I got in the habit of asking people what was the best book they read in 2025. Answers included Dante’s “Inferno,” “The Screwtape Letters,” “The Happiest Man on Earth” and a kind of crime-sci-fi mashup titled “The Wanton Sluts of Starbase Romeo.”
Visitors had some oddly specific requests. Any books on banjo players? How about anything by Virginia Woolf’s father? Any books you just want to throw away that I could have?
Two women came in and announced, “We’re retired English professors.” While I regard that as a noble profession, I didn’t quite know what to do with that information. Maybe I should have loudly said, “Hey, everyone! We’ve got some retired English profs here! Make a hole!”
I asked another couple how they heard of us. “We’re from Wisconsin. We were just walking by.” I told them I had never heard of someone walking to our store from Wisconsin. In appreciation of their effort, they could have 10% off.
A over-active two-year-old, Charlie, gave his mom and novice shop dog Molly a workout. He darted around the store, pulling books from shelves, climbing over chairs, attempting to kiss Molly on the mouth and cackling all the while, with his mother in full fevered pursuit.
Business was good, and I felt good to know that within the last week, we had exceeded last year’s sales.
We can keep going.
As I closed up, a couple were walking by. She had a pint of liquor. He had a can of Coke. They took turns trading them in stride.
‘Tis the season.