Open For Pickup Only

Two Sundays ago, my husband, who manages Madison Street Books, got some messages that were initially just confusing, “What are all these piles of damaged books?” He’d left the store at ten the night before. Closed it himself.

After ten minutes, the story was clear: the bookstore’s building had flooded overnight, neighbors had helpfully tried to minimize some damage by moving books around. But by the time the day was over it was even clearer. The floors were destroyed, the ceiling, book displays. The store would have to close immediately for construction and serious, industrial drying-out. They would do pickup orders online.

Lately I’ve been feeling a little like that flooded bookstore. All year, really. One thing after another comes along and slowly I try to figure it out: okay, what’s the damage? What was lost? What must be done now?

This morning, I had to drive back home for one son’s cat project, which I’d put in the wrong backpack. I’d managed to remember the other twin’s. Last night, I had to figure out a way to get them to finish their cat projects. And three weeks ago, our real life cat passed away. I was heartbroken, but the kids’ grief is harder to map. They’re mostly OK. But they get angry, sad, they stop going to the bathroom, they scream. They pretend to be cats. They make cats for school. They sit down and say, “I’m too sad to walk,” right there on the sidewalk. They’re three. Four, soon.

My oldest, seven, drew a picture for his teacher instead of talking about it. Himself happy with two cats, then sad with one cat, and finally, himself, crying, with no cats.

There are other things that have overwhelmed me lately. The things don’t matter so much as that feeling of my butt on the concrete again: I’m too sad to walk. The feeling of closing down the store, saying, I can be open for pickup only.

How can a person write under these conditions?

Well, I’m here to tell you, I could not. I did not. I had big intentions for fall, the start of school, developing a writing routine… It hasn’t happened yet. I have a whole list of writing ideas and action items! Listen: it hasn’t happened yet.

It’s disappointing and frustrating. It feels like I’m doing something wrong. It feels like I was owed something I didn’t get. I want to return this life and exchange it for one without all these problems. 

But Madison Street Books was able to open its doors again today. I held writer’s group there this very evening. It just took time. Being under construction doesn’t last forever, there are more days left this year to open up.

And in the meantime, I will be open for pickup. The little bit I can actually do during this time. And I’ll just hope it’s enough to get me through.

Reading Recommendations:

Well, I haven’t been reading as much as I should. But my husband has! So, courtesy of Wayne, here are some books you can support Madison Street by checking out, if you’re so inclined:

The Librarianist by Patrick DeWitt

Book of Disbelieving by David Lawrence Morse

The Deadline by Jill LePore

And his always-a-good-recommendation, They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib

Here’s a song that sounds like every other song I’ve ever loved. I’m forever grateful for people who are willing to play their drums very loudly and sound like they’re actively straining their vocal chords when they sing. It really cheers me up:

For everyone who hasn’t been writing lately, it’s ok. It’s not forever. And if you have been writing, congrats! Know that I’m incredibly jealous of you and want to steal your skinsuit and walk around in it. Just kidding. Probably. <3