From the Mixed-Up Memories of a Basil-Loving Bookseller

Basil isn't really what this post is about, though it is indeed one of my favorite spices. The actual subject of this post is how the children's book world recently lost one of its greats. E.L. Konigsburg, who passed away recently at age 83, wrote many smart, strange books about smart, strange kids. She's best known, and I think rightly so, for Newbery winner From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, in which structured Claudia and adventurous Jamie run away from home on a structured adventure and take up residence in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She won a Newbery Honor the same year for Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth, and another Newbery Medal three whole decades later for The View from Saturday. The lady was amazing, and I'm glad that many are giving her her due.

In the few years I've worked here, we've lost the creators of quite a few of the books in the kids' section. The past few years have seen the loss of authors and illustrators including Maurice Sendak, Else Minarik, Donald J. Sobol, Brian Jacques, Diana Wynne Jones, Eva Ibbotson, Russell Hoban, Margaret Mahy, Simms Taback, Ray Bradbury... and each time, it's about the same. We bring in a few more copies of the departed author's books, we face them out on the shelves, and we reminisce - often with customers - over our favorite books. Sometimes we discover new favorites or rediscover old ones; the author's best-known work might date back to or predate our childhoods or those of customers. We didn't know these people personally, though we may feel like we did, and the stories are just as available to us now as they were before the sad news. Though a loss is a loss - the phrase "end of an era" comes up sometimes - the loss of an author can also be a reminder to say hello again.

SCARVES: a blog post.

Sorry to consistently pad my blog posts with nostalgia from my childhood (just clawing at my eyeballs for that emmy nod, dudes) but I kind of don't know how else to write a blog post. My life is kind of like a psychadelic drudgery, if you can imagine that. I work a lot, it's wet and grey out, and nothing makes sense. Emotions and urges kind of float around in the ether and I pluck at them at random. I bought a pair of earrings today because they matched my outfit. Like that's a thing I can afford? Nope. Wrong. I ate popcorn for dinner last night. I basically just arrange greeting cards and watch the clock run out on the grace period on my student loans, cultivating unrequited longings and pointedly not going to the gym.

Oh my god I'm so sorry, am I OVERWHELMING YOU WITH A NAMELESS DREAD?! Sorry sorry sorry. That happens sometimes. Moving on.

WHEN I WAS A KID I didn't really adhere to a collecting mentality. The idea of collecting things just for the hell or it wasn't something that interested me, possibly due to a complete aversion to anything remotely competitive that I honed early on in life. Beany babies, trading cards, GI Joes, countless childhood fads passed me by and while I participated, I didn't really feel the same wild fervor that a few choice other kids did. Unknowingly, I just let the tide of all these one hit wonders collect and abate on my tiny, undeveloped brain.

Despite all that, a collection snuck up on me when I wasn't paying attention, and it's one I can't really quantify or explain. I think it probably has something to do with my maternal grandmother. I have two grandmothers, as one must, at least on paper anyway, and while they are not entirely unalike they don't share many similarities, in appearance especially. My father's mother enjoys a style that has a purpose; a lot of sweaters, slacks, a lot of black and khaki. Fancy shoes abandoned long ago for an all-purpose, all-black men's sneaker (genius, in my opinion, and I can't wait till they call my number on that matter) which cushions and supports just right.

My Mom's Mom, however, is a much fancier lady. If anybody can be described as "swanning" about, it's my maternal grandmother. She tends to swan about wearing billowing, sheer floral blouses, tens of gold bangles on her thin wrists that glitter and clack as she gesticulates or opens a tin of cat food. She has forever wound her grey hair into a foot-high bouffant on top of her head, and we spot her that way, in supermarkets and malls, a soft grey thumb bobbing away from us in the distance.

It's those blouses that caught my attention; like paper, water; I'm finding it hard to explain them without using the word "silky", which is odd, using a word to describe itself, since some of them where at least part silk or meant to look like it, at any rate. Fabric that floated, made itself seem precious or important in some way, probably just in its utter uselessness. Scarves have a very small section of use, and even then, purpose is relegated to warmth, which completely negates the existence of the sheer. Light summer scarves, sheer scarves; there's no place for them in reason, they hover just outside of utility but are firmly grounded in the decorative.



The lovely and fragrant Helena

I took to collecting scarves without realizing I was doing it, I just started wanting them. I kept them in a hinged basket and then later, an additional faux suitcase and then later, an additional plastic bin. I never wore them, I would play with some of them but for the most part they where just there to be had, and touched and appreciated, but never used for anything. Occasionally, on Halloween especially, they would come in spectacularly handy, and I would think yes, why doesn't everyone have a scarf collection, it makes total sense. When I grew up, the scarves went away for a little while, but once I began to create a style for myself I brought them out again. I wear scarves I've had for decades, holding on to them for a reason I was never quite sure of. I am somewhat known around the store for buying scarves before they even hit the floor and have a chance to be sold organically.



Cheeseball's Anonymous



Sometimes we all have to step into the decorative circle, or else we go banana pants and start stockpiling for the apocalypse. So I will see you there, Brookline. Come check out our newest scarf shipment in the card and gift room. I've already bought three. I'm not even joking. You have to get here before I buy all the good ones. As this autumn creeps into our beds and our lungs and our hearts, so much becomes about necessity. Boots for the rain and snow, heavy coats, thick scarves, hats, gloves. No more bicycles or straw summer hats, just fleece and four wheel drive and Halls mentholated. If you need to stop in and get yourself something a little precious, a little floaty, and a little sheer? I promise not to tell. Oh my god just kidding, you know I'll tell everyone, but who cares?

A Little Dose of Nostalgia

Recently, I was at the register and a customer purchased a Presto Chango color pencil. Do you remember these? I do. I had a few as a kid, the thicker kind, without an eraser, that I used for special projects. I'm not sure why I loved it so much; I think because carrying around a single pencil felt more grown-up than carrying around a box of crayons or color pencils. I love when I stumble across something in our store that reminds me of childhood. I sent one of these by mail to a close friend and she got a kick out of it, and posted this picture on Instagram.

In that spirit, here are some pictures of a few of my favorite Booksmith finds that remind me of being a kid, and a few other doses of nostalgia.

Up until the age of thirteen, I lived in the Bay Area in California. My mom had an extensive fruit and vegetable garden and a honeysuckle plant that lined the kitchen window. We bought mesh bags of ladybugs at the store and let them loose on the garden so that they could kill the aphids, and even though there were ladybugs everywhere, I still loved trying to catch them in my insect-friendly Bug Bottle. I was pretty excited to see that nearly 20 years later, they still make The Bug Bottle.

Balmy summer nights on the east coast are the best. Though, living in in the city, I miss seeing stars. I had this exact chart, and stars up on the ceiling above my top-bunk bed. Spend a late night outside of the city this summer and take one of these star charts with you, or, and if you're a city dweller, make your own night sky.

We went on a lot of road trips up and down the California coast. When the trips got long, my parents would sometimes make us play the "quiet" game. When we weren't pestering our parents or trying to play quiet, we quizzed each other from Brain Quest. There are so many questions packed into this deck, and I loved that the questions went beyond the academic.  It looks like they make one now specifically for car trips. Maybe my parents were on to something.

Whenever we went into San Francisco's Chinatown I always came home with a different fold-up fan. We just got these in, in blue, purple and red for only $1 apiece. Here's a picture of my co-worker and fellow blogger, Natasha, posing with one in the Used Book Cellar.

I saw the spine of this book poking out of our children's nonfiction section and was so excited. I thought this was one of those random picture books that only I read. PEOPLE by Peter Spier is full of illustrations of people from around the world. My favorite is the beginning, where sections are devoted to the vast variety of of eyes, noses, body shapes, hair, etc. 

Speaking of books, I can't help but bring up this one. The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes won the Booker this past year, and is about the power of nostalgia, and the crazy things it makes us do.

And finally, I highly recommend the new Wes Anderson film, Moonrise Kingdom, now playing at the Coolidge Corner Theater. It captures childhood beautifully