering how she cowered with each additional visitor, and, sure enough, she kept sinking deeper and deeper into the woods. I tried for quite awhile, and then I mentioned maybe giving it a break. George had a super suggestion: just leave a little food for the kitty, in the hope that it'd return for more. So I shook a few kibbles out into the lid of the container and took off for home, realizing that Miss C'd probably be pretty worried by now. I'd been gone a long time, and my cell phone was sitting in the entryway being of no use.

I stepped in the house and told her all about it. She, of course, wanted to come and see. We gave it a few minutes, and then we headed back over: Miss C watching from the car, so as not to further spook the kitty, and me with my food-shaking and my heeere-kitty-kitty-kitties on the sidewalk. We tried a couple more times to no avail, and then we went home to feed our pets and hang out for a bit.

At 9:00 I headed over to the shop to close'er up (at some point in the earlier process, I don't even remember when now, I also ran over to the shop to get the extra kennel, thinking we could put the kitty in it, if we caught her - Grace was already there for her shift, so I told her about the kitten, and then I ran into the our beneficent landlord, Mr. Ted, at his liquor store [I felt that the occasion warranted a glass of something interesting] - he said that he might know someone who'd be interested in her [to my great relief]).

I sent Grace home, since she was feeling a little punk, and I had folks 'till 10:00, so I didn't get back to the woods to check on the kitty 'till pretty late. I called and called. No sign of kitty. I climbed back into my car, pointed it toward home and stopped dead as I saw the little black spot, hopping at the edge of the brush - I tried calling her again, she meowed in reply, but she stayed put. I finally gave up for the night.

Monday morning I woke up to pouring rain. My first thought: Oh no! The kitten! I grabbed the little dish of food and headed over straight away. I got soaked through, calling out my kitty-kitty-kitties, and fielding a few "are you okays?" No sign of the kitten - no sightings, no meows, nothing. A woman walked by, asking if I was okay, and when she heard about the kitten being out all night said, "You live in this neighborhood, right? And you know how many foxes we have?" Images of little tufts of black fur being left behind on the floor of the woods came to mind. I was crushed, thinking that I may have given up on her too quickly the night before. But I couldn't dwell on the possibility: it was a work day, and I had to head back home to get Nellie and myself ready.

When the clock struck 5:00, I dropped Nellie home and headed back. What did I find? A little spot curled in a ball next to the little food bowl! I brought the new food out to her, shaking it gently and trying to coax her further out of the woods. She made it all the way to the bowl a few times, but she was far too wary to let me get anywhere near her, basically inhaling the kibble just a quickly as she could.

I heard a car pull up behind me - a husband and wife on their way out to dinner with friends. We chatted for a couple about the kitten, and then the woman said that she had a no-kill trap. She said she'd get it to me on Tuesday, to which I said, "Thank you! But I'm kinda concerned about the foxes . . ." She replied, "We'll be right back."

Her name was Jackie, and she brought a little wire cage/trap, some newspaper to line it, and a can of food to entice her in. It didn't take but a minute or two for the trap to do its job. And the poor little kitty was terrified. I quickly snatched her up and popped it in the car with me. She looked at me with fear and accusation in her eyes - she'd just started to sorta trust me, and I'd completely betrayed her. I took her back home, got her situated with food and water and a litter box in a spare bath.

As you can see from this picture, dear Reader, it didn't take Spot long to learn to trust me and Miss C again:

She was particularly magical with Miss C as she removed over 20 ticks from her little skin-and-bones frame. The poor little thing. She just lay there, still as a stone, purring away, letting Miss C do away with one tick after another.

I came to learn that Jackie was actually the person that Ted had in mind for the kitty, since she's a leader in the active cat rescue movement in Lewes. She has provided us with milk for the kitty, as well as her worm medication, and an offer to "fix" her at next to no cost and provide her shots. Jackie's been a Godsend. She also told us a series of horror stories of folks who've abused cats (some intentionally, some unwittingly), cautioning us to be very careful about finding her a new home.

We're looking - figuring that her right home will find us soon (Miss C's conditions are the she get to visit Spot and be her catsitter). Until then, we love Spot. Truly - Jen

All a'twitter

2011-06-23T05:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - When I created a facebook account for little biblion, I created a Twitter account, too. Now, I had no earthly clue what the heck I'd do with said account. So there it's been sitting, gathering a few kind "followers," who've had nothing to follow!

But then an idea dawned: We get fun books in from time to time, and I can use Twitter to let the virtual universe know about them. So here I am in the wake of my first Twitter posting (sorry, I just can't bring myself to call it a "tweet"), feeling all a'twitter myself:

(Dear Reader, it's worth noting that I posted for the first time a day or so ago - and I started this blog then, too, but I ran into problems with the illustrative pictures that I took on my darn iPhone . . . oh, and we had a little kitty cat incident that I'll tell you about later. Ah well!)

The books that I wrote my 140 characters about yesterday were from the estate of our friend, Frank Sanna. Frank was the kindest of souls. He fought in WWII and was one of the many who made good use of the GI Bill upon his return. He learned to sew - expertly. And as the years progressed, Frank constantly found ways to use his extraordinary skill to serve and to give back to others.

Beyond his family and the love of his life, Donald, Frank's great love was movies. And when Donald brought Frank's books in, he told me how Frank and his friends would pour over their reference books for hours, comparing notes and sharing stories about the films that they loved. It's been a joy to watch others get a kick out of his books, too.

Thank you, Frank - thank you, Donald. Tweetlee-deet to you! - Jenny

P.S. And can you find what film this tune's been in?

P.S.S. If you wanna see the books we're posting about we're @BiblionBooks (or at least I think that's how we're supposed to say it!).

Thank you, Delaware Today!

2011-06-18T06:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - A couple months back, Miss C and I got the most amazing surprise: Delaware Today's critics chose little biblion as the best bookstore downstate (but we couldn't say anything 'till the BoD issue was released):

Given that we'd only been open a month or so, we were pretty shocked, as our thank you note to them attests:

26 April 2011

Maria Hess

Delaware Today

3301 Lancaster Pike, Suite 5-C

Wilmington, DE 19805

Dear Ms. Hess:

By golly! Did you and your colleagues at Delaware Today send Miss C__ and me into a state of utter shock and delight! We couldn’t be more tickled with your choosing little biblion as Delaware’s Best Bookstore Downstate. Thank you!

I picked up your letter late on a Friday – cracked it open, fully expecting some sort of ad sales pitch. I sat in the shop and looked at it without comprehension for several minutes, thinking it had to be some sort of playful joke from one of my well-meaning friends – then, finally processing the “by our critics” designation, understanding began to dawn. I, of course, knew that I couldn’t run out to the streets of Lewes, running willy-nilly, waving the letter and madly heralding our good news, but I did want to tell my daughter, the aforementioned Miss C__.

I wiggled at my desk, impatiently counting the few minutes left ‘till five, being gracious (on the outside) to the guests who happened in just before closing. Then, wishing them a happy evening, I locked up the shop and hustled home to Miss C___. I handed her the letter without (miraculously) giving anything away – she, too, went through the multiple stages of disbelief and joy. Then we did a little happy dance together.

Really, Ms. Hess, you and your Delaware Today friends made our day/month/year! What a gift for a new business!

I’m not fully understanding how the event in July works, but, as you’ve just seen, I’m a little slow on the uptake. I’ll give your office a call to discuss.

Thanks again for your kindness!

With warmest wishes for the best “best” edition ever,

Jen Mason,

proprietor

We're so touched and gratified by the acknowledgement of our little shop - from our Delaware Today friends and from you, dear Reader. Thanks so much for supporting us in our beginnings!

Fondly - Jen, Miss C, and, of course, Nellie

P.S. And, since Tony was Miss C's and my first happy dance favorite back in her infant days, here's a little happy dance music for the occasion!

Random, if belated, musings and newsings from an errant blogger

2011-06-17T13:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - Okay, I confess that I let myself get totally daunted by the technical issues with my little blog, and I didn't have any girl-starting-new-business energy to spare for taking on the little bytes that were messin' with my mojo. I have now taken the somewhat drastic step of deleting everything I'd attempted to draft, in the hope that clearing the decks'll be the ticket to erradicating whatever it was that kept crashing my doggone blog!

So here's what we've missed sharing while we've been in the midst. . .

1. The press has come to visit - multiple times. Henry Evans from the Cape Gazette wrote a stellar introductory article about us, and then followed up with a great article about the Royal Hoopla here at the shop:

Henry's awesome - a compelling writer and a truly fun, funny, intelligent, and interesting person to boot! He found us with the help of Lewes's leading historian, Hazel Brittingham:

Hazel and Henry are worthy of blog postings of their own. Hazel knows everyone and everything about Lewes. She kindly stopped in one day to bring me the Historical Society's writeup on our building, and she loved the shop so much that she asked Henry to do a story about us.

Part of what connects here to biblion is the building itself, since she and her husband owned the little restaurant called Britt's back in the 50s that we chatted about in January. Her ties to the place even pre-date that experience, quite literally, as her date to her prom was one of the Coast Guard fellows who ate in the commissary housed in our shop during the war. Henry came and ended up sticking around for a couple hours on his first visit, chatting with me for a bit and then losing himself in biblion's cards (he's since been back to check out the books, too).

We also got a visit from Delaware Today, who featured us in their "what's new at the beach" edition (which was super nice!). Keith Mosher, their photographer (and a compelling blogger himself), hung out with us for a couple hours, too - though his time was all focused on his art:

Keith's picture that DT ended up featuring had delicious color, gorgeous line, light, and composition:

Then it was Baltimore Style Magazine who stopped by for their "what's new" edition as well:

Their photographer, Kirsten Beckerman, and Senior Editor Laura Wexler had a blast with us, getting some great shots and picking out a couple cards. I haven't gotten to see the magazine, yet, but it was fun to see us featured on their home page!

2. We've added to our biblion family, bringing on Grace and Zac and Linda, allowing us to expand our hours to 10 to 9 daily for the summer season - yippee! The evening crowds have really been fun, sometimes keeping us here 'till closer to 10 with their browsing and reading and giggling at our shelves. We love that. Truly, dear Reader, it is beyond gratifying to see individual after individual have a meaningful experience here - it's nice to know that it wasn't just some passing magic that first weekend, but a true reflection of what little biblion has turned out to be.

3. And our final, very special addition to the biblion family is our shop dog, Nellie. Here's a picture of her with her breeder (one of the few pics that shows her kind eyes):

Nellie was originally pegged to be a show dog for her breeder, Candace Kane of Besitos Havanese; but as Nellie matured, it turned out that her eyes were not dark enough for the breed standard and her front legs bowed slightly, so she was free to come and be with us! Hooray for us!

We really wanted a shop dog, and we'd originally intended to rescue one - but then we thought of our guests with allergies and how tiny our shop is, and we decided that we really had to go for one of the non-shedding, hypoallergenic breeds. Having always lived with big dogs, I figured we'd get a big dog - but all of the non-shedding options needed a lot more exercise than we booksellers could reliably provide.

Then we started to get visits from other Havanese (named for Havana, reflecting their Cuban origins, where they were originally bred to herd chickens - yes, Nellie is a herding dog - a fact which proved quite helpful to Miss C when one of those middle school mean-girl-wanna-bes tried to diss on Nellie by calling her a mere lap dog - to which Miss C was able to reply, "No! She's a herding dog!"), and, man, were they awesome little dogs. Very mellow, very obedient, very connected to their families. And Nellie has proven to be the same. She's a super shop dog, and I'm sure that I'll end up indulging in book dog stories for you from time to time!

Well, I've blathered on here for quite awhile, and I've had NO ghosts in the machine! Looks like we're back in the blogging saddle, dear Reader!

And here's a little Gene Autry to celebrate:

And a little Steven Tyler for the joy of stark contrast:

Glad to be back, dear Reader! - Jenny

Windows on the World

2011-05-19T06:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - I promise (promise, promise!) that I haven't been a terribly neglectful blogger. I've been an ill-fated one. Every time I've had the time to come here and to start writing to you about our happenings, something funky's happening with Google's Blogspot (like the day that it couldn't load at all, or the day that it couldn't save/post anything that I'd written, etc.). For the last several days it's had me stymied completely, errorring out when auto-saving while I'm trying (repeatedly!) to load a picture.

Now, I'm certain that this is not the brand of entertainment or information that you were seeking when you choose to visit our little blog, so I'm working on a solution. One suggestion that another blogger made to work around the auto-save was to publish first and edit later - so that's what we're gonna attempt. I'm going to publish my little whine session here, and then add in the remainder of my Windows on the World post. We'll see where that gets us, if anywhere!

Wish me luck! - Jenny

P.S. The post involves this gentleman (the only picture that seems to have escaped the grasp of my auto-save errors!):

A Royal Hoopla Restrospective

2011-05-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - Well, the Lewes Royal Wedding extravaganza turned out to be one of those quintessential small town events that makes this one awesome. People had a blast playing with us throughout the day and taking advantage of the many ways to be a part of the festivities.

People paraded through the shop in their best hats and tiaras throughout the day, and the streets outside were filled with the charming "clip-clop" sound of the carriage-pulling ponies:

A whole passel of folks showed up for Lewes' own "royal wedding," officiated by our Mayor Jim Ford and organized by the folks at P.U.P.S. One of the grooms (Peludo, who is a regular guest here at biblion) and his bride stopped by the shop on their way to the park for the festivities:

I was thrilled (thrilled! thrilled!) with our own little corner of the hoopla. Since we didn't know what we were doing 'till that very week, we weren't part of the day's program - as such, I confess that I was beginning to wonder if folks'd find us in the midst of it all.

But they did! Over 40 people (based on the number of Champagne flutes lining the bookshelves) joined us to toast the wedding and the wonderful Margaret Caufield with a glass of Cava, and then we all proceeded to be entranced by her charming and informative self.

Margaret brought a wide cross-section of her royal memorabilia collection, including commemorative china, postcards, jewelry, and teatowels (thank you to Teri for taking a few pictures!):

Henry Evans from the Cape Gazette remained under her spell for a spell afterward, getting an awesome interview that appears in the Cape Life section of this Friday's edition (I'll link to it once it's posted on the Gazette's website).

We also included our "Book of Best Wishes" for the happy couple, giving visitors a chance to sign and to add a note, sharing their own sentiments for William and Kate:

This festive couple even grabbed a photo of themselves in the midst with it to help remember the day:

These two awesome ladies, Jill and Elle, signed the book as soon as they came in, and then, after roaming the shop for a bit, one of them (I think it was Elle) remembered that the last time they'd signed such a book was about a decade ago when they were visiting a tea shop up in New Castle County where the owners had a book of condolence for Diana. Poignant:

Elle and Jill were among the several playful guests who also added their "Royal Wedding Guest" names to our list (I learned of the guest name device from my friend Derek - your name starts with Lord or Lady, with one of your grandparent's names for your first name, your first pet's name as your last, and then "of" the street where you grew up). Here are some of alter-egos from Miss C and me and our guests:
- Lady Lucy Midnight of Melody Court (Miss C)
- Lady Florence Spooky of Angelina (yours truly)
- Lord Brian Lindsay of Edgewater Estates
- Lady Mary Midnight of Saratoga
- Lady Concetta Thumper of Maplewood
- Dame (an outlier, here!) Ethel Pepper of Moylan
- Lady Ethel Bayee of Sypherd
- Lord Frederick Duke of Tarlton
- Lady Cynthia Smith Jennett Snowy of Mickley
- Lord & Lady Moxie Van Pierce of Glendora
- Lady Lucy Ayers Buff of The Strand
- Lady Asha Parvati Beanie of Old Spring Lane
- Lord Nicholas Near Feldman of St. Peter's
- Lady Adelaide Beck Cuddles of Shawnee Road

It was fun. Truly - Jenny

P.S. Had to include another wedding song - this time from a few of Miss C's and my favorite Brits:

Some Bits of Royal Whimsy & Hoopla

2011-04-28T06:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - As you may remember from my In Search Of . . . post, we'd been on the lookout for somebody fun to speak at biblion, adding a few juicy historical bits to the royal wedding hoopla in Lewes this coming Friday (I, personally, dear Reader don't feel any deep connection to the royal wedding, but I'm all in when there's hoopla to be had - and throw in a dash of whimsy, and I'm over the moon). Despite the kind efforts of my friends and my own steady footwork, we were getting nowhere with finding a candidate. And while there was part of my little brain that had this sneaking suspicion that it'd all work out in the end, I began working to find other ways for little biblion to contribute to the festivities:

I was leaning on the counter at the Rehoboth Beach post office on Tuesday, watching Miss C fill out her passport application with her dad (they're taking a trip to Venice this summer - how cool is that?), when my friend Peggy (who'd been the most dogged in trying to come up with a speaker for us) sent me this text: "Idea!! Royal wedding fun for biblion!"

My "do tell" reply got a call back, and Peggy proceeded to tell me her awesome idea of having a card for Lewes to sign at biblion that we can then send to Kate & William. How perfect was that? I made a couple of adjustments (made it a "Book of Best Wishes" to sign rather than a big card and am adding a small, hand-lettered card with best wishes from the people of Lewes with a lovely print of an original painting by Lewes artist Jean Doran). We put the book out late yesterday, and we'll keep it up 'till it's filled over the next few days.

But the story doesn't end there! A few hours later that same day, Peg texted again: "Gasp! A possible speaker for you. The mother of an acquaintance - look at today's News Journal local/leisure section. No kidding. The woman is going to be in Lewes for the great event." Sure enough, I went to the News Journal's website, and there she was, replete with video!

Turns out that Margaret's daughter Sarah is a friend of Peggy's from the lawyerly side of her life. The three of us connected on a conference call Wednesday morning to see if this could work with schedules, etc., and then I had a chance to chat with Margaret for a bit. She was lovely (. . . and fun . . . and funny!), and we agreed that a wedding-toast-fueled, Noontime casual conversation in our little shop was just the ticket to round out her royal wedding visit to Lewes.

So come and join us, dear Reader, for a wee bit of Royal Whimsy in the midst of Lewes' Hoopla!

We're gathering at Noon on Friday for a wedding toast and a casual conversation with Margaret Caufield. Margaret was born in Nottinghamshire and moved to the United States in 1967. She has been a serious collector of royal memorabilia for 40-odd years and has a wealth of juicy bits and stories to share about the royals and their history. As you well know, biblion is tiny, so come early to be part of the fun!

And even if you can't make it for Margaret, be sure to sign the Book of Best Wishes, which we'll send as a gift from the people of Lewes to the happy couple!

Vive la Hoopla! - Jen

P.S. And here's a reprise of King Floyd that's perfection for the occasion:

Caroline

2011-04-12T19:41:00.000-07:00

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:

Rare Finds: Or Jenny's excuse to carry anything that strikes her fancy . . .

2011-03-25T16:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - I had a guest stop in yesterday who proclaimed "rare finds!" upon his entry. I laughed and said, "that's my excuse to carry anything that strikes my fancy!" To which he replied, "It's actually a great umbrella," supplying the necessary hand gestures to encompass the assemblage of biblion's contents.

What he didn't know was that our newest addition was sitting in the yet-to-be-opened cartons at his feet. And in the words of Sesame Street, it was a "one of these things is not like the others" kinda item.

You see, dear Reader, at the request of many of our friends, Miss C and I are now the Lewes source for Colonial Candles' Classic Dinner Candles:

It all came about at a Taste the Fruit of the Vine meeting a month or so back. Libby and Sue and Sue all told me how they were at a loss for these awesome dripless, smokeless candles that Wildflowers (who closed their doors in January) used to carry. They joked, saying "You can carry those, Jen!" Which, of course, seemed a little goofy for a bookstore; but, of course, we're not your usual bookstore, a la that "rare finds" gig.

So I looked around the shop in my little mind and realized that we had the perfect spot to tuck them in: high up on some bookshelves that're inaccessible for anything else. Then I told the ladies that I'd be happy to carry them, so that they wouldn't have to drive down to The Wooden Indian in Reho (which still has the best selection for various colors, etc. in the area) or to hit the Internet.

I ordered a few different neutral and Spring-ish colors in the 10" variety, thinkin' they'd be sorta fun for Easter, etc. But the lion's share of what I got were 10" and 12" white and off-white, 'cause we kinda dig the classic here at biblion.

And speaking of classic, I was a little thrown when I was perusing the Colonial Candles website to see a "sock monkey" link; but, yes, the same Midwestern folks who make these awesome candles also sell hand-knit sock monkeys. Go figure.

Rare find? Prob'ly not really, but I don't care, they're just too darn cute:

I mean, look at him: he's already sporting his biblion colors! I'll double-check my friends down at Kids' Ketch (our stellar local toy store, which deserves a blog post of its own), just to make sure that it's not an item they already carry. If not, we're gettin' a couple the next time we order up some candles.

Hurry up Libby, Sue, and Sue! Come get some of these candles so we can get us some monkeys!

And to tide us over 'till the monkeys arrive, let's enjoy Miss C's favorite track from the awesome anthological Los Lobos 2-disc set, Just a Band from East L.A., I Wanna Be Just Like You:

Blissfully burnin' those pretty candles at both ends! - Jenny

Cafe Azafran, featuring Miss C's steak and The Wiggles . . .

2011-03-22T15:37:00.000-07:00

Hey! It’s Miss C. For this blog entry I’ve decided that I will talk about the meal I had at Café Azafran the other day. Café Azafran is a restaurant in Lewes that is very close to our own shop:

I go there pretty often on Sundays when I’m at the shop, and I need lunch (I love them – they are my favorite restaurant in Lewes). The other day my mom and I went there after closing our shop, and I got: 1. the calamari 2. the bistro steak and 3. a couple of scallops from a tapas that this lady (that my mom knows [her name is Grace, per Mom]) gave to me because she couldn’t finish them.

The scallops were good but the cream base made them a little heavy for how nice and warm the day was. The sear on them was good and the texture was not as disgusting as it is possible for scallops to be. Note that if you do get a chance to try the scallops it will be only on a Friday, because I am fairly sure that they are only on the ‘Seafood Friday Special’ menu for the Tapas.

I have loved calamari for as long as I remember, and I am pretty sure that I have tried calamari at every single restaurant that I have ever been to and that has had it on their menu. I must admit that I was fairly disappointed when it came out of the kitchen with a big glob of some kind of sauce. I’ve never liked a single sauce that has ever been served with my calamari and this sauce was sitting on a lot of the pieces, but I gave those to my mom. It was topped with chunks of pepper, which I pushed to the side. I am sure that some people might like to have that on it, but I do not. The squid had a very good texture, because very often calamari is chewy, or stringy, but this one was very good. The breading on the meat was perfect, if I do say so myself. It wasn’t greasy, which you have to watch out for with the breading, and it had just enough salt that I every bight you had a wonderful little kick. The calamari is in the Tapas section of the menu.

I love steak even more than calamari. It is the best thing on the face of the planet. The steak was a bit too thick in taste for an early Spring meal, it seemed like it would fit much better in January. They had a nice sear on the outside, but it was still nice and juicy on the inside, just how I like it. It was served with two brocolinnis which I though were a bit over seasoned. They also had mashed potatoes laced with herbs. Personally I like the sharp taste of plain potatoes, but it was good, though you might not think so when you first saw the visual texture. It had small chunks of potato and seemed crusty, yet not crusty. But once it’s in your mouth it’s creamier than most restaurant-made mashed potatoes.

After all that I was way too full to have anything else, and so I was unable to enjoy a desert. Overall the meal was delicious, but it did seem a little heavy for what a nice day it was outside – but they didn’t have much warning because of all the cold days that had come before it. As for atmosphere, Café Azafran like a café in Venice (at least what I imagine a café in Venice would be like), and the servers are casual, which makes for a friendly ambiance.

I suggest going to Café Azafran if you’re ever in downtown Lewes and looking for a great dining experience.

And now, for your listening pleasure, The Wiggles sing about digestion:

ce.

[P.S. from Mom, who wants to chime in here just a tad, at the risk of diminishing your Wiggles experience: While Miss C and I really like many of the restaurants in Lewes, we love Azafran. The food, as she mentions, is terrific (creative, fresh, well-executed, and accessibly priced); but what makes me truly-ruly love them is their community-mindedness. Azafran's the place that everyone seems to go to connect (can't tell you how many mini-committee meetings I've had there), and you're always bound to run into folks that you love when you open their door (we sat next to three St. Peter's grande dames on Friday night, saw a retired friend from the bishop's office that I hadn't seen in a couple years, and made new friends with a visiting couple from NJ who was at the table next to ours). What a blessing to have a hometown joint like this in our midst! Look for them on the block of Market between Second and Front Streets. - J]

Silly Jenny! Children's books are for kids!

2011-03-20T08:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - Yesterday saw a striking number of adults - young and old'uns alike - buying children's books at biblion.

Now, part of the attraction, I'm sure, is that Miss C intentionally prices our kids' books very accessibly, making sure that when a kid comes in, he or she can walk out with a book without their mom or dad having to think twice about it. And we've seen that scenario play out time and time again. We've also had our own fair share of grandmothers and teachers who've stopped in and cherry-picked our stacks. But yesterday had a different air to it, as many of these folks were just buying the kid's books for themselves.

And I can relate.

You see, dear Reader, I adore children's books. I love the depth of story-telling that one can find - storytelling that so transcends the trite, syrupy fare that so many adults produce for kids, thinking that's all they're up for. And I love the art.

It was my mother who first taught me about the power of children's stories for all ages.

As I mentioned in my Grandma Moses post, theater and the arts were at the center of Mom's life in little Augusta, Kansas (I'll tell you all about mom and her family some other day - there's some juicy bits there that it'd be more fun to linger over when we're not in the midst of talkin' 'bout kids' books). And one of the things that Mom did on a regular basis was readings.

Mom had a spectacular reading voice. Something magic just seemed to happen whenever she read aloud.

And one of the sometimes traditions at the little Methodist church where we settled for most of my growing up years was for Mom to read The Littlest Angel as the sermon on the Sunday before Christmas:

Now the original building that housed the August United Methodist Church was this big (to my little eye), square-ish brick thing down on the corner of 6th and School. Its shape was relevant, 'cause the sanctuary mirrored it as well, and the two-storey seating was arranged in a horse-shoe shape. We always sat upstairs on the southwest side, which turned out to be a perfect vantage point for me to entertain myself with people-watching for the hour or so that we sat in services each week.

This is all germain 'cause I remember the first time I ever watched my Mom read this story and how the faces of my neighbors - all of them, young and old alike - responded to the tale. I remember seeing folks start to choke up when Mom got to the part where the littlest angel adds his own, simple gift to pile of splendid offerings for baby Jesus:

And then how some folks'd just up and cry when the humble gift became the star.

I saw first hand how the books that I thought were for just me and my kind held power and wonder for grown-ups, too.

Years later, in 1989, my mom and dad visited one fall when I lived in New Canaan, Connecticut - we did the obligatory leaf peeping, and we made our way into New York for a day of sight-seeing and shopping. One of our finds that day was a just-published English translation of of Ophelia's Shadow Theatre by Michael Ende (some of you may remember him as the author of The Neverending Story):

Mom and I were initially attracted by Friedrich Hechelmann's stunning illustrations:

But when we pulled it out after dinner at home and Mom set to reading it out loud, Ende's gorgeously-written, tender story left us both verklemmt. It was one of those wonderful, emotionally-connected moments that has stayed with me for life. And every time I pick up the story to read it for my own child or for the kids who escape to the graveyard with me to read during the sermons in the summer at our little church, I feel her there with us.

Some years after that night, I went to find a copy of Ophelia for a friend and learned that the book was out of print. It had never occurred to me that something so wonderful would ever not be printed. But, alas, that is the fate of many books. And I came to find out, once the Internet became a tool for locating titles, that procuring another was possible but would run me considerably more than my little $14.95 volume.

In fact, as I've been researching biblion's books, I've found that out-of-print children's books in particular tend to be valued disproportionally high. And I think there are two reasons for this. First, it's really hard to find children's books in good condition. They simply often get loved to death. And second, the emotional connections that people experience with children's stories - whether due to the emotional impact of the stories themselves or those with whom they've shared them - serve as powerful ties.

So while all of these adults were enjoying our children's books, it was a fun coincidence that I'd been busying myself with children's books the last couple of days as well, culling out the collectible ones from the boxes that Sue (Queen o' Goo Gone) had de-stickered for me. And, man, did I find some doozies.

I'm afraid that I've gone on here for quite long enough without launching into a series of lengthy expositions of my finds, but let me just give you a little taste. Here on this first day of Spring, let's take a quick peek at Kit Williams' book without a title, where the four seasons engage in a surreal battle amidst their changes, while Ambrose the beekeeper unwittingly participates:

Here, mid-story, Ambrose wakes to Summer:

"A thin shaft of sunlight stood absolutely still as it pierced the silent dimness of a cottage bedroom.

"As the earth revolved, the cottage moved and so too the bedroom until the thin white beam lit up the edge of a wooden bed. Slowly, imperceptibly, the world rotated and inch by inch the many contours of the counterpane were illuminated. Tiny specks of dust sparkled in the sunbeam as it gently penetrated the dreams of the sleeping man. Ambrose woke up, yawned and stretched, then, swinging his legs out of bed, he sat up and slipped his feet into a pair of worn carpet slippers. He slowly crossed the room, half knelt on a chair and opened the curtains.

" The first day of Summer flooded into the room all ablaze with glorious colour and heavy with the scent of countless blooms. Ripples of birdsong broke the silence and Ambrose, filling his lungs with the eager breath of the morning, all but burst with excitement. He flung on his clothes and clattered down the stairs."

As must I, dear Reader. Blissfully content as a seller of out-of-print books - Jenny

Blog . . . Redefined

2011-03-14T18:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader - One of the most fun parts of my job is listening to guests crack up at our cards. It never fails to happen every single day. And it inevitably seems to have a certain infectious effect, particularly if the "laugher" is in a sociable frame of mind.

Well, today I was working on ordering cards for the spring holidays (like Passover, Easter, and Mother's Day) as well as re-ordering a few (an awesome "problem" to have after being open less than a month!), and in the course of looking up the model numbers I realized that two of our most popular card lines also sport magnets. And after watching how much folks've enjoyed those cards, I just knew they'd love the magnets, too.

Miss C's favorite card line is called Redefined. They take a word and then come up with a new, clever definition. And while their cards are fun, the magnets are even "funner," as they have an immediate gratification factor that having to open a card doesn't allow. All that funny's just right there for us to giggle over. And for "word nerds" like me and Miss C, the Redefined magnets turned out to be a certain slice of heaven.

So I set about choosing enough to fill the display. The problem is that I kept cracking up - which turned out to be a little distracting to the husband and wife who'd happened into biblion at the time. Luckily, they were good sports about it and allowed me to share some of the choicer bits.

The first I shared with the husband, as he happened to be in closer proximity to me and my laptop and was also an unwitting subject: "testosterone, noun. A hormone that makes it impossible for men to cry, enjoy figure skating or buy the right g__d___ duvet cover."

Then, I stumbled upon the most perfect for my nubile blogger self, and I lost all self control and had to share it with the wife (who subsequently chuckled as I shared my card with her, letting her know that I was keeping a blog for the shop):

Ah, dear Reader, it's a good day when you can be humbled by your own (soon-to-be) merchandise.

Bloggingly yours - Jen

P.S. Two new CDs arrived for the shop today. One is _Satch Plays Fats_, Armstrong's tribute to Waller. It's a treasure, as this sweet duet with Velma Middleton demonstrates:

In Search Of . . .

2011-03-12T06:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - As I told you in Steinbeck's birthday greeting, I loved me some television back in the day. And one of my favorite shows to catch when snuggled up in Dad's big brown chair was In Search Of . . . :

Who could help but love the way that Nimoy and the producers turned up the theatrical volume on the questions that they raised? Ah! The drama! I loved watching it with the lights turned low, amping the creep-factor as much as my wee imagination would allow. The titillation was always worth another 30 minutes of sittin' still, even when those Kansas skies were cornflower blue.

Well, dear Reader, I'm on an "in search of" adventure myself these days. And, frankly, it's turning out to be much more of mystery than I ever anticipated.

It all begins with the Brits. They're planning another wedding, and folks are thinkin' that it'll hold the same fairytale factor that this one did:

Now my little practical, Kansas-girl self has never really "gotten" the hoopla over weddings - and I find that not just my head but my hands and arms, as well, all start a vigorous shake of "no" whenever I think of the money folks pour into these affairs. But our little town of Lewes is planning to celebrate on the wedding day, with businesses offering British- and wedding-related specials and enticements. And, of course, we want to be part of the fun.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned to you, yet, that readings are definitely in the vision for little biblion. The space, though small, has an openness to it that lends itself to such an experience. And I've been visited by a few scholars and poets who've expressed an interest in just that.

So, of course, when I heard about this event, I immediately thought of offering a lecture (or two!) on royal unions - one that was replete, I hoped, with all sorts of juicy, fun bits to chew. And I set off to connect with some of my retired professor buddies to find a lively, former English history professor (or one serious amateur history buff) to pull a fun one together.

Dear Reader, I have failed. Each rabbit hole I go down leads to nothing, nothing at all - just one dead end after another. And I can't believe that this isn't possible - with all of the wonderful waves of retirees that've made there way here to the beach, there just has to be a gifted professor among them, right?!

So I, like Leonard and his producers, am taking to the airways, if digital, to seek my answer.

Dear Reader, can you help me? Do you know a really cool English history professor who might have fun playing with us? Or, better yet, are you one yourself?!

Seeking - Jenny

A Mother's (quick/limted/ain't gonna happen all the live-long day) Indulgence

2011-03-08T19:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - Please let me start by admitting that posts like the one to follow could quickly devolve into one of those oh-dear-heavens-Jenny's-gonna-start-doing-mind-numbing-stuff-like-showing-us-endless-pictures-of-her-kid-or-her-last-trip-to-Poughkeepsie kind of scenarios:

But I promise you that I ain't gonna let it get to that.

You see, Miss C likes to write. She started songwriting in second grade, then she moved on to chapter books a year or so later, and she's currently dedicated to her latest novel. She also discovered that she's kinda fond of poetry over the last two or three years. (Confession: One of my prime motivations for opening biblion is to add to Miss C's literary world - giving her more opportunities to steep her reader/writer self, giving her more platforms and tools for exploring what this part of her is all about.)

I became a major fan of her imagery when she put up a series of "love is like" statements on the fridge with our magnetic poetry in fifth grade. My favorite was "Love is like . . . a moment seeing only beauty."

In addition to her school work, Miss C does a correspondence course for her writing. She digs it, and she wrote some cool stuff for her assignments last semester - I was, once again, a fan. I mean, who could help but find the relations and politics of kindergartners compelling with a passage like this from her story A Cookie?

"The other kids turned to me, sulking next to the Pepto-Bismol pink plastic table, my brown eyes dark with sadness; their faces wore expressions of disgust. You see, we kindergartners had an honor code, sort of, so whenever one of the kindergartners hurt someone else, everyone shunned them, which was exactly what happened to me right then. Everyone turned away and went back to what they were doing before Jena and I had caused the distraction, which was mostly eating up their own plates of cookies. Some looked back and stuck out their tongues, most just walked away with their noses in the air, like the pompous brats they were. I sat down in a plastic chair and put my head in my hands."

And one of my favorites was how she kicked off her poem, The First Snow of Winter. I, in my I-know-I-don't-got-no-objectivity kind of way, loved these images, too; and - particularly as I'm hoping that our most recent snow was our last - I thought you might enjoy reading it here as we step toward Spring together:

The First Snow of Winter
A silvery-white disk,

Cold as the lips of the dead,

Drifts down,

From the graying sky,

To land,

On the outstretched branch,

Of a birch’s skeleton,

Then,

A frozen rain,

Plagues,

The dead land,

The never ending white,

That covers the landscape,

Like a newly cleaned sheet,

Full of the sorrows and woes,

Of Mother Nature herself,

It causes,

All of the tired,

And helpless beings,

Of the world,

To crawl back,

To their lairs,

To the flickering light,

Of a dying fire,

The starched sheets,

Of a four poster bed,

Then come the marks,

The small holes,

That are born into the world,
Destroying the soft perfection,

Of the white landscape,

The next step,

Of its destruction shall be,

The brown slush,

And slick ice,

The woes,

Of many a weary traveler,

Then our nurturing Mother Nature,

Shall restart the cycle,

But never shall it be,

Remotely close,

To the caliber,

Of the first snow,

Of winter.

Copyright 2011, Miss C

Oh! And speaking of 2011 copyrights, our pre-ordered Collapse into Now was waiting inside our mail slot yesterday. This is significant relative to Miss C, 'cause she discovered when I got her some REM two Christmases ago that she kinda loves them - a lot - particularly Bill Berry (sorry, folks, we still miss Bill Berry here at Casa J&C). Anyhow, I'm digging the new tunage so far. I love that we've taken a turn back to rock, and I particularly love that we're back to largely unintelligible lyrics (or intelligible ones that leave us looking quizzical and scratchin' our heads). Enjoy (note: the graphic says it's "Oh My Heart," but it's a live version of "That Someone is You" - happy!)! - Jenny

P.S. Thanks for your indulgence of mine, dear Reader. - J

Miss C on _The Hunger Games_

2011-03-07T18:35:00.000-08:00

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.

Kismet's a beautiful thing (or how I met the town blacksmith and his apprentice)

2011-03-02T05:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - Three weekends back, we'd tidied up enough to take the paper off the door:

And brave folks started making their way in, having fun poking around the books and cards, picking up a few favorites in the process.

The coolest thing that happened, though, was what became of my broken, Chinese-made (I'm pretty sure, since virtually everything's Chinese-made) bookmark display:

See how it has two tiers? Well, the bottom tier spins right around like a dream, but the top one couldn't spin for it's life - we tried WD-40, various positions and angles, and good ol' spit, but nothin' seemed to work. So when I walked by it on Saturday morning, I was thinking, "Man, I need to figure out something to do to fix this poor thing, 'cause I don't think it makes any sense to send it back to China."

And then, later in the day, who does one of our brave visitors turn out to be? William, the blacksmith's apprentice. Kismet:

Of course, it's cool as heck that William just happened to stop in when we needed him most, but it's even cooler that we even live in a town that has it's very own blacksmith (his name is John) with his very own apprentice.

A day later, William brought back the the spinner, with both levels working in that dream-like fashion. And while I still need to stop by R&L next door to see what the beverage of choice is for the local blacksmiths, so that I can thank them properly, I did get a chance to stop by their shop at Third and Chestnut to say hello and snap a few pictures.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, dear Reader, but it wasn't this. The blacksmith's shop was a veritable candy store, with beauty and wonder in every corner, and I couldn't stop snapping pictures (while William knew well enough to chuckle at me, I think John thought I was a mite touched):

John's been at this since 1983, starting the construction of his Preservation Forge building in 1984, moving in in 1990:

He keeps these pictures of the construction process on the wall to remind the older folks who swear they knew the building and played on the stone bench as children that it didn't exist back then:

John's an artist. He'd originally envisioned the upper level of his building as a gallery, filled with his sculpture, but after he sold the one piece he had up for his grand opening, he's stayed steadily busy, selling every other piece before it's complete. John's never had to promote himself or his work, folks from all over just seem to come to him.

But just because there isn't a gallery doesn't mean that there's not art to see. Dear reader, every wall, every nook and crannie of his shop is art. Just look at this wall:

Or these pitch forks arranged above our heads (John's got a mighty big bellows there behind them, too, huh?):

Or these nozzles (who'da ever thought of nozzles being so lovely?):

Absolutely everywhere I turned, there was a delight for the eyes. He's also collected some cool larger pieces over time, like this giant pulley and this bell and this supremely awesome square thingamabob, whatever the heck it is:

But the best was yet to come, dear Reader, for if I wasn't in love with John and William for their artistic prowess already, I soon found that they were both lovers of books. John ambled back into another room and emerged with this rare piece - a seldom-seen early book on early engines:

And William loves him some rare WWII volumes:

It was the end of a long day of hard work for them, so I thought I'd best skedaddle. John and William are currently working on Fish #15 (John said that since he started making fish he doesn't think he's ever gonna be able to make anything else - he just keeps getting order after order for fishes):

If you're interested in Fish #16, stop by when the sign's out, John and William will welcome you in:

Enamored - Jenny

P.S. I'm a fan of the polka band, Brave Combo - an awesome group of guys from Denton, Texas, who play a mean polka, as well as an eclectic blend of Latin and rock tunage. Here's a rougher, live version of one of my faves for William and John:

Happy birthday, John

2011-02-26T06:47:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-20T17:25:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-19T21:33:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-18T05:47:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-12T04:20:00.000-08:00

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 . . . 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

The new bookshelves are here! The new bookshelves are here!

2011-02-05T14:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - With a boatload of thanks to my friends Paul and Dan Somerset (who lovingly schlepped them all, and then some, back from DC), Phil Kless (who helped me do an emergency assembly round for the last batch), and Randy Burton (who's responsible for them looking so mind-bogglingly level and even and being solid as solid can be), I am now ready to celebrate the installation of biblion's bookshelves! Hooray! Let the book sorting begin!:

Oh! And we had our first sale! (I gotta admit that I did a little happy, clappy dance all the way home!) A friend stopped by to consult with me on my fabric choice for our Duncan and Phyfe chairs, and said friend found the perfect card for his/her Valentine! (Being intentionally vague here, 'cause I don't wanna blow his/her Valentine's Day cover.)

My register's not up and running, yet, but it still holds the money just fine:

So, all you Valentines out there: know that you can stop by anytime the lights are on and pick out the perfect one for yours from the rack by the door:

Just knock. I'll be in there behind the paper in the windows, hanging with my lady friends who're helping me sort and shelve all those cases of books. We'll see if we get enough done this week to be able to open - even if it's super-squishy soft!

And let's have a love song to go along with that happy, clappy dance, shall we:

Heck, who else but King's gonna give you "mouth," "spouse," and "house" in a rhyme?

Happily - Jenny

Suzanis and Ikats and Gabbehs, Oh My!

2011-02-03T14:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - You know how folks say everything happens for a reason? Well, I had one of those moments this week.

I need rugs for biblion (we gotta cozy up all that wood floor and lovely yellow slatwall, right?). I was bummed 'cause I missed an auction a couple weekends back, losing out on some lovely, accessibly-priced rugs as a result. I'd been thinking about establishing a relationship with a local rug dealer, but I hadn't gotten around to that, yet, in my list of priorities - mostly 'cause I'd heard that the one I'd known of in Lewes was leaving town, and the shape of my days hadn't afforded a drive over to Reho in the last few weeks.

Well, I was on my way home from the recycling center, and I passed the storefront of the Lewes dealer. It looked like they were clearing things out, so I thought I'd stop in and see if there were any deals to be had.

It didn't take me long to find out that my small town understanding of their status was completely wrong: they were not leaving, just reorganizing their space, as the designer who'd been sharing their storefront was likewise re-organizing his Lewes/DC life.

I quickly connected with Josephine Keir, who'd started her business back when she was pregnant with her now 20-something twins (talk about an inspiration for me and Miss C!). She couldn't have been more lovely. She was gracious through my foot-in-mouth-I-thought-you-were-leaving-and-was-gonna-talk-to-your-competitors-in-Reho spiel, and she was enthusiastic about the idea of marketing her artisanal rugs in biblion.

Rugs like this gorgeous Suzani from Afganistan:

Or this hand-spun wool Kurdish:

Or one of her many folk life rugs, like this koi pond from northern India:

Josephine knows her stuff. She told me all about her rugs, most of which are one-of-a-kind, made with hand-spun wool and silk with the highest-quality vegetable dyes. She's all about educating buyers and connecting rug-lovers with one another.

One of her favorite people is James Opie, an expert in Islamic textiles. She spoke with passion about his Afghan Carpet Project to benefit the people of that war-torn nation:

She offered to place some of her pieces toward the back half of our shop, perhaps even adding some on the walls to bring even more cozy-factor.

So that still left the front of the store to address, which I'd initially thought I'd accomplish through another auction; but Josephine cautioned me about buying antique and used rugs at auctions. She said that while you can find some lovely, quality products, there's also a reasonably good chance that second-hand rugs can be infested - eeewww! - with moth larvae or carpet beetles. And then she told me these gruesome horror stories about folks who'd bought infested rugs and had their whole houseful of textiles eaten up - eeewww, again!

Look at 'em! They're so darn tiny!:

And here's a story from another blogger who met them face to face (or face to rug, as it were), replete with a picture of the devastation they can wreak.

Josephine did say that one way to deal with killing the little buggers is the freeze 'em to death. Sticking the rug in a bag and putting it in a deep freeze for at least 72 hours. It's good to know that there's a possible solution.

However, particularly with the thought of having her gorgeous, tasty pieces lyin' on my floor, I'm gonna opt for her other suggestion and buy something new. My wallet has to have a definitive affect on the outcome - either I'll get a really cool new sisal or woven-vinyl piece from her, or I'll just go and get a cheap, short-sighted-but-affordable-for-new-business-owners Oriental at one of the home center stores - we'll see.

But for today, I'm feeling so grateful that I spaced on that auction and so very grateful that I met Josephine instead!

And I'm thinkin' Miss C and I will be doing our own little happy dance on one of her pretty rugs!

Gratefully - Jenny

Moving In: Phase I

2011-01-25T01:42:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - Well, the last few days have been the start of what I'm sure is gonna be an endless whirlwind of activity.

Here's some of what's been happening behind that butcher paper in the windows . . .

I recycled the paper that'd been covering the "new" old floor (see result center), Rehoboth Home Services moved my very heavy boxes of books from the Sorting Room to the center of the shop (see result left), and we assembled the first of the bookcases that Dan and Paul brought back for us on their way home from work in DC (see result right):

Scott and his fellas from Rehoboth Home Services also brought over the little couch that's been living under a sheet in our kitchen (Miss C and our two kitties are dismayed - don't know how they're gonna function from day to day without it) and a couple of comfy chairs:

I put a couple coats of urethane on the old built-in shelving at the back of the shop, so that the books won't stick to the new semi-gloss paint:

I removed all of the old can track light heads and yellow fluorescent bulbs, replacing them with simple, exposed hallogen lights (dig the new fans that Dave from Seaside Electrical Service put in for us):

And we received our first card order from our friends at Borealis Press up in Blue Hill, Maine:

I know that looking at a pile of cardboard boxes doesn't seem particularly sexy or exciting, dear Reader, but watching them roll in the door got my toes to wigglin', kinda like Blossom Dearie's wont to do:

Happy - Jen

Another trip downtown (a further exploration of Lewes, Delaware)

2011-01-23T13:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - So the next spot I thought I should travel in looking at downtown Lewes is the back hall of my own little building. This mid-19th century beauty houses a few homes upstairs and three stores down. Biblion faces onto Second Street, while its two other shops, Two Friends and the Beach Jetty, face onto Market:

You may remember, dear Reader, that we visited Two Friends once before, when we learned about Joan's high school days working at Britt's in the 50s. But we really didn't take the time to explore the shop's offerings that time.

Two Friends is awesome. To say that it has a friendly sort of vibe is an understatement, as the shop is owned by two friends (Carol, who happened to be there when I stopped in, and Marylou, who happens to live next door to me at home, too) and is run from day to day by two friends, too (the aforementioned Joan, as well as Jean, who was there unpacking new merchandise when I popped in the door).

(Please note, Reader, that I tried to snap pictures of the ladies for you, but most of the women whom I visited that day were not keen on having their photos taken - ah, well.)

The shop is filled with beautiful things to decorate and enhance your domicile. Here they have the last of their Christmas offerings at a happy markdown:

And a few steps further on is a cute display of some of their Valentine's gifts:

The Valentine display offers a great representation of the breadth of what you'll find at Two Friends, from their lovely collection of Mariposa to their clever coffee table books to their two rooms chock full of the latest Vera Bradley styles and colors:

It really is hard to pick a favorite thing amongst it all:

But, if I had to choose, my lover-of-words-and-phrases self would make a bee-line to the clever signs that are scattered around their walls. I adore them:

Like art, words can add a real sense of personality and warmth to a home, and that's what Two Friends is full of: warmth and personality.

My next stop was the Beach Jetty, which is owned by Maryanne. She recently moved into the building, expanding her very successful boutique on Second Street by opening this second location just steps away.

The space is darling, truly. You enter at street level and make your way down the steps to find her lovely array of moderately-priced fashions and accessories (I got my dress for Taste the Fruit of the Vine from her this fall, and it was a huge success for the event and for my wallet):

Maryanne was down at the Second Street shop, so Claude (pronounced like ode with a cl on the front) was kind enough to show me some of their newest offerings, like this cute jacket that'd just come in, with its happy balance of structure and comfort (my friend Nathalie needs that jewel-toned blouse on the front of that rack):

And then she showed me these bags, embellished by local artist Esther Ingram - enchanting:

I'm not much of a handbag sort of gal (as evidenced by the frumpy black one that you saw when we visited Circa Home), dear Reader, but I'm a sucker for good design.

I thanked Claude and headed out to find Maryanne down the street (note: I forgot to take a picture of her second storefront in the moment 'cause it was bitterly cold, and it never occurred to me to removed my gloves and snap a shot - so Miss C and I rolled down our window and caught one this morning - that's Miss C giggling in the rear view mirror during our drive-by):

Maryanne is intentional about keeping the selection at each of her locations distinct - each boutique is a unique shopping experience. Her Second Street location features the beachy staples of her Fresh Produce and Life is Good collections:

She, too, had some great sales going on. My favorites were these charming mittens and hats:

As I said goodbye, I realized that no trip to our building would be complete without a trip to Aquamarine:

(Note: I caught this picture one day, and I just realized that I didn't move far enough out into the street to get the sign in the shot - I'll work on remedying that.)

Aquamarine is owned by Maureen, who first opened it downstairs where the Beach Jetty is today:

Maureen has been hugely successful, filling a need for a slightly higher price point in the Lewes women's fashion scene. The gorgeous clothes and accessories that she finds garner her regular followers among Lewes locals, as well as the DC set and beyond. And now she's moved her boutique to roomier digs in another one of The Beneficent Mr. Ted's buildings at 114 Second Street:

In addition to her gorgeous clothing lines, Maureen also carries some unique jewelry, shoes, and accessories:

This bag reminded me of the one I carried when I lived in Vienna:

Maureen knows how to do most everything in style. Heck, she can even make trash bags look inspired in her window story:

I bid her adieu and headed back down to biblion, where the window washer'd just visited, allowing me to finally get some paper up on my windows so that I can ready the space:

Which, dear Reader, I need to log off to do. Onward! - Jenny

Why God Invented Perfume and Ponytails

2011-01-21T05:38:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - You know you're having way too much fun starting your new business when the furniture assembly folks from Rehoboth Home Services call at 9:30 on a Thursday morning to say they're 15 minutes out, and you realize that you still haven't been able to get to the shower. In fact, you're wearing the same clothes that you put on two days ago:

Thank the stars above for Coco by Chanel and my trusty hair ties. I feel just like Elizabeth I.

Luckily for my friends, I burned my togs while dinner was baking last night. I feel much better now:

And so, before my own mind goes, I'm off to finalize the orders for my last three card lines and sing at Marcia Gibb's funeral. Have a good, clean Friday, Reader. - Jen

Flooring 3.5

2011-01-18T05:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - While it looks like the Meili's still have a fair amount of clean up and touch up work to do on the beautifully-painted baseboards and walls and such (so we're not quite at level 4.0), the floor (as seen from the door 'cause I'm too neurotic to walk on it, yet) looks lovely:

In honor of the "no shoes allowed," we're singing along with the late Kirsty MacColl this morning:

Bestockinged - Jenny

Flooring 3.0 (or, that's an impressive grit you got there, Jenny)

2011-01-17T14:45:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - So when I stopped in at the shop in Friday to check out the floor's progress, they were just getting started with the first sanding of the original floors. Because of the mind-bogglingly ample quantity of glue used to hold down that "vintage" commercial carpeting, it was taking a more impressive grit than I'd ever laid eyes on before to the the worst of it off:

(Please note the pretty new electrical plug in the background, dear Reader - I'm really, really happy 'bout all my new electrical devices that Dave Cannon from Seaside Electrical Service installed for me.)

The glue residue was sticking on everything, even folks' shoes (ick!), but it was, to my delight, coming off:

And while you can definitely see a difference between the vintage wood and the new stuff, Greg and Kristy Meili did a great job of getting the floors to match up as well as I imagine they could:

The floor to the left, that's more red and evenly colored, is the new stuff. Greg and Kristy are thinking that the darker stain color that I've chosen with Mr. Ted will really help to blend them.

I hear that the final sanding is done, the gaps are all filled, the stain is down, and the finish should be sock-walkable by the morning. I'm using all my big-girl self control to wait to see it 'till it's fully ready. But I'm planning on padding over there to snap a picture or two for you first thing, Reader.

In the meantime, I'm keeping myself chilled out with the album that Rocco DeLuca and Burden did with Lanois in '09:

Have a happy evening! - Jen

My Profile Picture: Sharyl Weinshilboum, the Enduring Miss Frost, and the Watergate Trials

2011-01-16T14:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - I've been getting several inquiries about my profile picture. Everyone asks who the little girls are:

The one to the left is a third grade me, giggling up a storm with my best buddy from that year, Sharyl Weinshilboum, on a Girl Scout trip to Joyland in Wichita.

I loved Sharyl. I loved her wit and her creativity and her daring. And we had a blast and a half in third grade, coming up with one wacky project after another, like the intricate miniature animal display that we created for a school-wide fair; or the "Thom Boys Club" that we established in my back yard, replete with a big ol' used tire of my daddy's that we half-buried in the ground to be our club house's toilet (yep, everybody had to do something interesting in the tire in order to be in the "club"); to the extended election campaign that we organized, pitting two of my largest stuffed dogs against each other and getting kids from all the grades at recess with us to vote on which one they thought was "best" (oh, heavens, we talked poor Steven Rudy into being the campaign manager for "Big Snoopy," who was roundly trounced by my man, "Big Greeny"); to the time we both came home from school completely coated in mud after having thrown it at each other for a good, hilarious half hour or so, ruining a ball diamond in the process.

Like I said, we had a blast and a half.

But then came fourth grade and Miss Frost.

Miss Frost had been a fourth grade teacher at Lincoln Elementary since the beginning of time.

Miss Frost had been Sharyl's dad's teacher, so we knew she was really, really old. And while she turned out to be my fourth grade teacher, she wasn't Sharyl's, which was a sad thing for me. You see, Miss Frost started every day off with the Lord's Prayer, and Sharyl's dad made sure that her little Jewish soul didn't have to endure it as he had.

Miss Frost was sweet. She was the kind of teacher who bought a box of Girl Scout cookies from every girl, who never, ever got pissy, and who always came up with simple, enriching things for us to do (I still remember being "Juanita" in our makeshift Spanish class). I loved her, and of course she loved us, too - heck, I still have the note she wrote to me when I graduated from high school - what a dear.

Here's Miss Frost and our little class:

Miss Frost was also the kind of teacher who stopped to answer most any question that we threw at her.

Well, it was 1974, and Gilligan's Island, I Dream of Jeannie, and Mr. Magoo had all been preempted in their after-school timeslots by the Watergate trials. I remember going home, turning on the television with its four stations and finding every single one of them trained on these seemingly deadly dull conversations. So one day I up and asked her what it was all about.

Miss Frost, of course, took the time to explain it in detail to us. She said that cities in the Middle East were built with walls surrounding them, and that there were gates in the city walls for various purposes. She reminded us that the Middle East was very dry and that water was a hot commodity, and she said that there was always a water gate in each city where they brought the water in. And the trials? They, of course, were about a water dispute in the region.

Yep.

I was thrilled, finally knowing what all the fuss was all about. I went home, turned on the television, and immediately made up a song about the whole affair - dancing around the basement, standing up on the cabinets at the back of it to look out with a sense of power and knowing at the big cedar gate in our back yard. It was a happy day in Jennyland.

Sharyl moved away after fourth grade, and I think that I only got to see her once after that. Imagine my delight when I searched for and found her on the facebook thingie - just feels happy to know that she's still there, now with three gorgeous and impish-looking children of her own!

All of these 1974 remembrances got me to thinkin' about the music of the day. I remember that, like my Watergate ditty, I was more than a little fond of the story-telling songs. And these three flew to mind, along with the Grand Funk Railroad number (which sticks with me since I wrote to them in third grade for a class project and got a really cool fan packet back with a dozen 8x10 glossy photographs [I thought that was cool, but it didn't come close to the handwritten note that Keven Miller got back from Billie Jean King]).

I don't need to say anything more about these songs, Reader - they (and their grooming/fashion) speak for themselves.

Nostalgically yours - Jenny

A trip downtown (or why I decided to open a shop on Second Street in Lewes, Delaware)

2011-01-15T08:07:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - As I mentioned in my This is not a dream . . . post back in December, one of the reasons why I chose to open a business in Lewes is because of its thriving little downtown, faithfully supported by locals, who love that the shops are open year-round, and favorite of the off-the-beaten-track brand of resort visitors. And I want to show you a little more of why biblion fits so perfectly in this spot, penning a few posts on some of my neighbors.

I stopped down at the shop to check on the progress of the floor yesterday (I'll give you a full, heapin' helpin' of that in a later post). And while the Beneficent Mr. Ted was making his way back from Lowes with a floor stain sample card, I took the opportunity to wander down Second Street a bit.

I made my way just across the street to one of the little shops on the ground floor of the Hotel Rodney, Circa Home. This unique home accessory shop is owned by my friends John and Bill, the second of whom was there to greet me warmly:

Circa Home is a tiny little shop, but there's much to be seduced by if you take the time to linger in it a bit:

(Side note: See that frumpy black handbag and pile of files on their beautiful chair? That's mine. Bill and John don't sell frumpy black handbags. Heck, Bill and John don't sell frumpy anything.)

John and Bill have been in business here in Lewes for about a decade, where they've become one of the mainstays of a Lewes shopping experience. In fact, it's worth noting that Circa Home is the reason why little Lewes swarmed with Secret Service agents a few years back, when First Lady Laura Bush made a stop in town to visit John and Bill's shop at the behest of one of her friends. They then crossed the street for lunch at Agave, the best Mexican food at the beach with a stellar tequila bar (boasting over 100 varieties to try).

Bill and John are both beautiful men, and their shop reflects this. It's gorgeously appointed and arranged, with a curated collection of found objects that are assembled in a loving and thoughtful manner, such to inspire. Visiting Circa Home is a sensory delight. They are also excellent buyers, resulting in very fair pricing for their antiques and artful finds.

I'd stopped in the day before and John showed me these gorgeous bookends (they're a tiny bit out of my girl-starting-a-new-business price range, but I still enjoyed imagining them on one of my future client's bookshelves):

I fell seriously in love with this little English dessert set:

And as the chairwoman of a local art show, I was also drawn to this primitively-painted box:

Bill gave me an equally warm goodbye (note the lamp shade to his right - that's a lamp shade "slip cover" that they offer - it's a lovely and affordable way to resuscitate a failing shade or blend one with decor), sending me on my way to their next door neighbor, Sally, at The Cottage:

Sally was on the phone with her contractor when I entered (she's opening an additional shop out on King's Highway called The Old Screen Door, where she'll be selling her sought-after "shabby chic" furniture items). See her back in the right corner?:

So I puttered around a bit while she finished up.

Sally's shop has mix of vintage, one-of-a-kind items, like these jaunty hats:

Or this Baptismal gown:

Blended with unique contemporary items, like these darling artichoke tea lights:

Or this cute, fish-shaped serving dish:

She also has some seriously fun and funky jewelry to offer, and, much to the delight of all of the local Soap Fairy fans, she carries a complete corner of Soap Fairy products as well.

She's been in Lewes now for three years, loving every minute of it. She was nothing but encouraging and enthusiastic about biblion, freely offering a wealthy of newly-in-business wisdom. I'm certain that I'll be back to visit her again in the wintry days ahead:

She waved goodbye, and I made my way back to biblion, where I was thrilled to see that Teresa and her brother from Quillen Signs had already stopped by to put up the window signs:

I loved the red prior to this, but now I'm loving it even more - it glows happily, catching the eye from down the street. Teresa's advised that I repeat it on the store's side sign (just visible in the upper right hand corner) - I'm gonna follow her advice, perhaps considering a switch over to the three-dimensional lettering that Thistles had after we get established.

While I'd love to turn right around and continue our virtual tour, dear Reader, I need to get back to work. Heck, I gotta ensure that biblion lives up to the wonderful standards that her Second Street neighbors have set, right?

Onward! - Jen

Flooring 2.0

2011-01-12T08:10:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - As this little 19th century nail and the pile o' wood it resides on will attest, the aforementioned layers of flooring at the back of the shop are gone:

The layers included a few shelves, the odd piece of particle board or two, and these signs, apparently from the dissolution of a restaurant in the building - Britt's, perhaps?:

What's in their place are a whole lotta exposed floor joists. Some older and marred by fire damage:

And some that looked a little newer, probably replaced when the carpet was put in a couple decades back:

The next step is to get the sub-floor up to a level that'll allow the new oak to match up as well as it can to the existing hardwood.

Everybody's over working on that as we speak, and I'm sitting at home with the snow/ice-bound Miss C (who's currently snoozing on the bookshop's couch that's living in our kitchen), making a miscellany of phone calls while Helen Humes, my favorite jazz and blues singer, blasts in between:

Doggonit, we could use a spot like that here at the beach, Reader - and more performers, like Helen, who have that brand of unequivocally happy energy . . . happy Wednesday to you! - Jen

Data! Data! Who's got the Data?!: A cautionary tale of woe and redemption

2011-01-11T18:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader . . . oh, Dear Reader - My day started off wee bit shaky. (This one's kinda longish, so feel welcome to just skip through all of the narrative to the pretty pictures and the tuneful punctuation.)

You see, I got up a little later than usual - just in time to get Miss C up at 6:00 a.m. to get ready for school. I padded around downstairs for a bit and then went up to check on email, etc. in the office (I normally get the newspaper that I edit back from my designer, the multi-talented Danny Schweers, late Monday/early Tuesday to send out to my proofreaders, so I was hoping that I might have a proof to review). I, as is my practice, clicked on Outlook (where I get email for my newspaper and the art show that I chair), Internet Explorer (where I get personal email), and Firefox (where I'm keeping my biblion accounts for now). But rather than the programs popping up, I got a seemingly endless (I say "seemingless" because Miss C had a serious debate in school today about the nature of eternity) process indicator - I watched the Weather on the 8s, I watched the weather on WBOC, and still no applications. So I clicked Restart.

That seemed to be taking it's own sweet time, too, so I made my way back downstairs to start some Irish oatmeal.

When I came back upstairs to check on Miss C and my anticipated proof, I did not find my usual log in screen. No. I did not find the pretty green leaf that serves as my wallpaper. No. I found a lovely, clean desktop - just like when the computer was brand new . . . just like when the computer was brand new . . . aaaahhh!

There was NOTHING on my computer. None of my editing programs, none of my years of documents from the newspaper and art show (which I'm due to be launching next week), none of the documents that I've created for the comedy event at Miss C's school (which are currently in the editing process) or the Taste the Fruit of the Vine, none of my personal writing, none of my contacts, and nothing of my work for biblion. NOTHING.

When I clicked on My Documents, it said, in rather taciturn fashion, "This folder is empty."

As you can imagine, dear Reader, this did not seem like an exactly helpful turn of events at this point, particularly since I hadn't backed up all of my files in over a year.

I spazed out a little, tiny bit, trying (unsuccessfully) to call my friend Anne in Connecticut at 6:30 a.m. and wailing out "Nooooo" in such a way that my daughter was terrified to come downstairs, thinking that I'd inadvertently killed one of our cats.

When I finally got her down the stairs, I felt much better after I'd articulated the whole mess out loud, telling her the sequence of events and reminding both of us that we were still alive, we were still warm and protected in our home, and we'd work through this.

Her response? [insert adultified inflection here] "Well, Mommy, at least you learned an important lesson."

That, dear Reader, is when it all just became kinda fun and funny.

I was trying to think of some other adult that I could call to ventilate a bit at an insane hour, and I immediately thought of my friend Sheila (she's a mom, too, so I knew she'd be up on a school day, and she has an humungous amount of precious data, too, as she's working on her PhD and does a lot of consulting and volunteer work as well, so I knew she'd be able to relate to my angst).

Sheila was a huge help, as I'd been thinking up to that point that my only option for data retrieval was Staples. But Sheila'd used the local fellas at AMERITechnologies with great results, so my squeaky clean computer and I headed out to get there when they opened at 9:00.

Tim was initially a little dubious about the depth of recovery when I told him about getting the "clean slate" sort of desktop.

He said, "You must have hit F11 or something. I'll take a look, but I can't promise that I'll find anything - maybe there'll be some of it that I can save."

Tim plugged my CPU into his keyboard, etc. and booted her up.

And while I was waiting, Dixie (formally Dixiebelle), AMERITechnologies resident therapy dog (or so I've officially dubbed her) ran in to keep me company:

But, as the system came to life, rather than the erroneous desktop, my happy log in screen with the orange Gerber daisy popped up. Oh, heavens . . . what was my password? I was so overwhelmed with gratitude and anticipation that I couldn't remember for sure what my fingers normally typed.

But then I did and my desktop popped up - MY desktop with all of my data just sitting there on it like nothin' had ever happened (well, almost - it was jumbled up a bit - but it was all there!).

"Let's try restarting it a few times to make sure it's completely fine," suggested Tim. Panic hit my control-issue-laden brain . . . NO! Let's not! "Can we back it up?" I asked. I told Mr. Tim about the flash drive that I'd tried to use (what a pain!) before, and he said that's not near big enough for all of this data.

"What you need is an external hard drive." "Do you have one?" I asked. "Can I just get one now and back it up before we shut it down again?"

Tim double-checked to make sure that everything was in good working order, and he said "yes"! He had a model available with a terabyte of space (enough to back up my computer, Miss C's computer, and several of our friends' as well) that was on sale for just $99.99:

And it had this really pretty design on it to boot:

Setting up the backup was super easy - it took a few hours to run, but eventually all of my data was copied over. Safely duplicated.

Now I'm back at home, having a treat of a mid-week glass of Malbec, telling you my cautionary tale, dear Reader. As Miss C said, I learned an important lesson: if you do anything with your computer(s) that you value, invest in a reliable way to back them up and develop the discipline to do it.

I needed a little more positive energy in the wake of it all, so following my interchange with Scale Worm, I popped in one of the discs from the Magnetic Fields _69 Love Songs_ collection, hearing one of my all-time favorite love songs, "A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off":

Whoa, Nellie! - Jenny

Flooring 101

2011-01-08T09:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - The floor has officially become an archeological dig, revealing itself stratum upon stratum.

I'm just kickin' back, letting the Beneficent Mr. Ted explore the layers of his building with Danny (Contractor to the Stars) Wilson and figuring that it'll become apparent what we're supposed to do next. (It's worth remembering, dear Reader, that this space hasn't been empty in decades - so this really is a golden opportunity to find out what's going on under there.)

Just for fun ('cause we take fun where we can get it here at Casa J&C), here're some of those layers for your consideration . . .

This, my friend, is the effect that tar paper has when it sits on hard wood for a few decades:

And this is what it looks like when damage to the floor is patched with old shelves and other scraps o' wood:

And here's a tiny spot of rot that's probably representative of what those patches replaced:

Now, my family's had a run of mathematical geniuses (really, truly . . . I know it seems hard to believe with the limits of my brain . . .), so I'm gonna trust in the calculus of the universe here to let us know if it makes sense to proceed with doing something more lasting, like attempting to infill and refinish the hardwood (or replacing it with that spiffy barn wood that I found) vs. going with one of those floating floors (have you walked on one of these before? [I did for the first time yesterday - does have a certain "floaty" kinda feel]). Here's a sample of a Shaw product that I borrowed from the folks at Air Base Carpet Mart:

I feel massively grateful to be in such a gorgeous 19th century building (it really is true: they don't build them like this any more), and I'm equally grateful to have such a great team of folks to work with in sorting all of this out. I'll let you know what comes next. In the meantime, here's what we're listening to today (thanks to Mr. Boxed Set):

Happy snowy Saturday, Reader! - Jen

A Slatwall Playlist

2011-01-05T06:08:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - Several of my visitors over the weekend asked about what was playing on my stereo, and I just realized that I forgot to post my playlist for you - sorry! So, here's a belated listing of some of the accompaniments from my slatwall adventure.

First, there was Nellie McKay's Doris Day tribute album, Normal as Blueberry Pie:

If you're not already familiar with McKay's talent and wit, perhaps you'll enjoy her little ditty 'bout feminism (I heard it for the first time during this interview with Terry Gross:

I also played a little blues, putting on one of my favorite albums by Sean Costello, Moanin' for Molasses. Costello was a phenom, getting his break on one of my other favorite albums, Susan Tedeschi's Just Won't Burn. But after his death of an accidental drug overdose in 2008 (interesting to note that he was born and died the same years as Heath Ledger whose life ended similarly tragically), Sean's family revealed that this gentle soul had suffered from bipolar disorder. They've since established a memorial fund for bipolar research. Here he is doing one of his originals, Hard Luck Woman:

I also dismayed some of the passersby with one of my favorite albums from The Clash (but, man-o-man, Joe and the boys sure did move the cutting-in process along), Give 'Em Enough Rope. Here they are singing Stay Free and Julie's Been Working for the Drug Squad (my favorite track from the album):

I mellowed it out a bit with a little Scottish invasion, playing Camera Obscura's album, Let's Get Out of this Country. Here's a sublime number from that one:

And then I shifted gears entirely to Rosanne Cash's gorgeous album, The List, which includes covers of a few of the top 100 American songs that her dad compiled for her on the day of her high school graduation. A few of the songs are collaborations - this one, Sea of Heartache, with Bruce Springsteen:

Finally, I rounded out the day with the amazing Bill Charlap Trio's Live at the Village Vanguard. Here they are at the Vanguard playing a totally mind-blowing version of In the Still of the Night - it's starts out kinda moody and mysterious, but it really gets kicking round 1:45, where his hands start to remind me of Art Tatum:

As you can guess from the number of hours that I put in on that slatwall and the pile o' CDs on the floor, there's a whole lotta more music to hear, but we'll just have to save that for another day - or stop in and visit us at biblion - you'll never know what'll be playing! - Jenny

P.S. And here's a shot from Day Four. The yellow's making me feel mighty happy - and the ceiling . . . just look at that gorgeous ceiling!

Days Two and Three: A Shotgun Retrospective & A Fun Little Story

2011-01-04T04:59:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - Well, we're making progress (it sure does help when it's not just one girl climbing around on a ladder). Here're the basics:

1. I skipped out on Sunday's devotions, as I had to get the second slatwall done in time to run up to get Miss C from her NYC home. See the faithful as they begin to trickle out across the street, with a few trickling over to chat mit moi:

2. My paint brush ran across my second (in as many days) sleepy stink bug nestled all cozy in his/her slatwall bed:

There are now two distinctive yellow stink bugs wandering around Lewes:

3. Adel and his crew from Colorwise & More showed up mid-morning on Monday (a.k.a. Day Three) to start prepping the walls and woodwork:

4. Danny Wilson, Contractor to the Stars, and his trusty helper Charlie began removing the decades-old carpeting first thing:

They found a-lot-more-decades-old wood underneath the front half; and then the back half held a curiously layered and patched mass of tar paper, luon plywood, ceramic, and particle board on top of a mix of hard and soft woods:

The reality of this conglomeration may mean that I have to ditch the idea of doing hardwood altogether, having to resort to an engineered product. I'm rolling with it - along with Danny and the Beneficent Mr. Ted, figuring out what makes the most practical sense to do at this point (my Buddhist practices sure do come in handy here, as I can't stay too attached to any of my previous ideas in the face of reality - surrender, dear Reader - surrender . . .).

5. The coolest part about the mystery floor is the story that it told. See how some of the boards match in with the oak up front (running horizontally across the storefront) and how there're some pine boards running perpendicular to them?

What we figured out is that the pine boards are underneath the spot where the soda fountain sat back in the day. And when I stopped over at my friendly next door neighbor shop, Two Friends, to check in with the ladies about our construction disruption (a la there're suddenly a whole lotta men in our otherwise all-female suite of shops), Joan and I got to talking about the floor.

It turned out that Joan (maiden name Russell) had worked as a soda jerk and waitress at the soda shop back in the day.

Joan remembered that the soda shop was called Britt's, owned by Hazel Brittingham's husband (Hazel is one of Lewes' leading historians [which is saying something when you're the "first town in the first state"] - you can find some of the fruits of her research here on the Lewes Historical Society's website). Joan worked at Britt's in 1956 and 1957, when she graduated from Lewes High School. "Probably for 30 cents an hour," she chuckled.

The soda shop was THE hangout for high school kids. Joan recalled, "It's where everybody went to get burgers and fries."

So we're all thinking that the floor under the counter was either replaced with those pine boards or perhaps the cheaper wood was used under some sort of tiling.

Either way, it's fun to know that there's so much happy energy dwelling under our feet in the new biblion, where we're moving onward to Day Four! - Jen

Day One: That's a whole lotta yellow, Jenny . . .

2011-01-01T15:13:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - I unceremoniously stopped by my beneficent landlord Ted's inn to pick up my key first thing this morning. And then I popped over to the store to start in on getting it ready for the contractor on Monday morning.

Allyn and Beth left the shop in happy shape:

They even kindly left their super-cool open and closed signs for us:

Now some of you may be wondering, what're all those stripes on the walls? That, my dear Reader, is the slatwall - a whole lotta slatwall - that fills two sides of the shop. Allyn invested in it a a couple years into his business, recognizing that it'd give his gallery way more flexibility for display (and save he and Beth hours of patching holes in the walls).

The slatwall has little half inch groves running the length of it - hence the stripes:

I'm inclined to keep the slatwall because it:

offers me the same flexibility for hanging a variety of art as it did at the gallery;
provides an alternate display option for my cards;
is a benefit for most any retail store that'd be in the space; and
would be a major endeavor to remove and repair the walls.

However, I'm not really wild about those stripes. And since my contractor says that we can't spray the walls (concerns about the trim, yadda, yadda, yadda) and since his painters are starting Monday, I decided that I'd spend my first couple of days in the space cutting in the slatwall (yippee [insert mildly sarcastic tone here]!):

I chose a warm, medium-toned yellow with the help of Beth and Allyn and some of their artists. And I really, really love the shade - well, I really, really loved it 'till I turned on the bright fluorescent track lights in the center of the store - then the whole place just glowed (and not in the warm and cozy way that I'm looking for). I'm planning on switching the fluorescents over to a whiter hallogen and decreasing their number significantly, so I think we'll be okay, especially once we fill the space. But by the end of the day I was sorta dizzy with all that yellow, Reader.

Luckily, I had a couple of other tasks to give myself a yellow break. I wanted to put up some "coming soon" signs, but I didn't want to do anything too major 'till I was out of the way of the painters - so I did these little ones around the base of the windows:

They attracted a lot of attention throughout the day - that and the music I had playing through the open door (it was a gorgeous day here, so it gave me a great excuse to be hospitable to all of the passersby):

I also grabbed my trusty razor blade and started to clean the signage off the windows in an effort to avoid any confusion. Thistles' logo was lovely (and part of me felt sad taking it down), but that big square of stick-um took a good while to peel off (notice the lady at Kings - I gave her a good 30 minutes of entertainment):

With all of that cutting and scraping, my little shoulders hurt, Reader. I'm gonna go get myself some ibuprofen and something to wash it down, so that I'm ready to get up and get that second wall done tomorrow. I'll keep you posted on our progress. - Jen

Cards! Cards!

2010-12-31T11:59:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - One of the guiding principles that I've been using when choosing card lines (and everything else, for that matter) is making sure that they fit the description of "rare find" - meaning that they're not already carried in town - and, in many cases, in Delaware at all.

To that end, I've been finding individual designers and little card workshops (like Borealis) around the country.

One of my favorite finds, both for the quality and beauty of his cards, as well as for his like-minded philosophy, is Jonathan Wright of Los Angeles:

Here's a little note from his website re. his take on stationery:
"Some say that stationery has gone out of style, I beg to differ. In this world of increasingly rapid-fire and impersonal communications, receiving a tangible hand-written note or inspired invitation has become even more meaningful. If fine social stationery has become a luxury, I say 'indulge,' and I invite you to do so with Jonathan Wright and Company."

And Mr. Wrights cards do have a singularly luscious and indulgent quality to them, finding a rare balance between beauty and whimsy that results in a sort of soul-feeding that I just love.

For instance, take the simplicity of this birthday greeting:

Or this appropriately staid sympathy card:

And I love his beach collection, like these boxed cards for correspondence:

But probably my absolute favorite creations are his vintage stamp cards. He encloses the vintage stamps in acetate, attaches them to the cards with a grommet, and then includes a little note about their history on the back of the card. These are a little more pricey - but just look what you're getting:

What philatelist or vintage art lover wouldn't be tickled to receive such a unique card?

Finally, what drew me to Mr. Wright in the first place was his collection of book plates. His "Matey" design speaks for itself:

Connect all of this to his thoughtful and comprehensive care for nature (find his environmental statement in the About Us portion of his website), and you have yourself a winning designer - perfectly suited to little Lewes, Delaware. Looking forward to perusing his cards with you in person! - Jen

Christmas Gift Redux: Grandma Moses, Otto Kallir, and my mom

2010-12-30T09:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - A couple months back I tripped across the newly-minted Milford Public Library on one of my little buying adventures. I was looking for a ladies room, they were looking mighty clean, and so I stopped in.

Imagine my delight when the greeter in the lobby had a little sign announcing that their book sale was beginning the next Monday. Of course, I made my way back, having a blast filling bag after bag of great books - so many, in fact, that the ladies who ran the show began to get curious. They took splendid care of me - watching over my amassing books, oooing and ahhing over my finds, and finally helping me get them all out to my car. The woman who helped me cart the books finally got up the nerve to ask what I was up to, so I told her about biblion. She was tickled as all getout, and quickly told me their sale schedule for the year.

The next sale was on December 1. It offered many of their nicer books, which were priced accordingly. In fact, many were priced such that it made no sense for me to buy them (there's no way that I could sell them at any sort of margin that'd let me pay the rent). One of them was this volume on Grandma Moses by Otto Kallir:

For those of you who've been paying attention, you'll recognize that it's sitting on the carpet in my office, and you'll be wondering, "But, Jen, if this book was too pricey, what's it doin' coming home with you?"

This book, dear Reader, is my Christmas present to me. I overpaid for it - as is the case with many Christmas presents - but I didn't think twice (or even one and a half times) before snatching it up from the Milford ladies.

You see, I have a thing for Grandma Moses that comes by way of my mother, Judy:

Judy had a knack for seeing people for who they are and for celebrating the best in them - in both grand and subtle ways. Take Mary and Dalene, for instance (here they all are playing dress-up one Christmas):

Mary and Dalene were the unique and intelligent sort of women who did not fit neatly into the box of feminine expectations in my little hometown in Kansas (Mary, in fact, weathered a horribly bigoted incident near the end of her time there that near-nigh did her in - but she, with her indomitable nature and sense of humor, prevailed). My mother, of course, loved them fully - gently turning her back to the people who eschewed them and gaining deep friendships in return that enriched her 'till the end of her days.

Judy also had a particularly keen ability to see children as people, too - appreciating the full "peopleness" of each one. Her ability here was evidenced in her community work, having lead the town's children's theater and having started the arts council with a special attention for children's offerings (she had volumes of photo albums with pictures of her plays and such - volumes which I'd love to see again [alas, see previous post re. well-meaning sister-in-law]). She was loved by my friends, as she turned the warmth of this ability on them, too - and, blessedly, she was not one of those parents who inexplicably withheld this attention from her own kids.

So it was, that one Christmas when I was a girl, I received this paperback volume from my mom:

It's a much smaller, abridged version of my Milford find, and it evidences the years of living in my parents' smoking household and my hours of perusal, but I still keep it in a special spot on my bookshelf.

Why? Two reasons. When mom gave it to me she said that she'd sought it out because the detail in my drawings (I was a prolific illustrator at that time) reminded her of Moses'. That was cool, but that wasn't what really touched me. I was so moved that I'd been noticed - that I'd been seen (not always easy with the kind of attention that my brothers required). Something about my mother's gift made me feel that she knew and valued me.

To my little hands, the 9"x11" book seemed vast - seemed special. I knew I'd received something that had meaning and worth.

But little did I know at the time what worth and depth there was to the book. When I started to wend my way through Kallir's full volume, I was amazed.

The plates were stunning:

The photographs enlightening:

And her story so lovingly assembled, down to the gilt tables of contents for each of the book's four sections:

At the end there was even a catalog of her every work:

With that kind of love and attention, I just knew that there had to be a story behind the author, Otto Kallir:

And, thanks to the wonders of Google, I found out that I was right.

Kallir was an Austrian who fled the Nazis and made his way to New York City in the late 30s. He quickly became a leading figure in the New York and American art scenes, founding Galerie St. Etienne on 57th Street and becoming key to the recovery of looted art from World War II. You can read an essay about him from their 55th anniversary. (You can also read about the sale that he was obliged to make to Hitler [from which he did not profit] back in the day here on the Looted Art website.)

St. Etienne was where Grandma Moses' work first gained national and international exposure, via the exhibition "What a Farmwife Painted" in 1940, and they went on to become her exclusive representatives. You can read more about their relationship in Otto's daughter Jane's essay from the Moses anniversary exhibition early this year.

The second reason why I've so treasured the Grandma Moses volume is something that Moses, Kallir, and my mother have in common: rebirth and reinvention. Moses and Kallir both had remarkable transformations - his rather phoenix-like, having had to abandon a successful career in Europe at the age of 45 and start over from scratch in America - her's more like a butterfly, having lived in a very different state of being for most of her days, only to be revealed in a startling new twilight.

Even as a girl, I latched on to this aspect of her story - of the fact that it's never too late for something extraordinary to manifest in our lives. And as I watched my mother navigate the challenges of her life with grace and joy - forever seeming to be able to make something beautiful out of it all, no matter what - I, too, believed that it was possible for my life to eventually amount to something positive, even if it didn't seem grand or important or relevant at the time. All it takes, I realized, is to just be fully myself (which I've since realized isn't always as easy as it sounds).

So my bookshelf has a new occupant this year, and my heart has a renewed appreciation for life's ultimate goodness and possibility - quite fitting as Miss C and I are set to embark on the next leg of our new adventure as the new year chimes in. Blessings to you and yours as you watch the clock tick down to 2011! - Jen

P.S. If you love a great story, you'll love this charming NY Times one about Jane Kallir's second marriage to her first husband.

Farewell to our Thistles friends

2010-12-27T04:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - Well, it's official. Beth and Allyn (and Ellen, too!) have moved on to greener and non-hours-posting pastures.

My dear friend Anne from Connecticut and I stopped in for Beth's last few minutes open on Christmas Eve to say so long:

We looked at art, we chatted about window washers, and we admired Beth's angel pin (given to her by a student years ago):

Allyn now has his weekends back, Ellen's looking forward to traveling, and Beth's opening her arms and heart wide to see what the universe brings to her next.

What I've been struck by as folks have found out that biblion books is moving into their space is how beloved they all are and how deeply missed they'll be - not just as an art shop, but as people, as friends. Folks have come up to me again and again and mentioned spontaneously how wonderfully kind the people of Thistles have been.

What a perfect pattern of beauty that Miss C and I will have to follow and live into.

Thank you, Thistles. Truly - Jen

Thistles going out of business SALE!

2010-12-22T03:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - You have only three days left to visit Thistles at 205 Second Street (644.2323), as Allyn and Beth prepare to pull the curtain on a decade of being Lewes' premiere art shop.

They're both ready to shift gears from the retail lifestyle, and they and some of their artists are offering some generous discounts as they make the transition.

Stop in today - buy a piece of original fine art or fine craftwork, and tell them thanks for being such an asset to Second Street and Lewes! - Jen

Cards!

2010-12-20T07:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - I'm really (really) excited about the card lines that we're planning to carry at biblion. We've worked hard to build an assemblage of beautiful, thoughtful, quirky, cute, and funny ones. And I decided I'd give you a little foretaste, telling you about some of the designers that we've found in a series of posts.

The first thing that you need to know is that I come from a long line of card-reservers*. My mother was one (she was so organized about it all that her box of spare cards was organized by her very own file of occasions). And her mother was one, too - though her cards were always kept in a box:

A Komfort Kings box (please read their tag line and please, please tell me that you'll talk me off the wall if I ever decide to pursue a marketing slogan using alternate spellings):

When I was a little girl I would spend hours sifting through Grandma's and mom's card boxes. I loved them. Who could resist the charming graphics, the sprinkles of glitter, the witty sayings:

I also had a major thing for the button tin that my mom kept, too - it had three or four generations of buttons in it - I, again, would play with them for hours - sorting, anthropomorphizing, etc., etc.. I loved her cards, and I loved those buttons. So you can understand, Reader, how sad I was when I learned that all of my mom's treasures that I'd played with as a girl - her buttons, her cards, her jewelry boxes full of generations of pieces, and her closet of very uniquely-Judy (that was her name) clothing all disappeared one day when my mom's cleaning lady and my brother's wife decided to clear out her stuff from the house to make things easier on my dad. Just one of those things I had to mourn for an instant and then release (kinda like the spring morning of my childhood when I woke to find that my treasured collection of panoramic sugar Easter eggs had all dissolved on my dresser overnight, stolen by the the warmed and moistened Kansas breeze that drifted through our open windows).

I, too, have my own collection. I'm more like my grandmother, just keeping them all piled together in a bag and box. But I know each one by heart.

So when it came time to go looking for card lines for biblion, the first place I went to search was my own box, turning over each card to find its maker and then heading to my computer to find them.

I particularly love the one in the middle, from a line made in Bath, England, that I found and procured many years ago. I quickly found that they were no longer in business, but I really wanted to carry cards with quotes from authors and thinkers and the like, so I set out on a Google search.

What I found was a little outfit up in Blue Hill, Maine, called Borealis Press (if you click on the Buying Borealis tab at the top of their website, you can see some of the cards)

I fell in love with them instantly - and not just 'cause they have cool, well-priced cards.

They're up in the middle of nearly nowhere (not unlike us):

And they're the ultimate small-town-small-shop endeavor. Settled in this little coastal town, they're working with a very sane and simple business model, sustainably creating sustainable products. Very happy.

Here's where they live and work:

They're exactly the kind of people that, just by being themselves, make me feel good about carrying their products.

And, as providence would have it, once I'd discovered them along this path, I just kept finding more and more folks of the same ilk. More for later - Jen

*Card-reservers are those folks who buy cards that they like and keep them in reserve for just the right occasion.

This is not a dream . . . at least not in the usual sense

2010-12-19T05:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - One of the most typical responses that I receive when someone hears that I'm opening a bookstore is, "Oh! That must've been a dream of yours for a long time!"

The truth is, it wasn't. Not at all.

I never thought of it 'till I was in the midst of a meditation. I was just sitting there, minding my own mindful business, when the clearest vision just popped into my head: used bookstore on Second Street in Lewes (I know the whole meditation thang may sound mildly insane, but just roll with me on this one, Reader).

And I knew instantly that the idea was perfect. Perfect for Lewes 'cause we lost our only general bookstore this year (it had really shifted to become more cafe-oriented, anyhow - the other bookstore in town is Seekers, which offers a really cool mix of books, cards, and gifts for spiritually-minded folks of all faiths). Perfect for the Delaware beaches 'cause the only other general used bookstore around here isn't open very often (John Milton & Co. in Milton is a super store, with tens of thousands of volumes - the owner is a college professor, though, so he's only able to have the shop open on Saturdays - there's also a 7-days a week shop down in Fenwick Island that only carries novels, called A Novel Idea). And perfect because Lewes has a charming, viable downtown - frequented by locals and tourists throughout the year.

It was also perfect for me and Miss C, since it allows us to enjoy doing this together (as opposed to me being away from home working and her being with stuck with a sitter when she's not in school), while simultaneously letting me continue my work as a writer and editor and also working with the special events that I love to help, like St. Peter's Art Show, Comedy at the Beach, and Taste the Fruit of the Vine.

I know it's not a proven path to millionaire acres, but we have a very simple lifestyle, and I felt confident that the shop'd provide us with what we need.

So I had this idea, right? But I had no idea how or when it was going to be effected. So I kept up my meditating and praying and just stayed open to where I'd be led. I knew that I'd need inventory, so I started buying books. Knowing that our life needed to be more nuclear and walkable for this to really work well, I starting putting feelers out for making the move to Lewes. And knowing that I'd need a storefront, I started to network, letting property owners know what I was looking for.

Early in the fall, the housing piece of the puzzle fell into place, thanks to my friends Libby and Tom. And then, shortly thereafter, I found out that the shop that I'd secretly determined would be the best for what I had in mind was coming available at the beginning of the year.

Since then, in an almost uncanny fashion, every other aspect of the shop has just effortlessly fallen into place. I couldn't have made it happen any better if I'd actually planned it.

It's been an adventure, indeed - and now Miss C and I are craning our necks a bit, happily anticipating what's coming around the next bend. I'll keep you posted! - Jen

A (brief) object lesson . . .

2010-12-18T10:09:00.000-08:00

. . . in why I haven't posted in the last few days, Dear Reader:

The Sorting Room has run amok, and I'm running amok in it. - Jen

Happy holiday roadblocks

2010-12-11T08:58:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - My daughter, Miss C, and I decided that today's our day to decorate for the holidays. Now she's been sleeping in, so I've been taking advantage of the quiet to finish up a few things on the little newspaper that I edit and to become so distracted by it all that I burned (impressively) my steel cut oats.

But when I walked out into the hall after I was done (both the the paper and with the toast that I made to replace the oats), I realized that I had a load of work to do before we could decorate in earnest:

You see, we have a process here at Casa J&C. Books find their way home with us, in large and small doses, and then they patiently (sometimes they have to be more patient than others) wait in the halls to enter the sorting room. Now, we'll have to talk about the sorting room and the magical things that happen there some other day (when we're not already behind on our cleaning); but suffice it to say that I have a few hundred books waiting in the wings (and the wing-ettes, as the boot of the car is full as well).

Part of the problem is that, well, the books are pretty - and they're interesting. Like that Tulips book in the foreground . . .

. . . it's gorgeous - and it's hard not to want to stop and spend some time with it. There are these lovely tulip photographs, sometimes alone on the pages and sometimes paired with a quote, like this one with Oscar Wilde:

There is not a single colour hidden away

in the chalice of a flower . . . to which,

by some subtle sympathy

with the very soul of things,

my nature does not answer.

- Oscar Wilde

Frankly, Reader, I'd much rather go grab my cup of tea and hide myself away with this book than vacuum the living room rug.

Oh, and then there's Jim Harrison, who just happens to be sitting right next to the tulips:

I love Jim Harrison. A lot.

First, it'd probably make sense to admit that I have a serious thang for Walt Whitman. I found him later in life, and I think that's not by accident - I don't think that I would have appreciated him in the same way when I was young and fresh and green and unspoiled, as it were. But today, after the years have worked their own magic on me, I adore him - love how he sees and loves every corner of the world. I'm convinced that we'd be best buddies if we could hang together. I've been known to sit and read his poems aloud to myself for an hour at a time (I know, I know, I'm just weird like that).

And there's something about Harrison that resonates with me in the same way. He looks into the human soul with sometimes frightening clarity, like he did in the novel that many know him for (thanks to Hollywood), Legends of the Fall - and I connect keenly with this sense of place and his deep communion with nature. But it's his poetry that sends me, for it's there that he demonstrates an unflinching ability to turn that piercing, one-eyed gaze of his on his own soul. I walk away from every one moved and enlarged.

And, sorta like Walt, I confess that I have some wild imaginings about Jim - I'm convinced on some primal level that he and his wife are gonna up and invite me to one of their western homes one of these days (I know, I know - weird like that, yadda, yadda, yadda).

But, rather than succumbing to my thirst for beauty among the tulips or Harrison's pages, I'm off to cook some pancakes for the now-awake Miss C, and to vacuum that rug. I'll leave you with a video from the NewsHour on Harrison:
Writer, Poet Jim Harrison Is a Determined “Outsider” : NewsHour Poetry Series : Video : The Poetry Foundation

Happy holiday preparations to you and yours - Jen

All things tangible and semi-tangible

2010-12-09T05:34:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - I have a confession: I have taken full advantage of the fact that I hadn't yet told you about this blog to focus my attention on the more solid aspects of my bookstore in the last few weeks, ignoring the semi-tangible, electronic world entirely. I have chosen paint colors, picked a floor (sort of), finalized my signage, chosen bags (almost), finalized card lines, etc., etc. - with ample stories about each endeavor to share.

But now, thanks to the stellar skills of my friend and colleague, Mr. Danny Schweers (webmaster, graphic designer, photographer, and artist extraordinaire), I have a web page up and a "shrimp scampi"* of a domain name to link up with this little blog - www.BiblionBooks.com. And thanks to the contribution of Theresa at Quillen Signs, who demonstrated the patience of Job in working with me on my logo, it looks especially pretty. It's just a placeholder of a page, but it gets us started.

And now I'll turn my attention back to my new obsession with all things Danish and WOCA oils, as I finalize my flooring choice. If what's under the glued-down, decades-old commercial carpet that's in there is salvageable, then we'll have a WOCA oil party with that - if not, I'm leaning toward a batch of heart pine that was reclaimed from a Georgia barn - what'd you think?

Onward! - Jen

*NOTE: I realize that I made this allusion before and then I realized that not everybody thinks that "shrimp scampi" is as funny as I do, so I should explain my repetition of this goofy joke. Scampi (singular, scampo) means "shrimp" in Italian. So the ubiquitous "Shrimp Scampi" that we see on American menus is Shrimp Shrimp. Biblion is book (or small book) in Greek. BiblionBooks.com is BookBooks.com, hence the scampi reference and my undying amusement.

The guy who trumps the backstory

2010-11-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader - So I was planning on blathering on to you about the bookstore's backstory, but I ran across another fella on my book-buying run today (okay, now it's yesterday - I started this last night, but got too sleepy) who deserves a mention.

You see, I have a few different places where I find my books - I do the whole estate route, I do auctions and library sales, and I suppose that I could do wholesalers, but I haven't - at least not yet. I'm not a snob - I'm totally open to filling some of my perceived blank spots with another book-buyer's help, but I've really enjoyed letting my books find me.

So what's been my primary mode of acquisition? Charity thrift stores.

I love them. I love that somebody just up and gave their stuff to them, hoping that it'd do somebody else some good. I love that the money that I put down on books (regardless of the variations in pricing from store to store) all goes back to help others. I love that I find things that I know I'd never think of on my own (a la, if I ordered from a wholesaler). And I love - love, love, LOVE - the people whom I find in my travels to them.

Like today, at the Salvation Army store about 30 minutes up the road that was my last stop for this book-buying extravaganza: There was this broader-framed 40ish woman who was shepherding around this itsty-bitsy 70ish woman with obvious infirmities. Anyone who's watched the latest Top Chef incarnation, Top Chef Just Desserts, knows Sylvia Weinstock by now . . .

(And if you're playing catch-up, visit her website and blog to get a feel for what she's all about: www.SylviaWeinstock.com.)

Anyhow, this woman was the spitting image of Sylvia, albeit with more constrained (but still very iconic) black glasses and a more weathered visage. But what made her truly memorable was her gait . . . and her boots. She wore these adorable mid-calf, fuzzy black boots with pom-pomed ties at the top. And she walked much like Tim Conway doing his old-dude bit on the Carol Burnett show, using one of the Salvation Army carts as a walker of sorts. But the best part was how blessedly respectful and kind - how humane - the 40ish woman was with her - goodness, how they were with each other. The broader-framed woman didn't condescend (and Sylvia II didn't bitch). The younger woman just rolled along with her in this constant and engaged manner, helping Sylvia's doppleganger do her thang at the small-town SA. I fell in love with them.

Oh, but not before I fell in love with the other fella who inspired this post. I fell in love with him a couple months back, actually - on August 24, my book-buying records tell me. That was the first time that I went to the thrift store where he's in charge of loving the books - and man, does he love him some books.

Both times that I've visited his store, I've found a cartful of very happy books. And both times that I've visited his store, he's made a point of coming by and cheering me on, making sure that I know how much he appreciates me appreciating his books and the fine work that he puts into displaying them. He's a shorter version of the Grisly Adams sorta archetype - fit, but full, full-bearded, but trimmed, with the requisite kind eyes.

It's obvious that he brings a rare kind of attention to what he does - a sort of attentiveness that most of us wouldn't normally think to associate with the thrift store world. I'll work on getting his own backstory (and perhaps even a picture) for you, if he's game.

In the end, buying books from him leaves me wanting to do right by them. - Jen