Smells Like a Bindery

Over Labor Day weekend, my dad and I did more work in the bindery. We put up the racks that hold rolls of fabrics and mounted a peg board to hold tools. I have to admit, once the peg board was up and I started arranging the tools on the board, I had a flash of understanding for “garage putterers”. You know who I mean, those people who spend hours in the garage doing who knows what. Well I think I know what, they’re in love with their space, tools, and the potential. I am too. The best part of the weekend was the moment I stood at the top of the stairs (the bindery is in the basement of Beagle Books), about to descend and realized it smells like David’s down there. It smells like a book bindery. I wonder if someday I’ll smell like the bindery??

Bookbinding Day Two

Today will be Bookbinding Day TWO. I had to be bookstore manager all day yesterday. Day One was back-breaking and magical. I felt a bit overwhelmed by ALL the tools I didn’t know…. And then, I came upon a knife I used many times with David. I knew EXACTLY what it was for (scraping the old glue off bindings). To be honest, I expected David to be a bit more present than he was, but upon finding that knife, it felt like he was telling me, “I’m here, I’m not going to do everything for you – you have to do that yourself, but I’m here.” Ok, fine. My other concern was being able to get set up fast enough that I can start working on products to put on the sales floor. I found a box with books that David repaired and were ready to sell. It’s not a lot of books, but it’s enough to put out for sale. Again, I think David will help, but he’s certainly not going to do it all for me. Day One began at 2:00 and ended at 5:00. At 2:00, I thought to myself, “It’s not enough time!!” By 4:48, with an aching back, I thought, “What was I thinking? This was too long for Day One.” So here comes Day Two….wonder what treasures I’ll find today.

Bookbinding Day 1

Bookbinding – Day 1
I’ve chosen September 1 as Day 1 of serious official bookbinding. The equipment is not exactly organized and ready to go. The guillotine is still in my garage. But I have to start sometime, so September 1 sounds good to me. I felt like a kid on the first day of school this morning. I got up on time, did my morning routine (feed the dogs, get coffee, eat breakfast, read, shower, etc) and got out the door. I needed to be in Park Rapids by 8AM this morning for a meeting. I arrived at 7:30. No small feat for a habitually late person. I feel antsy. I want to run downstairs, roll up my sleeves, and get my hands on paper, boards, and glue. I have to wait. I have a schedule. 8:00 meeting, work the bookstore sales floor from 8:30-12. Eat lunch and do office work from 12-2, THEN I can go downstairs, change clothes, and get to bookbinding. I’m not sure I can wait, but on the other hand, I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do once I get down there. I’m counting on David (my bookbinding mentor who “got his wings” in July) to guide me.

Tribute to Becky Walpole

This piece was written to honor Becky Walpole, the (now) former branch manager of the Park Rapids Library. Good luck in your new adventures, Becky and we'll so miss you!

Once upon a time, in a land called Minnesota, in the town of Park Rapids, at the house of books and magic (otherwise known as the library), there came a young book princess. She was smart, beautiful, kind, sincere, and generous. She was not the airy, fairy sort of princess. She was the sturdy, hard-working, dependable sort. Her name was a grand, majestic, time-honored name: Rebecca, but she never answered to that name, only to "Becky". Becky came to the library as a volunteer, the rare sort of creature who will work for the pleasure of the work. No doubt Becky was paid in generous amounts of magic: time spent with children and books. Becky was the sort of princess that drew in children like butterflies to a flower. She listened to their stories, asked the right questions, and gave hugs freely. In time, the library came to realize the power of Becky: she strengthened the magic of the library itself and kept children coming back for more magic. And so, Becky stepped across that great line of monetary compensation and began to work as an employee of the library. Becky steadily grew the attendance of the children's story hour. Together, Becky and the children shared stories, sometimes from books and sometimes from imagination. Together they created crafts, laughed, and sometimes spilled. The parents and child providers looked on with admiration and relief. They patted themselves on the backs: they had done a good deed by bringing the children to the magic of books and Becky and the library. In more time, the library came to need a new queen, someone who could rule with a steady, gentle hand and yet keep the magic alive and well. With the former queen on her way to another domain, Becky graciously accepted the library's throne. Being the queen meant more hours and more pay, but a lot more work: meetings, responsibility, meetings, management of staff, meetings, management of events, meetings, and most of all, meetings. Although a bit overwhelmed at times, Becky held tight to the magic of the library and worked hard. She kept her crown atop her head, but could still kneel to meet the eyes of the children. Once Becky had comfortably settled into her reign, her prince came to her and said, "My dear, sweet princess, we have had a good life here in the town of Park Rapids, but alas, I am being called to another town, still in the land of Minnesota, but two hundred miles south of here. Won't you please come away with me?" Of course Becky would leave Park Rapids with her prince, but it was with tear-filled eyes that she surveyed the Park Rapids library. She had spent the last fifteen years here in this magic-filled place. She had come here as a novice princess, the mother of babies, and now her babies were nearly grown. She had moved from one library castle to another during her time here. The library staff, volunteers, and children wept for the leaving of Becky, but knew that Becky would move on to another place to instill her magic there while leaving a bit of her self, her magic to reside forever at the Park Rapids Library. With heavy hearts and tear-filled faces, they bid her adieu saying, "May you live happily ever after". The end.

The Future(?) Saleswoman

Many of you are aware that I have an eight-year old daughter named Megan. (If you’re not sure, then you didn’t know – no one who’s met Megan forgets her). Megan has one of those bright, loud personalities that baffles her somewhat introverted parents. At restaurants, it’s not unusual for Megan to turn to the people in the next booth and announce, “HI. I’m Megan, this is my dad and this is my mom.” She’s done this since she learned to talk. (Typically, my husband, Tom, and I turn red in the face, nod, then hiss, “Megan, sit down.”). Even before she learned to talk, Megan once insisted a fellow patient at the medical clinic pay his attention to her rather than to the friend with whom he had been chatting. In addition to loving attention, Megan, like many children, loves money. So really, it was only a matter of time before she hatched the idea to set up a lemonade stand. What could be more fitting for a talkative, money-seeking girl? Tom and I decided to make the most of this and turn the idea into an economics lesson (we are, after all parents, and it’s our job to make fun things a little more mundane and practical). We explained to Megan that she needed to spend her allowance to buy the necessary materials for a lemonade stand. If she spent $10 on materials, she would need to sell $10 worth of lemonade to earn her money back. Anything beyond that would be profit. We made a trip to the grocery store, and the debate over what to buy began. Real lemons? This was quickly dismissed since we don’t own a juicer. Powder? Frozen? Pink? Yellow? Raspberry? We compared unit prices on plastic cups. We hemmed and hawed over ice bags – 5 pounds or 20? At one point, Megan stopped me in the aisle and said, “Wait. What if I don’t sell enough to earn back what I spent?” Welcome to business, honey. Anyone who ventured down 3rd Street in Park Rapids on the afternoon of June 21st likely heard a girl calling, “LEMONADE! ONE DOLLAR PER GLASS!” (If a person happened by at the right moment, s/he could have heard/seen Megan look her grandmother in the eye and declare, “Some people have tipped me.”). Determined to maximize her profit, Megan refused to vacate her stand until she had sold 50 glasses of lemonade (she had bought 50 plastic cups). When she got down to 3 cups, Tom was sorely tempted to buy them up, but he resisted the urge. To be honest, Megan and I butt heads a lot. (I say this is Megan’s fault, and when I do, Tom gives me the look). There was no butting heads yesterday. How could there be? My baby put her best skills to the test and came out a winner. Now if I could get her to sell fifty books in four hours…plus tips…hmm…

Stone Soup Revisited

It’s less than a week before the CSA boxes begin their regular arrival for those of us signed up for the Morgans’ CSA program. For those of you unfamiliar with CSA, it stands for Community Supported Agriculture. My family bought a share of the farm for the summer and so we will receive a share of the harvest for the summer. I can’t help but think about the summer when we did the Stone Soup project at Beagle Books. For eight weeks, a group of us gathered at Beagle to discuss Barbara Kingsolver, Steven Hopp, and Camille Kingsolver’s book, Animal Vegetable Miracle and to explore the many opportunities we have to indulge in locally grown food and drink. We took two field trips to the CSA farm (one at the beginning of the season and one later in the season) and were blessed with visits from local food experts including Forestedge Winery, Bill Maki (wild ricing), Chef Tom (morel mushroom hunting), Donna Ludwinksi (bread making), Sari Mabbett (cheese making), and more. We ended the summer with a feast of local foods. It was a summer of exploration and change for me, and I hope for others. Maybe we should have a Stone Soup reunion. I wonder if the other participants still think about choosing local foods when making their food choices. Do they pause when discovering a desired food traveled here from another continent, consider the food miles, and put the item back? I hope so. My mantra that summer was, “start small.” I encouraged my fellow Stone Soupers to make one small change, make it a habit, and then make another small change, etc. Have the others done this? To be honest, I myself have not made a new small change in some time. To my credit, though, I have stuck with the habits I created that summer. I still buy raw milk from a local farmer, eat local meat, buy a CSA share every summer. I avoid bananas. I buy wine produced by my local winery. I pick strawberries at Keskes Farm. I’ve noticed one of the grocery stores in Park Rapids makes a point in their ads to highlight local items available. Has a change for the better occurred right here in the small town of Park Rapids? I hope so. I credit the Kingsolver/Hopp family – their experiences eating only local foods for one year recorded in a book for the rest of us is invaluable. That is truly the power of a good book.

Public Displays of Affection at Beagle Books

Have you heard that there’s been a sharp increase of public displays of affection at Beagle Books? Well, it just so happens that it’s true. Don’t be surprised during your next visit if you either witness a hugging or you yourself are the target of a hugging. This is the time of year when we are reunited with so many dear people we lose every winter. Many of our customers of course head south to Arizona or Florida, but the largest migration, believe it or not, comes from Nebraska. (Being raised in Oklahoma, this has taken some adjustment for me to be polite to Corn Huskers – there is a serious football rivalry between Nebraska and Oklahoma). I picture Nebraska in the summer as a sort of empty landscape with the sound of crickets chirping (which of course begs the question, if no self-centered person is around to hear the crickets chirp, do they still chirp?) Once upon a time, it was my understanding that hugs between retail workers and customers was only marginally acceptable. Now I’ve decided that what the public really wants in an independent bookstore is passionate, caring, interesting (even eccentric) booksellers. Why else are we able to get away with wearing funky socks and dangly earrings? Really, hugging has re-gained acceptance. In some cases, I daresay it would be rude were I not to greet a customer who’s been gone for many months with a hug. So come on in, get your books, cards, music, and of course, hugs.