jlsathre's Open Salon Blog

Dad, You Got It.

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 12:06:15 -0400

When my dad turned 65 and retired from the factory job that he probably hated for thirty some years, my sister and I sent him 65 birthday cards, writing personal messages in each one.

It was easy to come up with things to say because he was such a big part of our lives and such an easy man to love.

Hey Dad, remember when you used to tuck me in at night and read me a story from the thick book of fairy tales that we worked our way through?

These were the nights that he didn't carry me to bed after I fell asleep on the floor in front of his chair. It wasn't every night though, since he wasn't there every night. Sometimes he was working. For more than twenty years, until my sister and I were both out of college, he worked rotating shifts because it paid a few cents more per hour than if he just worked the day shift.

Those cents, along with overtime and the double-time pay he got from working on Christmas and other holidays, were enough to take us on vacations every year and expose us to things that our small rural town didn't offer. We saw cities and museums, major league ball games and plays, oceans and amusement parks, and shopping malls and mountains that few of my friends ever saw.

Dad, remember the gin and cribbage games we played on the floor while listening to White Sox games on the radio?

He never let me win that I know of, but he did teach me how to play well enough that I eventually could. And the lessons didn't stop with cards. He also taught me how to drive, how to play golf and baseball and ping pong, the love of a good book, and the rules to just about every sport you can thing of. Somewhere in between, and without even noticing it, he also taught me that girls can do anything we set our minds to.

A few things he taught me before I was ready to learn. Like the value of oiling a brand new baseball mitt that wouldn't look brand new to a crying nine year old girl when she saw it the next morning.

Or that a steady man makes the best husband.

Dad, remember when I was in college and you came up for Father's Day and we took silly pictures in one of those quarter photo booths?

I still have that string of photos. As well as pictures of him playing in swimming pools with me, raking piles of leaves with his grandson, and wearing matching pink shorts with all of his granddaughters. He could be both playful and serious, but mainly he was there.

Remember when I hit a car and left a note on the other car's windshield and you didn't yell, but just told me I did the right thing?

He was a hard person to live up to sometimes. Not because he was accomplished or had expectations, but because he was so comfortable in his own skin and so content with his life.

As my sister and I said in his eulogy, "Dad was easily satisfied because, in his mind, he had already hit the jackpot when, at age 25, he met our mom." He made us feel like part of that jackpot too. No matter what we did.

Which is not to say he was perfect. There were a few things we didn't mention in those cards.

Those driving vacations, for instance. He loved to thrill his daughters by pretending all the rolling hills in Kentucky were roller coasters, but otherwise....

...hey, Dad, you could have chilled out a little.

I suppose two lane highways, an un-airconditioned car and two squabbling siblings in the back seat could get to anybody, but he brought out the first cuss word I ever heard leave my mom's mouth when he refused to stop for the night until we made each one of our requisite daily miles. He did stop at every single Howard Johnsons for one of the 28 flavors though.

And, hey, Dad, remember all that day-old meat you used to buy me for my freezer. Well, I never really ate it.

He loved his family, but he also loved a bargain and sometimes he took it too far. I give him some credit for my love of garage sales and TJ Maxx, and being able to send two daughters through college without loans, but still draw the line at day-old meat. I want my red meat red.

And, Dad, remember the time you stuffed all that canteloupe down my garbage disposal and then fixed it? It' never worked right again.

He was a near perfect father, but he was nowhere near a perfect handyman. He would do anything for his family, and his family would do anything to keep him from learning that something was broken or needed attention. We could talk sports or politics or religion, but leaky faucets or temperamental dishwashers were strictly off limits.

He wasn't much of a letter writer either.

But a few days after that 65th birthday, my sister and I both got the only letters we ever remember getting from him. I wish I had kept mine, but somehow I think I knew I'd remember it. He wanted us to know how lucky he was.

"The only thing I ever wanted out of life was the love of my family," he said.

Dad, you got it.

Hugs in a Bookstore

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 13:06:37 -0400

I'm beginning to see people for the last time.

Staz came in on Friday. He's 6 and comes in with his dad. We've celebrated five birthdays with free books from what he calls "Jeanne's Store." He's a little shy, but very smart. We talk about school, and t-ball, and silly things while his dad shops.

"I like the name Staz," I told my daughter when she was expecting my first grandson.

On Friday he told me that his friend from school was moving too. He's learning to read and that his world can change.

Martin came in not long after. It won't be his last time as he comes in every payday. He looks for new books that I've put out since he was last there, and I make sure there are some. Science in particular. He won't need his paycheck on that last Friday, because his books will be free.

Sara came in too. She's twenty. We haven't celebrated her birthdays, but I know her age because she started coming in before she could drive. She lives in a small town about a half hour away and her dad or mom would bring her in and wait in the comfortable chair, never hurrying her as she browsed.

She was having some tough times in high school and books helped, her mom told me.

After she got her license, she usually came by herself and we would talk. She didn't get into the college that she had her heart set on and ended up going to the local community college. She made friends there, who she brought in and introduced me to. When she got a speaking part in a play, I went and watched.

She has her own car now. And a boyfriend who treats her well and laughs a little when he buys one book and she buys twelve. She's hoping to continue her schooling in Chicago. I won't know if that happens.

Before she left, she asked if she oould give me a hug. I choked up a little.

But we're both going to be okay.

Mom's Moving In

Mon, 3 Jun 2013 11:06:55 -0400

In a little less than two months, I'll be moving into a small bedroom, or possibly the basement, of a small house with one bathroom that my daughter's family bought in the DC area, sight unseen by her.

Most all of my furniture has already been sent out East and will be just about the only furniture they'll have for at least part of the year that we live there.

In between now and then, I'll be closing a bookstore, preparing for my other daughter's wedding, and living in my (now sparse) two bedroom apartment with the one couch (broken) and one chair (also broken) that I had the movers leave behind.

And my computer, of course. They left that too. It's sitting on top of two boxes of books that I'm using as a table and that likely won't make it to the bookstore sale.

Needless to say, I'm a little anxious about this major life change choice I've made.

Not so much about living with my daughter. I've done that before. She tends to whine. I tend to ignore her.

And not at all about being able to develop a real relationship with my grandsons and, hopefully, to be of help to my daughter's family as I follow them around the world in their jobs as diplomats with the State Department.

But more than just a little about living with my son-in-law. Because I've never lived with him before, and I've heard all the mother-in-law jokes. I can't be sure I'm not one of them.

I don't even know what he thinks about the arrangement. When I've brought it up with my daughter, the only comment she's made was, "Well, he says you're a little messy."

It doesn't seem exactly like an open arms invitation.

And it also rings true.

My furniture will arrive before me. Since my daughter's still in Africa, my son-in-law will be the only one there to sort it all out and set it up. It seems like I might get this relationship off on the right foot if I send him a little note.

"Dear Andy, About that furniture that's arriving at your house before me. Well, you might want to pick up a couple cans of Pledge."

The Year Dad Planted Marigolds

Tue, 28 May 2013 15:05:47 -0400

A thick row of hostas grew across the entire front and side of the house, although we never called them that. We called them border plants.

They were there in the background of the first pictures of me, swaddled in a blanket, coming home from the hospital. There as the backdrop in pictures of Easter outfits and birthday parties and prom dresses. There, still, on weekend visits when I taught my daughters how to make leaf houses in front of them. There fifty years later when the hearse stopped and two granddaughters held hands and walked to the porch to leave a vase of flowers on the way to bury their grandfather.

The border plants weren't blooming on that day in early November.

Not like they had every summer that I could remember, sending up tall stalks of light purple blossoms that we rushed to pop before they flowered. Looking for the solidly plump ones that made a resounding "pop." Trying to avoid the disappointment of finding ones not quite ready. Or already popped. Our very own bubblewrap before we even knew what bubblewrap was.

Subtle changes were made to the house over the years. Coal was replaced by natural gas, radiators were replaced by baseboard heat, one plaid sofa was exchanged for another plaid sofa, siding was added The border plants just grew.

When I managed the local swimming pool, I divided a few and planted them along the swimming pool walk. When my sister bought a lake house, Dad divided some and planted them along the hill leading to the water. When I moved from house to house, I dug some up and planted them around trees or in flower beds.

They survived whatever we asked. Filling in whatever holes we left and sending up spikes of purple poppers for the new generations of whatever kids stopped by. Never changing.

And then one summer Dad planted a row of marigolds in front of the border plants. Bright yellow flowers infringing on my most reliable memory. Planted by someone who had never before shown any interest in gardening. In a spot that had never seemed to need additional ornamentation.

A shock of yellow almost bellowing a message to wake up, things are changing.

And, indeed they were. Dad had retired recently and Mom's Parkinson's was progressing. He was becoming her primary care giver. Making the meals, grocery shopping, driving her to hair appointments, giving up golf. The borders of his life closing in.

The shock of yellow seemed to help. An acknowledgement of change, but also of hope.

There was but one season of marigolds that I remember. The changes in Dad's life soon became the familiar. The borders once again comforting.

I find myself moving this summer. Packing up, sorting through, getting rid of. Every decision of what to keep and what to pitch is unsettling. Every day is filled with trepidition of an unknown future. My borders are unclear.

I've planted yellow marigolds by my door to see me through.

25 Things I'm Learning From Closing a Bookstore.

Fri, 31 May 2013 11:05:57 -0400

A while back I wrote "25 Things I Learned From Opening a Bookstore." This is the other bookend.

1. When people ask why you're closing, you can tell them that the economy's poor and people are buying Nooks. But it's more fun to tell them that it's time to move on because you've read everything in the store.

2. Two out of every three people will believe this.

3. The rest won't believe you're really closing until you quit putting free gum in the gum bowl.

4. A Butterfinger dropped in a box of books in the back room and then forgotten will still be good when you find it and eat it seven years later. The same is not true for the cup of coffee you set down while searching for the Butterfinger.

5. If you lined up all the left over Harlequin romances from shuttered bookstores and took a picture, you'd have an excellent image of infinity to add to the post on Wikipedia.

6. Left unattended in a back room, used books reproduce like rabbits. Which is one of the reasons it took so long to find the Butterfinger.

7. When you have a half off sale, neither you nor half of the people checking out will know what half off of $7.50 is.

8. And, no, it isn't $3.25.

9. If it's a two part test and you also need to know what half off of $3.50 is, you find out that it's true. We really aren't smarter than the average fifth grader.

10. It's never good to throw away books. However, if it's true that the exception proves the rule, Harlequin romances are the exception.

11. A lot has happened in the seven years I've had the bookstore: moms took over Facebook, gay marriage became a reality, marijuana stores came to Main Street, Vampire and Zombie books got their own sections and 13,892,641 people self-published a book instead of browsing in a bookstore.

12. Don't fact check the above number. I found it hidden in the fiction section, along with every single gum wrapper that the kids who came in for the free gum didn't throw on the floor over the past seven years.

13. For every monthly poker game, there are 10 monthly bookclubs. Which might make you think that bookstores do a brisker business than gambling boats, but which isn't true. What is true is that every single poker player thinks they're good enough not to need a "How to Win at Poker" book.

14. Putting up signs throughout the store helps to reduce inventory when closing up. "Shoplifters Will NOT Be Prosecuted," helps more than "Buy Two, Get One Free." "We Accept Bad Checks," hardly helps at all since no one under the age of 40 knows what a check is.

15. If you sneak two small romance books in with every purchase, in two weeks time you'll still have an unlimited supply of romances. Sneak in the "Left Behind" series of books instead.

16. When you advertise that all books are $1.00, someone will call and ask if you have any leather bound, gilt edged, first editions from the 1800's.

"You mean the ones that are worth a lot of money?"

Yes they do.

17. If you think people with trucks avoid you when you're getting ready to move to a new apartment, just wait until you're closing a bookstore.

18. Michelle Obama has nothing over the arms of a certain 60-something woman who's closing a bookstore.

19. Other than the size and quality of paper, I will never understand the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel.

20. Whoever said, "There is no such a thing as too many books," was wrong, but is cordially invited to help me pack. Hopefully, he has a truck.

21. If you think you have enough boxes to take all unsold books to Goodwill, you will be wrong by at least half the number of boxes you need. Goodwill was wrong when they said they'd be happy to take however many books you bring.

22. I have tried but totally failed in my quest to see that everyone that walks through the store leaves knowing the difference between fiction and non-fiction. True and not true will just have to do. Even then, they'll still have to think about it.

23. If customers are standing in front of the mystery section looking for Lee Child, and you tell them that the mysteries are in alphabetical order by author names and then leave the room to pack up books, nine out of ten will be standing in the same place, not knowing which way to turn, when you come back.

And, once again, that pesky fifth grader shows his face.

24. Moving your home and closing a bookstore at the same time is not a good idea. The temptation to send the moving van over to pick up all those books and take them with you is great.

25. It is sadder than I thought it would be to close a bookstore--a little like coming to the end of a really good book with a wonderful cast of characters.