What A Bookstore Should Be

I can't quite bring myself to write about Christmas yet. Not that I haven't been rightly accused of blabbing on and on about the end of past years; I have a file of old paper Cranesbill Chronicles somewhere to prove my point. I love what happens in our town, even if I have to admit that it's not always as perfect as it could be.

When I took on the store in 2003, I knew virtually nothing at all about business. But I quickly realized that owning a bookstore is many people's dream. I wake up from that dream daily and realize that however hard I have fought for my own style and vision, the results are far from perfect. Take the stairwell.

The final weeks of getting ready to open the full store in February of 2004 were chaos. Book sections were more like boxed piles of titles we hoped were what they said they were, the drywall was still drying, and little details that had escaped our notice were popping up around us like flying monkeys. As the days moved toward our stated Grand Opening, many things were left undone.

Fast forward to last week. New photos were coming in from Laureen Prophett, whose Graham Henry Design is making beautiful images available on notecards and now as wall art. Who wouldn't want to support a local venture that is gathering steam, even in this shaky moment in time? The guys in the store, wonderful as they are, were not available for painting duty. I can't even remember the decision not to get a finish coat of paint up on the stairwell walls before we opened. But I took down the old show and realized the ugly truth: I needed new paint, and I needed it before Saturday.

So I did what any self-respecting bookstore owner who couldn't afford a painter would do-I dusted off my decades-old painting expertise, and with the help of Laureen's son Graham, got a pretty okay first coat of white where the pictures were slated to hang. The paint was good quality, but this contractor not as good. However, with Graham's assistance and the determination to finish no matter how badly those fumes were getting to me, I managed. (Note to reader: please don't look at the spots on the rug. I did the best I could, okay?)

So the moral of the story may not be what it seems. It's not that you should take up whatever you can't afford to do. I was stubborn and lucky, but the bones and muscles are still aching. It should also be noted that the walls will eventually be properly covered. But the real moral of the story is that it's never as easy to do what you love as the self-help gurus would have you believe. But no matter how scary those flying monkeys may be, you have to keep trying. Come see the photos, but please don't look at the paint job too closely.