Buy Local From the Little Shop on the Corner : The Reading Reptile

I love Amazon.com as much as the next gal, but when it comes to quality customer service, attention to detail, and small businesses dedicated to differentiating themselves, I'll happily shop locally. Over the weekend, we did just that by celebrating the girls' fifth birthday at a nearby bookstore called "The Reading Reptile."  While talking with one of the other moms, we agreed it reminds us of the Little Shop on the Corner from the Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks movie "You've Got Mail." Deb, the owner, was in charge of the "Arty Party." Uber-organized and efficient, she'd memorized all the kids' names within a matter of minutes. She read them stories (all sat and listened intently), made clay with them, and then walked everyone through three cool art projects. We finished up with cupcakes the kids got to decorate. A wonderful time was had by all, and it was definitely a memorable morning for Abby & Izzy!

This place is what I imagine Heaven might be like, where characters from mine and my children's best-loved books come alive in paper-mache all over the place (all made by Deb, the crafty and talented owner!):

Olivia the Pig, one of our favorites

Max, King of the Wild Things!

Frog and Toad

We adore Eloise!

 Go Dog, Go!

Lily's Purple Plastic Purse

So my message to you today and this holiday season (and beyond)?

Shop locally.

Go where everybody knows your name (kinda like that theme song from "Cheers").

I don't want to lose places like Reading Reptile that make my city what it is---unique and amazing.

What is your "Little Shop on the Corner?" Do you support your local merchants?



Dear Kindle (Nook & Associates): You Will NEVER Light My Fire.

Dear Kindle (as well as Nook & Associates):

I thought you should know there is nothing quite like the smell of an old book.

I was in a store today called Nell Hill's that was overflowing with them. They were all from the same old library, complete with stamped cards inside their slots. I paused every few minutes to gently tip one forward from its row, like a soldier out of line. I cradled him and ran my hands slowly over his spine and worn cover. Then I opened him up, lifted him slowly to my face and inhaled deeply. I absorbed the words by osmosis and smelled the souls of a thousand kindred spirits. It felt like coming home.



I wondered where the book had been. Whose knapsack he had traveled in. How many hands had touched him. Who had fingered his yellowed pages while tucked in bed, or hunched over a desk, or sitting on a bench in the park. How many miles had he traveled, what exotic places had he seen, had he unwillingly been taken into someone's bathroom and suffered some indignities there?

My books are my best friends. I am proud to display them on my shelves. I can't have enough of them. I know where each one resides and I can't bear to part with any of them.

So many books...sometimes it seems to me that everything has already been said; all the world's stories have already been told. Where does that leave me? Is there anything unique left to be written? Can I possibly create something new, interesting, and different?

Ultimately Kindle, Nook, & Associates--- you are far too impersonal for the likes of me. You don't have a scent. You lack substance. You're too mechanical. You're not real. You haven't got a history I can feel, smell, and touch. I can't put bookplates on you. I can't lend you to friends and get you back with a sweet note tucked inside. I can't press flowers between your pages or stack you in towering heaps on my bedside table. When and if I write my masterpiece, I don't want it to be available exclusively by download. I want it to be concrete. I want it to rest in a tall pile on your nightstand, nestled between classics like To Kill A Mockingbird and Leaves of Grass.

Therefore, Kindle, I cannot and will never love you.

The End.