My Life of Books

I grew up in a small town. There were no stoplights but there was a post office, a couple of churches, a bar, a gas station, a country store - and a library. I spent my summers at the library. It was small, but I always found books that appealed to me.

The Boxcar Children
The House With a Clock in Its Walls
Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack

When I was a little older, I would spend my time browsing the shelves at an independent bookstore, The Book Tree. It was adjacent to the store where my mother did her grocery shopping. While mom stocked up for the week, I would carefully read the back of countless young adult titles before selecting the one book that I could afford to purchase with my weekly allowance.

I Know What You Did Last Summer
Mr. and Mrs. Bo Jo Jones
Forever

I was fortunate to grow up in a household full of books. One room of our house, which we called the dining room, contained floor to ceiling shelves - and no dining room table. The shelves were filled with book club titles and Readers Digest Condensed Books, of which my father was a subscriber. Our TV provided limited viewing options so books were my main source of entertainment. From these shelves I discovered Daphne du Maurier and Herman Wouk. I plowed through books by bestselling authors like Mary Higgins Clark, Ira Levin and Robin Cook. I devoured abbreviated versions of acclaimed books.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
A Town Like Alice
To Sir, With Love

But, it was while I was taking a class in my senior year of high school that my love of literature exploded. We read novels and short stories as a class and independently. We wrote papers and participated in discussions, forming and expressing opinions and ideas about what we read.

The Chosen
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
To Kill a Mockingbird

During that class, Bernice Bobs her Hair launched my love affair with F. Scott Fitzgerald. I spent that summer reading more Fitzgerald and becoming acquainted with other classics.

The Great Gatsby
Wuthering Heights
Jane Eyre

It was the summer of 1984 -the year that the Detroit Tigers would win the World Series. My reading time was diminished by the hours that I spent watching the Tigers on the TV and listening to them on the radio.

I left for college that Fall. Not surprisingly, I selected English as my major. I struggled through Moby Dick and couldn’t get enough of Jane Austen. I argued, after reading The Blithdale Romance, that Zenobia was a coward not a heroine. But, I empathized with Daisy Miller. I wrote a passionate paper on the sea plays of Eugene O’Neill and I botched an exam on The Sorrows of Young Werther. I loved Joyce and Wilde, Eudora Welty and Marianne Moore.

Not long after graduation, I took a job as a part time bookseller. Doubleday Bookshop was opening in Woodland Mall and I could think of no job more suited to my passions. The other booksellers were also passionate about books. They expanded my reading tastes.

Tourist Season
Love in the Time of the Cholera
Cat's Eye

The bookstore at which I worked had a small bay of computer books – none of which contained the word Internet. We used microfiche and hardbound copies of Books in Print to look up titles for customers. Ann Landers had more bookselling power than Oprah. It was circa 1989 - 1992 (to the best of my recollection) and books were in demand. Grisham, who had been selling copies of A Time to Kill out of the trunk of his car, hit the big time with The Firm. A small format hardcover, The Bridges of Madison County, became a blockbuster bestseller. The Way Things Ought to Be, by media personality Rush Limbaugh was hard to keep on the shelves. Salman Rushdie received death threats for writing the Satanic Verses. And, Madonna published her foil-wrapped, spiral bound book – Sex (which everybody wanted to look at, but not as many wanted to buy).

My bookselling job was meant to supplement my income as a social worker. Instead, I spent most of my paycheck building my library. My employee discount afforded me the opportunity to purchase books that had eluded me before. I bought books on art and photography, an atlas of the world and cookbooks.

I also began to expand my library with books on another topic – baseball. My love of baseball was (still is) akin to my love of the written word. I began to accumulate anthologies of baseball writings. They contained poems and essays that are still among my favorites in literature.

These are the saddest of possible words: “Tinkers, to Evers to Chance.”

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. Today, October 2, a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone.

The breathtaking parabola of your blooper ball never more tantalizing or bizarrely elongated.

I also began read (and stock my book shelves with) baseball novels.

Bang the Drum Slowly
The Iowa Baseball Confederacy
The Great American Novel

I moved to Pennsylvania. I was broke, so I frequented the local library and curbed my spending on books. I returned to Michigan less than a year later and became a full-time bookseller turned assistant bookstore manager. I thought of this period in my life as a “career transition” - the jobs I would hold until I knew what I wanted to become. My much beloved District Manager, Dave Carpenter, was attempting to lure me up the bookselling career ladder. I was contemplating going back to school. He offered me a job and I expressed my uncertainty. He said, “Sleep on it – but in your heart, I think you already know the answer.” I slept on it. Then I accepted his offer.

I packed up my belongings and headed to the other side of the state, taking a job with Borders. After one year working in the Dearborn, Michigan location I accepted a position at Borders’ headquarters in Ann Arbor as a national event specialist. It was there that I met my future husband. He sat in a cube near mine, spoke kindly to his grandmother on the telephone, and loved books (he didn’t really love baseball – but he was a sports fan, so I figured…all in due time).

John and I were married in October of 1999. The reading at our wedding was from a poem by Linda Kittell - What Baseball Tells Us About Love. Three books (neatly stacked and tied with a cream-colored ribbon) were placed as centerpieces on each table at the reception. On our honeymoon, we listened to The Poisonwood Bible on audio as we drove to places like Traverse City, Toronto, Niagara Falls and Cooperstown, New York.

My job afforded me the opportunity to work closely with books, publishers and authors. I met many of these authors – some wrote books for a living and some wrote books about how they made their living.

Doris Kearns Goodwin
David McCullough
Ken Burns
Madeline Albright
Caroline Kennedy
Cal Ripken, Jr.
Stephen King

I met them at events, over lunch and during dinner. Some were charming, some were reserved and some were not so nice. But all of them were memorable.

Meeting John Updike prior to an event in Boston, then sitting in the front row listening to him read a selection from “Rabbit At Rest.”

An encounter with Michael Moore – which altered my opinion of him and of his work.

Chatting with Russell Banks about baseball, while enjoying lunch at Gratzi.

Bookselling was changing. Technology and the Internet were impacting the industry and Borders was struggling. I witnessed rounds of lay-offs. The numbers varied. A few people lost their jobs or a few hundred people lost their jobs. At times, I was responsible for laying people off. Other times I just watched it happen. And in June of 2008, I experienced it first hand when I became one of nearly 300 people who lost their jobs in yet another round of lay-offs.

It sucked!

My life, to that moment could be recalled in books. What I was reading when I was pregnant with our first child. The book I read in an effort to impress a guy (John). The book I read just before losing my job.

The Corrections
Last Orders
Water for Elephants

Books were not going away because I no longer worked at Borders. True. But my life with books was going to be different. Advanced Reader Copies. Dinners with authors. Pre-publication information. My life with books changed.

Another thing changed. I had not realized how much of my social life was connected to my job. Suddenly I was home, looking for a new job, and lacking conversation with friends. I joined Facebook. This was a good thing. I was social again – albeit online.

Fast forward a couple of years. I am again happily employed. But, I haven’t withdrawn from Facebook. I spend way too much of my free time reading status updates and not enough of it reading books. This realization makes me sad.

Just last week, Borders filed for Chapter 11. This also makes me sad. A lot of people are talking about the mistakes Borders made. And sure, they made mistakes. But, it is more than that. The landscape of books has changed. And, a book lover like me is part of the reason why. I am spending more time on Facebook and the Internet than I do reading books. I am reading less and buying fewer books. I am not sure how this happened.

I am not ready to break up with books. Maybe it is just the "44-year ache" and I need to recommit myself to the relationship. But, I am not willing to give Facebook the boot either. I guess I need to learn how to balance my free time better. I need to read more books. Not just for me…but for my kids. I want my blossoming book-lovers to have a life-long love affair with books too.

We read together. We always have. We read favorites from my childhood and we discover new favorites.

Horton Hatches the Egg
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane
The Circus Ship

But, they need to see me reading more and “being connected” less. So, excuse me while I grab a book and set a better example for my kids.

Do the Right Something

I want to do the right things. Things like being nice, buying local and helping the poor. I want to recycle everything that should be recycled. I want to bake homemade cookies for my kids to take to school. Rather, I buy them at the bakery section of my local grocery store hoping, if I put them on a pretty plate, that everyone will think they are homemade. I want to drive a Prius and grow vegetables in my garden. I want to save, not spend. I want to eat better and laugh more. 

Instead, I do some of the right things some of the time. On most days, I am okay with that. I tell myself, “You are a working mom” and “You do the best you can.” But then I meet someone that is doing everything I aspire to do - plus, they are making their own clothes, canning food for the winter months, writing a book and hiking across America to raise money for some charity I didn’t know existed. Many adjectives spring to mind to describe these amazing individuals. Most of which are not appropriate to print.

People like this often inspire me to improve upon one or more of the aforementioned items. Or, depending on my hormone level at the time, I want to slap them across the face and say, “Hey! Cool your jets, honey. You are making the rest of us (or at least me) look bad.” 

In truth, I think I do a lot of things right. My kids say please and thank you (except when they forget).  I smile at strangers. I hold the door open for people and offer to return shopping carts to the cart corral for the elderly. I read bedtime stories to my kids. I vote. I recycle (most of the time). I buy local (some of the time). These things are easy for me. And, that is the problem that I have with myself. I don’t challenge myself to do better. I convince myself that what I am already doing is enough. It’s not.

So, what am I going to do about it? I can tell you what I am not going to do. I am not going to try and do it all. I am, however, going to challenge myself with one or two new things. I think it will be easier to implement these changes in my life if the entire family gets involved. So, although they don’t know it yet, they are getting on this “ship of change." (A phrase and managerial style I owe to my days in corporate America). I might let them have a vote in the process. I am not sure yet. It doesn’t matter because (starting tomorrow) we are all trying something new. 

Tiger Stadium Waltz

My memory spins and dances with thoughts of Tiger Stadium.

Double headers, extra innings and rain delays. Day games and night games. Pitching duels and homerun frenzies. Games won and games lost. 

There were games with my dad. Games with friends. A game with co-workers and our unforgettable boss, Dave Carpenter.  And the game I attended with a couple of ladies that played for the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League.   

There were moments big and small.  Banging the olden wooden green seats up and down while yelling, "WILLIE! WILLIE! WILLIE!" A few minutes standing on the grass near the first baseline, looking into the empty stands.  A brown paper bag filled with snacks that my great Aunt Alice packed for me to take to the game.  The time, when I was six, that a blind women named Mary sat next to me.  She listened to the play-by-play on a red transistor radio, banged the backstop with her cane, and gave me an autographed photo of Al Kaline.

There were firsts and there were lasts. Alan Trammel's last game. My first autograph (from Dick Sharon, thank you very much!).  The first game I attended with my husband - who was not yet my husbad.  The last time my grandfather saw a game at Tiger Stadium. My final trip to the corner of Michigan and Trumball. I took a sentimental stroll up that steep ramp to the upper deck and choked back tears while singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th Inning Stretch.

And that moment, not all that long ago, that I was driving past the long-deserted Tiger Stadium.  A gaping hole, made by a demolition crew, allowed me one last glimpse inside.  I saw the blue and orange seats.  I could almost hear the roar of the crowd.  I imagined the green grass that always took my breath away.  I saw Herbie Redmond, as he did his little dance and tipped his hat, just for me.

And just like that, Tiger Stadium was gone.  I watched her disappear at 70 mph in my rear view mirror.

A Passion for History: Maxine Tewsley

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A Passion for History: Maxine Tewsley

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Dizzy-ing World

Ever since my children were born, I have been contemplating the ultimate family vacation...a trip to Disney World.  Planning a trip to Disney World is complicated. There are many things to consider:

• How much money do you need to save?
• How old should the kids be when you go? (We don't want Maxine to be too old or Alden to be too young.)
• Should you stay at a Disney World resort or someplace else?
• If you stay at a Disney World resort, which one?
• Do you buy Mickey Mouse ears?
• Which parks should you go to on which days?
• How much sunscreen do you need?
• Do you go over spring break when EVERYONE else goes, or do you go some other time of year?
• Do you take a grandparent (or two) along?
• Which friends have already been to Disney World? What advice can they offer?
• Are there any good discounts available?
• Do you drive or fly?
• If you fly, do you need to rent a car?

I have spent eight years asking myself these questions. I have sent for brochures. I have conducted research online. I have looked at travel books. I have spoken with friends that have made the journey.

The entire thing was making me dizzy.

Then it occurred to me that we don't need to go to Disney World. My husband didn't go to Disney World as a kid. He is still a fun-loving, imaginative person. My family never made a trip to Disney World. Okay, I did go to with a friend and her family when I was in the 8th grade. Still, I never went with my family and I did not sustain any permanent emotional damage as a result.

Now I am planning Not Disney World Vacations. I am excited imagining all of the places in the real world that we can see with the money we might have spent on Disney World.

I am a never say never kind of gal so if my Facebook status suddenly mentions a trip to Disney World you don’t need to remind of this blog post. Until then, however, we are planning trips to historic places, national parks, and off-the-beaten path America. 

I think my kids will be okay.  If not, maybe I will order them some Mickey Mouse ears from disney.com.

Have a Green Christmas: A Holiday Shopping Open House

A Holiday Shopping Open House

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Bah Humbug!

Before I begin, let me establish that I fully understand the true meaning of Christmas. I do. But, that being said, I also love everything about Christmas (commercial and otherwise).

I love presents. I love buying them. I love wrapping them. I love giving them. And, I love getting them. I love baking cookies and making candy. I love driving at night to look at lights (the beautiful and the tacky). I love decorating the tree. I love singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs when I think nobody is listening.

This year, something is different. I seem to be lacking any holiday spirit.

Today I decorated the Christmas tree while carols were playing on XM radio. Normally, I gently unwrap the ornaments, excited to see what is behind the paper that kept them safe for the past year. Once unwrapped, I carefully examine the tree to locate the perfect position for each ornament. Today, I ripped the paper from each ornament and hung those suckers as quickly as possible. I even found myself annoyed by the Christmas music that I had playing in the background and switched the station to a channel playing 80's music. That's not all!  Typically, once I begin the decorating process I don't stop until everything is in place. When I finished with the tree today, I shoved the boxes with the remaining decorations in the corner. The rest could wait for another day.

I have been suffering from a bit of a headache today. My husband and I met up with some old classmates of mine and their spouses last evening. The wine and conversation were flowing. I have a hard time believing, however, that a slight hangover could dampen my holiday spirit.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that this has been a stressful year. I became unemployed in June (for the second time in 12 months). After 15 years working at a job I loved, and at which I was successful, the company for which I worked was struggling. I was one of nearly 300 employees laid off in June of 2008. I went to work for another organization six months later. It was the wrong fit from the get go (for them and for me). So, in June of 2009 I once again found myself unemployed.

The economy sucks right now. No denying that. And the job market in Michigan is not so hot either. I generally spend a lot of freaking money at Christmas. Not this year. So, maybe that has dampened my spirit a bit. (Remember, as previously established, I DO understand the real the meaning of Christmas).

I anticipated that this might be a problem. I had a plan.  I would make a lot of gifts. I reassured myself that it would be fun, “You’re not working now, Jill. You have extra time". Shortly after having that conversation with myself, we all got sick. Maybe it was the swine flu. Maybe not. It doesn't really matter. The "influenza-like" illness pretty much wiped my family out of commission for a month.

Suddenly, Christmas is just four weeks away and the gifts I had planned to make are still in the planning stages. So maybe that has got me down a bit.

Thanksgiving was nice. Our family was together. We hung out with friends. We ate leftovers. But, Thanksgiving is over and Christmas is on the way. Normally, I would be oozing with excitement. This year I find myself wanting to stand in the way of the rapidly approaching holiday. I want to shout, "Stay the hell away! I am not ready for you! I need more time! I need a job! I want more money!"

Christmas isn't scared of me. It is coming anyway. I need to find my holiday spirit.

Really, what's my problem? So I won't be able to spend as much money. That's not so bad. So the kids won't get as many things. They get way too much stuff anyway. So there won't be as many gifts to open. Big deal. That is not what Christmas is all about anyway. Get over it, Jill! Find a little cheer. Celebrate the season. Start belting out the carols and enjoy it, dammit! Establish new (cost-effective) traditions. Give all of the toys that the kids got for Christmas last year (and don't play with) to charity.

I know. I know. I KNOW! And, I don't care. Things are going to be different this year. Old traditions will go undone. There won't be as much giving. All of this makes me want to scream, "Bah Humbug!"

Maybe I really don't understand the true meaning of Christmas. Or maybe I do, but I just don't care because I really enjoy the giving gifts thing. It really doesn't matter because Christmas is coming and I can't stop it. I can't even slow it down a little.

So, tonight I will close my eyes and rest. And tomorrow, I will hopefully wake up headache free and find myself in the mood to sing Christmas carols. If not, I may need a good swift kick in the you know what.