The Horse Trader's Gazette

I promised I would keep you apprised of the outcome of my online horse trading, so here goes. The books I bought from my customer arrived the day before yesterday late in the afternoon so I didn’t open them until yesterday morning. One look at the very well wrapped box alleviated any niggling fears that they might be damaged in transit, so I felt no rush to make a mess of my kitchen right before dinner. As it turns out, the inside wrapping was as good as the outer. Shhhh – don’t tell him – but he wraps better than many, if not most, booksellers. This guy could go into the biz, except of course the biz needs another seller like Warren Buffet needs another dollar. Which is exactly the point of this post.

As you know, my research was exhaustive on this. As you also know, I joked that the prices were probably about as stable as the Dow Jones. As it turns out, that little bon mot may have been prescient enough to point my way to a rewarding new career as a fortuneteller. One of these titles was locked in at a solid $150 last week, yet has now dropped to $125 with one idiot actually clocking in at $11 including shipping from Canada! Of course I picked that one off like a lone bowling pin, so it’s gone, at least for an hour or so, until the next idiot comes along. Of the ten titles I listed yesterday all but that one remained more or less stable. I am not, however, breathing a sigh of relief for the remaining books, as I looked up a couple of my fairly new listings from last week just for “fun” and found myself undercut on all but one.

It’s interesting to me that sellers are so lacking in creativity that they can’t find any other way to compete. It’s a tough market and a tough economy – I am well aware of that – but I also think that maybe with a little brain power it wouldn’t be necessary to kill what’s left of the online book trade. I’m not suggesting that we aim for the moon and price books outlandishly, but I AM suggesting that we protect our businesses and make sure we earn enough profit to pay our bills and keep the lights on. Some time back I read on Abe’s forum the laments of a seller who thought he was making money only to be informed by his tax accountant that, in fact, he was simply recycling the same dollars over and over. The only amazement I found in that remark was the fact that he’d actually reported his income. Most sellers don’t. If you find that hard to believe just bring up the subject of taxes in a book sale line and check out the blank stares.

Last week I attended a planning committee meeting for the 2012 NOBS (Northern Ohio Bibliophilic Society) annual book fair. The talk turned to an idea that had been brought up previously to offer interactive activities as part of the fair – book appraisals and a panel discussion on book collecting being two possibilities. We bandied around names of possible panelists and somehow this led to the remark that a seller I’ve known for years holds a Ph.D.. Never has he so much as whispered a word of this, so I was quite amazed. But I was even more jolted when I realized that three of the handful of people sitting around the table held one too, as did the absent wife of one of them, and of course the late great Doug Gunn, a seller who’d earned a Harvard Ph.d. and I never knew it until I read it in his obituary. I bring this up not because I think advanced degrees are a requirement (if they were I’d be ousted faster than a sloppy drunk at the corner bar on a Saturday night), but because it points out where bookselling began and where it’s ended up. Even 14 years ago when we started  Garrison House Books bookselling seemed a genteel and serious occupation requiring knowledge, intention, research, a deep and abiding love for the “product”, and a head for business. Today -- well, today  let’s just say that electronic wizardry doesn’t shoulder the entire blame for the state of things.

As for the books I just bought from my customer here’s the verdict in a nutshell. Overall it worked out okay, but I say that primarily because of the subject matter. If prices go too wacky online I couldn’t be left holding a better topic than hunting and fishing. Not only can we sell them handily in the store, but Eric will be traveling to two shows later this month and in early September, both of which are attended by buyers who hunt and fish. The big question though is would I do it again. The answer? Maybe. But ONLY in this category or American history up to Reconstruction. Anything else – not a chance.

Danglies, Fleas, and the Moody Purples

I hate giving in to the blahs, but I sure have them today. It’s eight-thirty in the morning and as dark as night outside with a steady rain falling since I got up at six. Yes, I actually lolled about this morning like I hadn’t a thing to do but order room service and eat chocolate for breakfast. I woke up at my usual five and read for an hour – Catherine Gildiner’s memoir Too Close to the Falls which manages to be both quirky and laugh-out-loud funny even as a dark thread weaves its ominous way beneath the bright, snappy surface. I need to take pictures of books today, but doubt I will because room light casts such a sickly yellow spell. Yet, oddly I just snapped two pictures of yesterday’s accessorization of the Magical Makeover of my office and for the first time ever captured the true light grey of the walls.

Check out those purple valances --  are they cool, or WHAT? They’re the exact color of the fabulous purple antique office chair that launched the whole project.  I love the fringe – cannot resist what Eric calls “danglies” whether they be threads, beads, tassels, or crystal pendants. If it dangles it’s a must-have. Even in my murky mood, they give me a delicious little zing of pleasure, as does the black and white photoghraphic art which is highlighted by the final touch of purple in an the otherwise monochromatic decorating scheme. Both of the photos were shot by the same photographer who offers color enhancement of your choice to key portions. I bought them on "feebay" already matted and then framed them myself with store-bought frames from Hobby Lobby, a store against which I hold a MAJOR grudge because they ran Pat Catan’s, (affectionately known as Pakistan's) a much better arts and crafts store, out of town. There’s still a Pat Catan’s in Akron, so I try to go there as much as possible, but in this case succumbed to an overwhelming need for instant gratification. I wish I could show you a view of the desk, chair, and rug with the valances, but I can’t yet because the old bookcase is still in here and the cabinets aren’t black yet, though their doors dry in the garage in ebon splendor even as we speak.

In addition to accessorization, yesterday involved an early morning trip in the dark drizzle to the Medina Flea Market. The outdoor vendors all stayed in bed apparently which was okay by me because I never buy anything from them anyway. There’s usually one book guy out there, but he and his prices reside in a parallel universe, so no big loss there. Inside, the scene was about as flat as a winter cornfield – very few dealers, ho-hum merchandise, and virtually no books or paper. I walked around in a dull stupor following Eric, so out of it I couldn’t have discerned a teacup from an anvil. That is, until I spied THE BOOK. Holy cow, there amongst a grouping of toys sat one of those ephemeral vintage children’s books made up of pieces-parts that rarely survive. Immediately, my eyeballs spun around in my head like pinwheels. How I know this is because the vendor discerned without my saying a word what it was I wanted. My first thought was, “gotta have it” and my second one was “he’s going to want a fortune.”

“Ten dollars?” he asked.

Ten dollars????? TEN DOLLARS!!!!! Oh, thank you book gods everywhere! I owe you a half dozen psalms. Maybe even with lute accompaniment.

Check this out and see why.

Not only are all eight miniature books present and accounted for tucked away safely in their boxcars, but so is the panoramic scene dubbed a “Colorama” that fold outs to make a large mural. Miracle of miracles, the latter's never in its 51 years felt the exuberant touch of  a tiny crayon-wielder.Truly, this is one very good thing. Run over to bookfinder and have a look at prices.

Meanwhile back in Medina a weak sun actually struggles to shine. Even band camp has commenced, late but lusty. Looks like it's time for the lackadaisical bookseller to finally get in motion.

Bookdar, Blades and Banned In Boston

It's been awhile since I mentioned "bookdar", that mysterious force which somehow serves as an internal meter more powerful than the dreaded scanner at alerting booksellers to a must-buy volume. Sometimes it sends a jolt like an electrical charge and sometimes it just whispers, "Hey, you! Pay attention, okay?" Yesterday it whispered just loud enough to shift my focus to a numbered, limited edition of Joseph Moncure March's explosive and VERY risque narrative poem, The Wild Party. We're talking sin and gin to the tenth power here. What's interesting is the fact that I can neither blame, nor thank, my internal bookdar for the outcome. All it did was compel me to look -- and look hard  -- then make an educated guess.

As I picked it up it I thought of something that occurred back when the first wave of  technologically enhanced booksellers desecended upon the Cuyahoga Falls Library book sale waving electronic scanners. Compared to that shiny new weapon  the great sword Excalibur was kid stuff, all cardboard, tinfoil and make-believe.  I'm telling you, I will never until the day I find myself browsing the shelves of the Big Bookstore in the Sky, forget what I heard in line that afternoon. It was hotter than the the back end of hell, my sundress stuck to my skin like cellophane, and my mood was about as cheery as Finnegan's Wake minus the booze. Behind me rang out a voice I can still hear and which Eric and  I quote verbatim several times a week.

"Those old-time book dealers think they're so great cuz they know stuff, but you don't gotta know nothin' to sell books." If someone had taken my blood pressure at that precise moment the EMTs would have zoomed in to pick me up in the Batmobile.

Anyway, I'm looking at this book thinking about that, and registering what superb "book feel" it has. I wasn't sure whether it had ever had a jacket -- sometimes privately printed numbered limited editons don't, but I thought it might  at least have had a glasscine wrapper. I then opened to the yellow endpapers and immediately spied a gift inscription. Some people like these, some people' don't. I love them, especially if they're heartfelt or clever. This one is written in French, which I do not speak, but it didn't take Claudine Longet  to translate the first line,"Avec l'amour." Who's not in favor of  l'amour?

But the big question still  remained. Who was this author, Joseph Moncure March? And does he matter? The last thing I need is a 1947  edition of a narrative poem by a poet known and loved only by his long-departed mother. But wait! There's an introduction by Louis Untermeyer. Okay, now we're talking. Untermeyer was a poet, critic, and anthologist of the day, on the scene in 1928 when Covici bravely published the first edition of this book. Things were definitely looking up. So I open  to the intro and right away Untermeyer shoots me in the eye with descriptive darts --words like vulgar, brutal, cynical, ugly, sensational, repulsive, fascinating, viscious and vivacious. He worries that the Purity League will go after the book with blazing banners, but then decides that might actually be a good thing. Turns out, they did go after it. The Wild Party, along with Finnegan's Wake, made the Banned in Boston list.

I flip back a page and take a gander at the frontis art, a scene of  Greenwich Village Jazz Age decadence, then flip forward and read at random from half a dozen pages. WOWZA! 1928???????? The Roaring 20's roared louder than I'd ever imagained, flappers' knees and bathtub gin not withstanding. So, now what? Do I buy it? Or not buy it?..... I bought it.

There had to be story behind this one, I told myself as I tucked it in the crook of my arm. There HAD to be. So the second I got home I started digging. Turns out it was easier than I would have thought -- in fact, so easy I felt like a dummy for not knowing about it before, especially since it had been reprinted in a couple of editions, one of which in the late 60's was edited to remove the anti-Semitic bits. Then thirty years later still another new edtion came out with illustrations by the great Pulitzer Prize-winning Art Spiegelman and the language reverted to its former state. The Wild Party also inspired some movies, the first of which, oddly, incorporated the Fatty Arbuckle scandal which found the corpulent comic in court defending himself against charges of rape and the accidental killing of a minor actress. In 2000 The Wild Party also  gave way to  two musicals -- one on Broadway, one off. And yet somehow I managed to take up space on the planet this many years deaf to the entire thing. Amazing.

So then. Was it a good buy, or wasn't it? The easy answer is, it depends. The hard answer is, it depends. Art Spiegelman illustrations and the original language make the edition from the late 90''s pretty desirable (ha-ha), but this one's not exactly chopped liver. Online prices,  after you knock out the beat-up copies in the $12-15 range, hover around $22-25 on the low end with the rare book guys standing firm at $100. I bought it with the idea that I might not list it online and now of course I won't. It's a book you have to touch, a book you have to open. A book in which Untermeyer shoots you in the eye with darts and Joseph Moncure March follows up with razor blades.

To get the full experience you  have to be there.

Hunting and Fishing for Inventory

I spent yesterday doing something I have never done before – negotiating with an online customer to purchase part of his collection. Many times over the years people have asked – some customers, some just wanderers who landed on our website – but I have never been even remotely tempted to try it. Mostly it’s because they never offered anything I wanted, but also because I was cognizant of the inherent risk — not to mention the high cost of shipping. But this guy wrote me a charming note after buying a book, which sort of primed me for the kill I guess. Once he had me glowing like a lightning bug from all that flattery he asked if I might like to buy some hunting and fishing books. Ouch – got me on that one! Of course I would if they were any good.

Well, they’re good, or at least most of them are. The problem is that three are TOO good and he had already looked them up and was dazzled by the high end listings. Of course “looking them up” is a meaningless term anyway, but I have a hunch he knows that. In his case, he compared prices at ABE, which might be an okay place to start, but when you’re the bookseller buying inventory it’s definitely not the place to stop. With the economy where it is (which is a different place than it was when he first brought this up last week) I cannot afford to make a mistake here. So yesterday afternoon I hunkered down and went at the task with a vengeance, making notes along the way. This sounds easier than it was because not only is there much cross-referencing involved, but this is the dreaded Medina high School BAND CAMP week. As luck would have it, my office affords me the best seat in the house for a musical and general screaming sound track. I'm thinking fly fishing and the band camp director is shouting ""Detail! Detail! Directional!" But the best part was when he broke out into an aria, singing "Snickety, snickety, snickety! ..." Whatever that means.

Anyway, the first place I looked was bookfinder, as this shows a fairly decent array of prices. But I also googled a few that seemed to be too good to be true and, lo and behold, found that one was available new in the 1998 edition at Blackstone for $40 while secondary market sellers logged in at $150 on the low end. Even with paying shipping from the UK a buyer would be better off going with Blackstone. The other tool I utilized is Alibris’ Inventory Demand. This is an interesting thing because it will not only show you the range of prices on the alibris site, but, when available, realized prices for the same book over the period of its lifespan. What’s interesting is that one of the books sold twice this month in the $125 range, yet the lowest price on alibris was $150 and the recommended price was $118. In some instances you could see clearly that even though the recommended and listings prices hung on at the top of the ladder the book was clearly a shelf sitter. In one case the last time it sold was two years ago! Needless to say, you better get competitive with that baby or you’ll be holding it until you’re too arthritic to turn the pages.

Before I had done this in-depth research I’d logged some of the ISBNs into my own database, as hunting and fishing is an area in which I’ve sold a lot. Sure enough, many of his titles popped right up. Of course that was only rudimentary, as I’d sold all of them long enough ago to mistrust the prices, but I didn’t want to put too much time into it if it wasn’t going to work out, so I asked him what he wanted for the lot minus the three special ones. The figure he shot back seemed okay and further research confirmed that it was. Of course we had different opinions on individual titles but I was looking at the aggregate, so it didn’t matter. The sticky wicket, however, remained the three three-figure titles. In the end I offered him $100 for one and $50 each for the others. Grand total for entire portion of the collection-- $270. Immediately he countered with $300.

To my surprise I did not wrestle with myself for even a second over it. I had given him my best offer and was prepared to walk away – not because I necessarily WANTED to, but because reality demanded it. So I wrote back expressing true regret, but declining the counter offer and even suggesting that he shop them around to other dealers. A period of time passed and in the end he accepted my offer, commenting that I drive a hard bargain.

The thing is though, I DON’T drive a hard bargain. I’ve been known to pay too much more times than I can count. But that was in good times, so the fallout wasn’t catastrophic or even particularly problematical. Today no one knows for sure what the fall-out will be to the used and collectible market with all this electronic wizardry and the collapse of the chain stores. We may win, we may lose. But inbetween now and when all that shakes down there could be some hard economic times. The bottom line is I like this guy and did not want to cheat him in any way. But I also didn’t want to do damage to myself. All told I’m content with the deal, though I would be less than candid if I didn’t admit that worry still nibbles around the edges. It’s not due to any lack of trust in him – it’s the ever tumbling prices. By the time the books arrive they may have given the Dow Jones a run for its money.

What I’m NOT worried  about though is my bargaining partner. I offered to send him a check with the idea that he would ship the books upon receipt. But he elected to do it the other way around so I can examine everything and make sure it all lives up to the descriptions he gave me. Buying books sight unseen is probably not the world’s best idea and I still would be very cautious, but it’s an interesting experiment, especially since truly good books are getting both more expensive and more elusive. I’ll keep you posted on the outcome.

Meanwhile, "Snickety, snickety, snickety ...! Detail! DETAIL!"

One Auction Over-Easy!

Well, today was certainly interesting. Got up as usual at five and went to the world's most horrible estate sale in Akron. How bad was it? Well, let's just say that a 1940's book club edition of  Kenneth Roberts' Lydia Bailey was the finest book in the house. Eric bought a rusty guy thing for five dollars and I bought absolutely nothing. I guess we should have had a clue when we got to the house and saw that the one next door had its windows blown out and a sign from the city tacked to the wide-open front door.  I am trying to keep an open mind, but I'm telling you this not  being a book snob thing isn't easy.

Anyway, we left there and made it back to Medina by 9:30. There was an auction  down the street and around the corner from my house, so I decided to wander down and see if they had anything good. I knew about it and, in fact, had looked it up online, but it was mostly  a Disneyana sale and failed to get me too worked up. But since it was THERE, and the sun was shining, a little exercise and some vitamin D rays seemed like a good idea. I think in all there were maybe 15 people -- okay, maybe twenty-five -- gathered in the front yard. I took a look around, but if you weren't into Cinderella wedding cake toppers, rusty Mickey Mouse lunchboxes etc. this was a five minute operation. To be fair, they did have some really fine older toys in their original boxes and got a lot of money for them. One wind-up Donald Duck alone fetched $300. Sadly, I am not charmed by Disney, so it was all pretty much lost on me.

BUT they did have two flats of paper I wanted and some aviation magazines. I wasn't willing to wait all afternoon for them to come up on the block, but I didn't have to. Within twenty minutes I had spent $140 on the two flats, paid the bill, and was strolling home in the sun carrying them, happy as a bookseller can be in these crazy times.  I quickly made some coffee, sat down on the kitchen floor and had a look at the goodies. I didn't buy the aviation magaines because they ultimately went to $100 a flat for six issues each. As it turned out, I got a couple anyway in one of the flats, as well as a 19th century Anti-Saloon League leaflet, and several excellent manufacturer's catalogs -- one for Hotpoint Servants, which turned out to be small appliances, and a killer one for stoves which actually made me jump up and twirl around the kitchen. I also got a very nice 1929 Standard Oil Ohio road map, two little magazines from the Alexander Aircraft Company with gorgeous  graphic covers and a superb strereopticon card showing African American workers on  a train at the west portal of the Hoosac Tunnel. There's some nice Golden Age of Travel pieces too, plus a 1917 WWI entertainment program for the Second Officer's Training Camp at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indiana. Of all the items it's the only one that has real condition issues, but it's solid and clean (now that I cleaned it), though stainned, and will be great for the antiques mall.

The last thing I did before it was officially noon was to call a woman who had left me a message at the antiques mall about wanting to sell some books. I will go see them this week sometime, but I don't think they're good. I think SHE was pretty good though. Turns out, she had met my frend Cheryl this summer on a trip to Chicago, so we wound up laughing and talking like we'd known each forever.

Oh! Speaking of the antiques mall, yesterday I found a great bookcase on Craigslist and actually GOT it, which is rare, as most of the time the stuff's already sold and the seller forgot to remove it. It was sort of a comedy of errors as it turned out,  but I'll spare you that story. Suffice it to say it's very nice, matches the ones I have, and only cost $50. We installed it yesterday which means that the booth is officially one hundred percent done unless we sell the furniture. If we add anything other than books we NEED a second booth.

Okay then, you're up-to-date on the happenings here.  I took an array of photos for your pleasure, so scroll down and see some of what I got today.

The Great Coffee Debacle; Or Angst at the Mall

Coffee! I need COFFEE, but I can’t have any until one’clock. Just got back from the dentist to have a tooth bonded due to the fact that I have brushed it so vigorously over these however many years I actually cut grooves on the surface. This was a total non-event procedure, but you’d never have guessed it from the array of equipment – safety glasses so water doesn’t spray in your eyes, red stuff that numbs your gum for the novocaine, the novocaine itself (for WHAT? I’m a survivor of the whining torture drills of the 60’s, remember?), two hand tools, and a very cool blue light to harden the goop used to coat the tooth. But now here I am back again with a numb lip that extends to include half my NOSE and an intense craving for Folger’s dark roast. I had a cup before I left, but come on – there’s books to be listed here!

Speaking of books, I was amazed when the dentist comes in and says, “So, I hear you’re at the antiques mall, Tess. How’s it going?” How he knew this I have no idea, but I was tickled pinker than a carnation that he did. We talked books until the novocaine kicked in which made me even more tickled. By the time he got ready to roll he could have performed acupuncture of the mouth and I’d have been fine with it.

But now I’m in my new office perched on the edge of the fabulous purple chair longing for coffee and wondering why sales turned sluggish after two weeks of intense online commerce and the best month at the antiques mall since we signed up. Sales always go up and down of course – that’s retail for you. But this summer they seem extreme in both directions. Of course it could just be me because I have not had a huge influx of new stuff and I pulled out so much of what I did get for various other sales outlets. Anymore I’m getting increasingly reluctant to cast pearls before swine. Saturday I bought this two volume art set in a slipcase that is drop-dead gorgeous, yet booksellers are offering it online for $10. The thing is in mint condition, gloriously illustrated with one whole volume devoted to the art of Ludwig Denig, an 18th century American folk artist whose work, in the way of folk artists, emits a sweet naivete until you absorb the intensity of the colors , the inate sense of graphic design, and the subject matter and your jaw drops on the floor. No way will I part with it for $10. Not happening.

I know I sound like I’m turning into the Norma Rae of bookselling – all militant and soapboxy, but I’m really not on a crusade. I just know that for me things have changed. I'm not the same seller who began this business 14 years ago. I'm not even the same seller I was two years ago. I am willing, eager even, for change and see myself moving in new directions. I’m not sure exactly what that means yet, but I’m working on it.

Well, you’re not going to believe THIS. Since I couldn’t have coffee I stopped writing here and took some of Saturday’s books over to the antiques mall along with a tea cart (forgot to mention I got that at the estate sale too) to replace the table with the drawer that sold not long ago. As soon as I got to my booth I noticed that the booth next to mine is practically empty and wasn’t on Saturday. Just as I realized this, Lisa, the assistant manager, came by and I asked her if it’s coming available. She said she didn’t know yet, but that there are three people on the waiting list for a booth of that size. Then, about five minutes later, I heard myself being paged on the intercom and there’s Lisa coming towards me to say that it is available and the manager says I can have it since it’s next to my present booth. Do I want it? YES! Can I do it? No. But I really, really, REALLY want it. I didn’t even realize how much I want it until I could have it, but can’t.

First of all, I don’t have enough bookcases, but those I could acquire by tomorrow. What I can’t acquire quickly is enough books to make it profitable right out of the gate. Of course I have a lot of stock if I move my entire online inventory, which I actually think I might do if all of it was old enough to qualify. Technically the newest item I’m supposed to have over there should be from no later than 1974. As it is, I push the parameters to 1979, but I can’t go any further than that. I chewed this over a million times and have the stomachache to prove it, but the bottom line is it just can’t happen. Acquisition remains our biggest problem and I don’t see it improving in the short run. If I take the booth my overhead for both spaces would be in excess of $500 a month and the one wouldn’t be pulling its weight.

As I write this, regret and sadness seem to be oozing out of my pores. Who knows when another booth right next to mine will be available? Since I’ve been there it’s happened three times to the same booth, but all of the people on the list now are already dealers who have mall booths, not newcomers as the previous tenants were. I guess I could move to another bigger booth later, but something tells me it wouldn’t be smart because people know where to find me now. A better choice would be to rent a second booth of the same size when I’m ready, make it look exactly like this one and cross advertise them. Then if one next to either of them frees up later (four chances) I could move the other one next door to IT.

Whew! I feel like I just fought the Battle of the Bulge. All I wanted was a distraction which I guess you could say I got in spades. But I’d have been a whole lot happier had I stayed here and written this blog, blissfully unaware that the darn thing was up for grabs.

See what happens when you're deprived of coffee?

A Very Fine Day and A Chair

Yesterday was one of those summer days you wish you could stick in the freezer and defrost in January. I got up before the fog had lifted, not only from the lake, but the street too, had some coffee and a bagel, and coaxed Eric out of the house by 6:30 for an estate sale. “They” always blame women for being late, but I’m here to tell you that women do not corner that particular market. If it were up to me I’d have been gone a half hour earlier. As it was we were numbers six and seven in line which was fine. The usual crowd milled about the front of the house which sat on a lovely winding country lane in the city replete with two lakes and enough mosquitoes to treat everyone to dengue fever. One guy had a box of Bounce fabric softener sheets which he swore would keep the critters at bay, so he passed them out and all the sale-goers ended up smelling like laundry!

My friend Darwin was there and I met a nice lady from Richfield who was a friend of his, so the time passed pleasantly until we got in to the see the “1000 books.” Whether or not there really were that many is up for grabs, but there were certainly a lot. The vast majority resided in the garage which, as it turned out, was where they belonged. We did find one nice modern reprint of an Ohio county history and atlas out there, so that was a nice score, but otherwise ….

Inside, prices soared like eagles for stuff you had to see to believe. I bought one nice two volume art set in a slipcase which was overpriced at $25 but should nonetheless fetch a decent price on my secret site, three books for the antiques mall, and a three volume religious set and a New York history and genealogy for online. We gathered up our meager items and began wending our way through the crowd to the check-out when Eric spotted a CHAIR – solid maple, Windsor-style made by Nichols and Stone. It’s smaller than the one we just sold and not nearly so pleasing in its configuration, but not bad and a better size for the booth. SOLD! (Hear that, Cheryl?)

The highlight of the sale though was a chance to see something rare and wonderful. In this modest, cramped ranch house filed with wall-to-wall kitsch resided the Doves English Bible published sequentially by subscription from 1903-1905 and considered a masterpiece for its fine typography. It’s a five volume set originally issued in limp vellum, but residing in Akron in hard cover, volume I of which was published a year after the vellum. Price -- $2200. The estate sale woman sized me up as the bookiest person in the place and gave me the hard sell, including a print-out from ABE by a seller who’d priced his set at $20,000. Of course she felt that piece of paper was the final word on the subject , but I questioned it to myself then and I question it now. I did some research, which proved to be fun, and found auction comparables for the vellum. One vellum set sold at Christies for slightly over $3000 American and another vellum set was estimated at $4-6,000 by Swann in pre-recession 2005 and came with each volume nestled in its own felt-lined box stamped in gold. Sadly, the realized price didn’t even reach the lowest estimate. Still, what a memorable treat to see and handle these fine volumes.

You’d think anything that followed that would be like a baloney sandwich after crème brulee, but the day just kept on getting better. Eric took the whole thing off, so we got to play with the regular people who’ve enjoyed enough Saturday leisure to take it for granted. We bought pleated shades for my office windows and a doorknob for the office door, had lunch at Panera (spicy Thai salad with chicken and endame) –and then headed to downtown Akron for an exhibit of altered books at the Akron Art Space. Though I was disappointed at how small the exhibit was, it got me so cranked up all I can think of is playing with my papers again. The best works were a fold-out book protesting the war in Iraq, and a truly stunning indictment of incest all tarted up in black lace. Another one I liked was this huge expanse of shredded book pages and polyurethane that spilled down from the wall to the floor like a monochromatic shag carpet. I know – there’s something big here we’re not talking about, but we will another day. Right now I just want to let those images tumble around in my head like Chinese gymnasts.

On the way home we stopped at the antiques mall and installed the chair. My favorite clerk at the check-out desk showed me one of my tickets indicating that I’d sold a set of deluxe auction catalogs for $68.

“I love the way you always do this when I come in,” I tell her.

“It’s because you’re so nice and I want you to do well,” she says.

Truly, truly a day for preservation -- maybe in amber.

Helping, HELP!!!!, and The Help

The next time I take a notion to go to the Hartville Flea Market at 6:30 a.m. on a Monday morning please -- somebody, anybody -- remind me how much I hate it. We went once last year and though the only book I bought was a hardcover copy of my favorite cookbook, I did get a wonderful old photograph and a card table that looks like a painting and stands on its little easel-like legs charmingly folded against the wall in my dining room. It wasn’t books I was after anyway – I know a lost cause when I see one – but I thought maybe I could get display furniture for the antiques mall to replace the sold stuff, or at least a chair for people to sit. But no such luck. I’ve come to the conclusion that Hartville is the same as the dreaded Litchfield only with nicer walkways.

I’d hoped to post yesterday, but it was a day of phone calls from long-lost people, including a guy we didn’t buy books from due to their terminal commoness. I casually mentioned that he could try selling them online and – guess what – I created a brand new shiny bookseller to add to the critical mass. From now on I am NEVER, however casually, going to suggest any such thing. Turns out he has a new twist on the same-old/same-old. Instead of going to library sales three hours early and jockeying with the Cleveland area crazies for the honor of plastering himself to the door before the opening bell this guy goes to library sales only on bag day where he can fit 25 books in a grocery bag at twelve cents each. As he spoke I thought of my friend who has spent an entire lifetime in this business and now struggles due to the influx of sellers who are not serious about books and only want a down-and-dirty second income with the least expenditure of time and capital. I will spare you a rant, but it’s disturbing to think I contributed to this.

I didn’t expect to be able to post today because my friend Mary Lynn was supposed to be here from Dayton for a nine o’clock breakfast which usually stretches to noon. I talked to her Monday night and the gig was on, but here it is almost ten-thirty and I haven’t heard a peep. I tried to call her cell phone, but ended up having to leave a message. Of all my friends she’s the only one as crazed about time as I am. If the time is set for 9 a.m. and she walks in at 9:02 she will apologize profusely for her lateness. So yeah, I’m a little worried.

I just thought of something. Here I am blogging away about selling books, but rarely do I talk about reading them which of course I do and have done my entire life. I am currently reading, though I know I’m late to the party since the movie’s due out soon, Kathryn Stockett’s The Help. If you have not done so, get thee to a bookstore (oh, that's right, we don’t have many of those  anymore) and buy a copy. Well, get online and buy one then. By now the penny sellers should be paying YOU for the order.

As a former writer I am stunned by Sackett’s audaciousness. Here’s this pretty, young, blond Caucasian author writing in the voice of a middle-aged African American maid working in the pre-Civil Rights South, an act which should send alarm bells reverberating from sea to shining sea.. She did grow up in a privileged southern home which employed “help”, but even so, it’s a leap to try assuming such a voice. You either get it right or you fall into the danger zone of offensiveness. Stockett, I’m happy to report,  is standing tall – the woman totally NAILED it. The task isn’t just about capturing speech patterns, idioms and inflections –any writer with a good ear for dialogue could do that –its about living in the skin of your character and understanding the world as she does. And not in a surface way either, but deeply and truly. It’s a monumental task – and not for the faint of heart – which is why I mention this dazzling ahivement.

Well, it’s now almost eleven and still no Mary Lynn. I called her cell phone a second time and, again, it rang and rang, so I left another message. Wait – hang on! Phone!

Thank God, it was Mary Lynn. It seems she forgot to mention one small detail – she’s coming NEXT week. Even her son the doctor whose Cleveland apartment she stays at when she's here thought it was today. So I’m not going crazy and mixing up dates, she’s fine, and I can now get to work sprucing up eleven books for the antiques mall. Eric bought them over the counter at the store yesterday – all from the early 1900’s, all fairly common, but saleable in the booth and all in pretty darn good condition. When I get done with them they’ll be things of beauty.

But before I get to that there’s blueberry muffins, fruit, and coffee calling my name. I’ve been up since five. I think it’s time for breakfast.

Rambling in the Rain

I should be standing  in a line in Akron for an estate sale as we speak, but woke up to both pouring rain and the thing I try never to mention -- fibromylagia -- back with a vengeance. Eric said he knew when he was the first one up that I'd be a creaky mess, so he even made my coffee before he woke me. To be fair, he didn't exactly use the words "creaky mess", but he knew we weren't going. He could of course have gone alone, but the thought of that is as welcome to him as a coiled snake on the front porch. Why this is I don't know, but there you have it. I actually did consider dragging myself out the door and even looked up the sale online, but the pictures proved so underwhelming I practically fell asleep looking at them. Show me shelves of books with shiny, brightly colored dustjackets and unless I'm looking for something to read I'll happily remain in my pjs. I'm still in them actually and may well remain so, but I'm also determined to work awhile today no matter what. ABE graced me with enough high end orders yesterday after a week of miserable sales to inspire some serious listing.  Besides, we can go tomorrow even though any good books -- if there ever were any, which is highly doubtful -- will be gone. But with any luck I might snag a piece of furniture at a pittance price.

I have to tell you -- this furniture phenomenon has me quite baffled. Every time I buy a piece for the booth, I sell it. I'm beginning to think I might have a flair for it, though it's probably too soon to call it anything  more than a trend. So far though I sold the French table, the barrister bookcase, the Windsor chair and now a side table with a drawer. Yesterday's sale of the latter, while great,  impels me  to get to the mall tomorrow,  however, as I know from experience that everything that had been displayed on it will have been dumped willy-nilly about the place, adding to everything else that gets strewn around in the natural order of things. Be that as it may,  it ain't happening today though.

As you know, I've harbored a vocal fear that  I'll somehow morph into an antiques dealer, but I think maybe I'm over it. What I'm doing is just buying stuff that ENHANCES the books, so if it sells, great, and if it doesn't then the booth still looks nice and I have some eye-catching display space for special items. Thanks to that little side table,  I sold my signed  first edition of  Carl Sandburg's novel Remembrance Rock a couple weeks ago. I'd  had it online about a year, took it to the Akron antiquarian show in 2010, and brought it to the mall in March. At first it was just shelved with the fiction, but when I got the table I showcased it on a little stand on top and -- bingo! -- it found itself a home. So I think I'm on the prowl tomorrow for a chair and some sort of small table or chest for display. I doubt I'm  going to cart either one home though, as none of the weekend's sales look great and they're scattered around over too many miles to make it worth chasing them all down.

Estate sales on the whole have not been wonderful around here all summer and neither have auctions. I went to those two auctions that were okay early on, but since then there's been a paucity of books. A guy called earlier in the week wanting to sell me 24 Hardy Boys books from the 30's, the thought of which makes my teeth hurt. I was also offered a collection of Reader's Digest condensed books enhanced by many oversized Reader's Digest  "special" books, and several large cartons of older Harlequin romances. Mercifully, it was all via phone, so I didn't have to find a tactful way to say no in person. Rejecting books people love makes me feel like the grinch who stole Christmas. I always tell them it's the market, not the enjoyment quality of the books,  and that I, too, have beloved favorites that wouldn't fetch enough to buy a can of Pledge to keep the mall booth clean. This is actually true, as as I have a whole shelf of BOMC biographies of the American ex-patriates in France -- Scott, Zelda, Ernest, Gertrude, Alice, Martha Gelhorn, Gerald and Sara Murphy, et al. which remind me not only of past reading pleasure, but also the early years of  marriage prior to the arrival of the dear little wild things!

Am I rambling? Yes, I think I am. So on that note I am going to snap a preview of the Magical Makeover -- just the desk and the fabulous purple chair. I probably should wait until I can do the grand  reveal, but I think maybe after all this verbage I owe you a little something more.  I know it's not much, but work with me here!

P.S. New Picture with rug

Of Books and Nooks

I had hoped to post yesterday, but couldn't for a wonderful reason. Eric took the day off and progressed significantly on the Magical Makeover. As I write this I am sitting at the new black desk perched on the fabulous purple chair like the Queen of Everything -- which is not to say that the transformation is complete. The good news is he fairly easily removed the built-in desk, patched the wall, painted the wall, and assembled the desk. He even disconnected AND reconnected (that's the important part) the jumble of scary electronics which consists of  computer, monitor, speakers, printer, external hard drive, cable box, and some sort of back-up thing that sits on the floor and gathers dust. All that remains is to paint the built-in wall cabinets, lay the rug, buy two black frames for the cool art I bought on ebay and two pleated shades. Happy, happy! And I'm even happier yet because I successfully e-filed my Ohio sales tax forms this morning with a minimum of swearing.

But good as all that is, it's not what I want to talk about today. My mind has been on e-readers ever since Sunday when I dropped by the antiques mall with a box of books and encountered a  nice  forty-something  woman browsing in my booth. She asked if I had Eleanor Roosevelt's etiquette book which I did not -- either there, here, or at the store, though I should have it somwhere considering the tremendous number of books we bought at auction last winter owned by a university librarian who was a HUGE Roosevelt fan. Anyway, I told her I didn't have it and we moved on to a variety of other book-related topics.

"I probably shouldn't admit this," she said. "But I bought an e-reader."

My gaze fell to the old cookbook she was holding, picked up at another booth.

"Oh, it doesn't mean I won't buy books anymore. I just don't want to buy fiction and stuff that clutters up the house after you run out of shelves. Old books are totally different. I'll always buy them."

Immediately I remembered two other people saying the exact same thing to me -- one is my friend Cheryl and the other an Ohio customer who buys from my website. Both of them have the Kindle, but both still buy collectible books. The woman in my booth, however, bought a color Nook and her husband bought the Kobo which of course is affiliated with the late, great Border's, but will still be viable even when Border's reaches it's last chapter (probably by the end of the week),  as Kobe does maintain its own website from which ebooks can be purchased. But here's the interesting thing -- this woman  has no intention of buying ANY e-books. Her sole motivation was to save on library fines by downloading ebooks from the library. In six months she hasn't spent the first dime on new books. I called the Medina library to get the local skinny on the topic and learned that Medina patrons are among the biggest users of e-readers in the Cleve-net system.  The Medina library is part of a larger Cleveland consortium which pooled its money to buy more e-book licenses than it could have otherwise. At first thought it would seem that they would only need a single copy of each title and from that could zap it out to however many people wanted it. But such is not the case. E-books are bought just like any other book -- copy by copy. If they have five copies and six people want it the last one goes on the waiting list. Patrons get three weeks to read the book and then -- poof!-- all gone!

Interestingly enough, almost all e-reader brands are compatible with the books at the library -- except for Amazon's Kindle. Why am I not surprised? Coming from the company that's so greedy it considers itself above paying sales tax in areas where it maintains a warehouse (physical presence), it's to be expected. In fact, amazon is dumping all its affiliates in other states, also to avoid sales tax. You gotta love the fact that Barnes & Noble is not only welcoming these former affiliates, but assuring them they THEY will collect and pay the tax and all the affiliates have to do is jump on board.

Amazon has, however, announced this week that a new Kindle will be debuting shortly which will allow college students to rent downloadable textbooks, a phenomenon likely to take a big bite out of online sales for used textbook dealers. Last fall Auctionbytes conducted a survey of used book sellers which indicated that only 22 per cent thought e-readers had cut into their bottom line. I'd bet the fabulous  purple chair that number has risen greatly because  since then amazon posted earnings which showed that e-books outsold both hard and soft cover books combined on their site. The only saving grace is the fact that older titles are not as readily available in the e-book format and the cost of  new books in e-book format rivals that of paperbacks minus the shipping cost. Not long ago I noticed that a favorite author's new book had gotten uncharacteristically bad reviews on Barnes and Noble. Turns out, it wasn't her book that had readers' bookmarks in a knot, but the cost of the downloadable book at $12. Somehow they had gotten the idea that it was supposed to be $8.95 when they pre-ordered only to be charged at a higher price when it arrived.

The bottom line is, like it or not, this technology is not only here to stay, but is bounding forward like a cheetah on speed. What it means for booksellers remains to be seen, but, once again, I don't find myself in a state of panic even at the height of a sluggish summer. As you might recall, I had grave misgivings about e-readers, but right now am actually flirting with  the notion of buying a Kobo for library downloads to reduce my constant fines. At this point I'm only batting my eyelashes at it, but I do think the day might come when I cozy up to the idea.

As much as I can't believe I'm saying it --  I do believe that the Nook can lie down peacefully with the book.

Pollyanna In the Headlights

In the evening of the day I wrote the last post about pricing I went to that funky little rural library book sale I’ve mentioned a couple times in the past. Though I bought exactly five books – yes, count ‘em, FIVE – that isn’t really what this post is about. I’m more focused this morning on several changes I saw which could be notable. The first was a markedly shorter line that didn’t grow much until the last fifteen minutes and even then proved lackluster. No, forget lackluster. Let's be honest -- it was  DISMAL. Many of the dealers from that area had already quit coming a couple years ago when they banned scanners, so their absence isn’t the issue here. What’s disturbing was the lack of library patrons, especially given the fact that this library believes in rock-bottom pricing. In the old days, even minus all the Columbus dealers, the number of library patrons and their kids could have formed an impressive and enthusiastic Conga line. This time you  couldn't have scared up a square dance.

The second disconcerting thing was the large signs everywhere warning that the sale is in jeopardy due to the lack of volunteers. Again, this has never been a problem in the past. Never. And we’ve been going to this sale since 1997. Every time someone checked out, the volunteer at the table warned that it might be the last sale and pleaded with people to save it by volunteering. The third shocker was the books themselves. Years ago you could haul some pretty fine things out of there, but in the past three years or so to get anything of consequence required eagle eyes and due diligence. But, that being said, the problem was not due to scarcity. On the contrary, books jammed the shelves, spilled out of boxes onto the floor and required two rooms to contain them. They still have the two rooms, but that’s about all that can be said about that. Trust me -- there was no spilling involved last Thursday.

In addition to us there appeared to be three dealers present. One was an experienced seller who has been around at least as long as we have and is a regular; another was a long time ebayer, again around as long as we have, but relatively new to this sale; and the third was a newcomer who, if he doesn’t already have a scanner might want to consider one and steer clear of sales which ban them. He bought – and I am not exaggerating – sixteen plastic tubs of cheap paperbacks, most of which were pocket-sized, and none of which have any real monetary value. All I can say is good luck with THAT. I didn’t talk to him, but I did talk to the other two and both seemed deflated – so much so that I could feel my own spirits plummeting to a hard landing before we even got inside. Both bemoaned the difficulty of finding desirable stock, but that’s not particularly new. What’s new is that both admitted to sharply decreasing sales, especially the ebayer whom I met the last time I was at this sale and haven’t seen since. He was definitely disillusioned back then, but compared to now he was downright chipper.

Ebay, it seems, has raised prices yet again and burdened sellers with even more inane rules and regulations. As he sees it, they are also pushing hard for free shipping and have designed their rating system in such a way that a seller who doesn’t offer it stands a high probability of getting zapped by the buyer no matter how little he or she charges. While it made me glad that I left ebay last summer, just hearing about it brought back a tidal wave of the tension and depression that triggered my abrupt withdrawal from “fee-bay” in the first place. It’s important to note here that the seller who shared all this with me is no dummy – he’s a book guy and a savvy one – but he’s also working a full-time job and then putting in four hours every night after work selling books to pay his kids’ tuition. He’s getting the job done, but just barely.

“It used to be so good I actually considered quitting my day job. Am I ever glad I didn’t. I’m working harder than ever before to make so much less money and the fees are killing me. I’m looking at $125 a month at ebay and that’s without selling or listing anything new and I'm talking about before the new changes. By the time the final value fees are added ….” His voice drifted off.

“I’m still making SOME money,” he said a moment later. “But it isn’t fun anymore. These days I dread going to sales.”

Before I could respond, the door opened and the sale began. As I perused the shelves I felt an overwhelming sadness for him, for my bookseller friend who is looking for a job in a bad economy, for all of us for whom technology gave in abundance and then took away accordingly. But now, a day and a half later, I already feel in myself a resurgence of the light, hope, and excitement I felt before I went to the sale. If you’ve been around for awhile you know full well that I’m as capable of doom and gloom as anybody. I whine, I moan, I fret, I wail, I gnash my teeth and rend my garments. I even do that thing that begins with a "p" that isn't preveracate, but sounds something like it. A reader once reminded me of  that word, but I STILL I don't remember it. What I do know  is this:

Nowhere ever were we guaranteed sameness. Life is all about change, so all we can do is strap on our ugly tennis shoes and get moving

Bemoaning the good old days is a waste of time. They’re over. Believe it.

Business as usual is a formula for failure. The old model can no longer carry the full freight indefinitely.

We each need to make a concrete plan for ourselves -- and be ready to change it.

The old adage about thinking outside the box has never been more crucial. Had anyone told me last year that I’d be the doing the stuff I’m doing now I would have scoffed. But I’m doing it with every fiber of my being and mostly having fun.

New endeavors generate excitement. A few of my ideas have already crashed and burned, but a couple others seem promising, at least for now. If they work out I will be able to do this in a much less stressful way. Goodbye Alibris. Goodbye Biblio …

Looking to a brighter future motivates. I, too, am working harder than ever for less, primarily because of escalating fees and the cost of inventory, shipping, and hardware.  But I still wake up excited – at least most of the time.

And, finally, it's  all about survival of the fittest. There is no way on God’s green earth that the current number of “booksellers” is sustainable. Some will survive, most won’t. Which group I will be in remains to be seen. But I know one thing – I won’t go down easily.

Pollyanna may be the deer in the headlights, but at least she's running.

Pondering Prices

I should have been here by now I know, but there’s this pesky thing called work that occasionally needs my undivided attention. So yesterday I hunkered down and began attacking the contents of the office closet. I whine continuously about how few books I have stockpiled when in fact the office closet is stuffed, and the guest room closet pictured above is not exactly empty. There are also books on the shelves in the garage (not too many though) and some in the basement requiring repair. And we won’t even DISCUSS paper. I think what happens is we tire of looking at the books we’ve had kicking around awhile and begin to mentally dismiss them. These days the outcome of such lassitude can go either way – you miss your moment, or they improve with age.

Here’s what I mean. When I came back from the Case Western sale in late May I researched prices on every book I kept to put online and outfitted each one with a slip of paper with their intended prices inside. Now, just six weeks later, I take them out to list only to find that in a few instances they’ve already gone dramatically south. But the opposite also proved true. A few which I priced low have shot skyward and, in at least two instances, artificially so. The fact of the matter is this – booksellers continue to multiply like bunnies, but come at this crazy endeavor with varying degrees of knowledge and appreciation for what they sell. The pulsing desire is to push the product, so it stands to reason that sometimes very good books get the short end of the stick while lesser ones soar like eagles. A perfect example is a gun book I’ve sold several times. When I looked it up in May it was offered as low as $25 even though my records indicate that I sold it three times at $35, the last time being in January. Reluctantly, I marked the slip with $25, but noted that if it had not risen by the time I was ready to list I would either have Eric take it to a show, or I would take it to the mall. Amazingly, this book now lists at $65 to $100!

Cause for rejoicing, yes? Mmmm… not really. Though it’s tempting to jump in at $65 and try to score I will not be doing it. First of all, it’s truly NOT a $65 book, as there have since been several written on this specific model that are much better. To act as though I have the definitive book on the subject when I most definitely do not makes me feel creepy and unprofessional. But for argument’s sake let’s say I set my scruples aside and jump in at a “low” $65. My window of opportunity is probably less than the time it takes to respond to an order. So now there I am in a couple weeks relegated to page two of the listings which is probably where I deserve to be. In the end, I’m pricing it at $35 even though it appears that I am doing the very thing I rail about – lowballing other sellers. But in this instance what appears to be undercutting really isn’t.

Not long ago I read in Americana Exchange about a long-time seller whose listings I run across on ABE continuously. Though he holds an inventory of more than a hundred thousand books he actually went through every last one and repriced them to conform to today’s averages. Earlier this year I attempted to do likewise, in hopes of streamlining my listings. I need to continue this project when time allows, but the difference between what he did and what I want to continue doing is huge. He “caught up” with current prices, which I guess is good, as it will more than likely trigger sales, at least in the short run. But the fact remains that the market is as fickle as a teenage boy. As I write this, at least a portion of his prices have already become obsolete. I can’t recall whether or not he installed that software which lowers prices incrementally, but I suspect he did. If so, then he can still compete. But I would also add that my long-time bookseller friend who is seeking a job did this too, only to find it less than sustainable over the long haul.

As for me, I want to go through the same laborious process, but just as I began it. My goal when I first undertook it, was, and still is, to clean out the “dead wood”. In some instances I WILL lower prices, but in others I will move the books offline and into one of our two physical locations. The remaining books (they’re the ones gasping for breath ) I will donate to the bookstore in town run by Project Learn, a literacy program. It’s interesting to note that my online inventory has dropped to an alarming 5000 items which seems impossible considering that we’ve been in business 14 years. But here’s the thing. When you look at what little I have now and consider that in the span of two years alone I bought the entire contents of a bookstore in Indiana and the two giant Elmer collections, it’s evident that my sell-through rate has been fairly astonishing.

In the end, my feelings about pricing boil down to this. I do not, and never have, considered books to be pork bellies, the market for which zooms all over the board at supersonic speed. My intention is to be fair to my customers, resist temptations to be opportunistic, and sell good books at fair prices. Consider for a moment the amount of money, time and effort is takes to acquire a decent inventory. Books cost more than ever before, as their popularity online has erroneously convinced all venues – library sales, estate sales, private sellers, auction houses etc. – that practically anything between two covers must be worth a fortune. Then there’s the lines at sales which snake through entire buildings, down sidewalks, and wrap around corners, which of course mean that our amount of wait time to get a reasonably early glimspse at the offerings has grown exponentially (three hours is the norm around here). Then after we buy the books we must schlep them, clean them, research them, list them, shelve them, wrap them, pay commissions on them, and ship them,  often for less than actual cost.

How, given all that, can we afford to sell our books at the whims of a capricious market that’s increasingly dominated by people who don’t even read? 

Reprise: Are We Having Fun Yet?

Okay, I did it. Got up at 5:30 Saturday morning, painted my face, did my hair and was out the door to the world’s cheesiest estate sale in an hour flat. It was held in a junky part of Akron, but it was a beautiful day and I don’t actually hold its location against it anyway because I once bought The Marshall Stillman Boxing Course from a falling-down house in Barberton. That is one truly rare item which taught me not to be a house snob. What was wrong with this house was that it was the size of a Cracker Jack box, only minus the prize inside. But the minute the door opened a gazillion people flew through and congregated in front of the “paper collection.”

Immediately the complaints rose as thick as the mist of Brigadoon.

“I wouldn’t mind that old Akron bike license, but no way am I paying THAT!”

“If you don’t want it I’ll take it. Oh -- I see what you mean!”

“Thirty dollars for THIS?”

And that wasn’t even me! I picked up a nice oversized booklet commemorating the 50th anniversary of Firestone Rubber with its original envelope, but it was priced right at retail. Finally I let the crowd have at it and went off to see the “Victorian children’s book collection.” This consisted of several ratty books printed on cheap paper and priced like the Crown Jewels. Also sharing the same lady-bug-sized room was the “toy collection” which had brought in a plethora of toy dealers (all male) whose conversation channeled what I’d already heard downstairs at the “paper collection”. Nonetheless, I dutifully crawled around on the floor, between the feet, and behind the boxes and boxes of newish evangelical Christian books, only to find one decent Ohio title – Cherry’s Ohio and the Western Reserve in excellent condition and nicely underpriced.

Somewhat cheered, I then headed back downstairs to find the paper collection deserted. Piece by piece I went through it but, again, everything I might have bought was grossly overpriced. I did find two Wadsworth High School commencement booklets from the 30’s (exceptionally nice) for $5 each, so I grabbed those and then ran headlong into a dilemma. Did I dare spend $20 for a 1940’s children’s book about the circus which opens up to form a big circus ring? The odds were good that by its very nature many of these didn’t survive.

But no.

Well, maybe.

No.

No.

Definitely no.

Oh, all riiiiiiight!

I snatched it up and had another look at the Firestone commemorative. I have a customer I could quote it to with a 75 per cent chance that he’d take it and I’d make a tiny—not TIDY, tiny -- profit. But in the end, I said no and meant it. The last thing I want to do is encourage these crazy pricers any more than I absolutely have to.

As it turned out, the cherry drop-front desk Eric dragged me over to see in the first place turned out to be a cheap knock-off, so even that was a bust. And to add to the pleasure, the dishwasher broke Saturday, sales online remained slow all weekend, and even the antiques mall emerged from its white-hot week like an overheated southern belle in need of a stiff mint julep.

About the only good thing I can report is that the Magical Makeover is right on track. Oh, and the dead dishwasher only cost $168 to fix.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Well, THIS is disappointing! Those of you who have been around since last summer when I revived this blog after two years of silence may recall my elation when my neighborhood held a nighttime garage sale that exploded into one giant street party. Medina’s Finest were screeching through bull horns about not blocking fire hydrants and writing tickets faster than they could pull them off the pad. So of course after that much fun and frivolity I was revved up like the engine of a Lamberghini for this year’s extravaganza. All day Wednesday I practically hung out the window of my office (the Magical Makeover remains in progress) watching as cars and trucks showed up hours in advance. But it didn’t take long to realize that there weren’t nearly as MANY cars and trucks even though the weather was so good it’s like we’d borrowed it for the day from Nantucket.

Six o’clock was game time, so Eric rolled in the driveway at a quarter ‘til and we were out on the street in ten minutes flat. It’s not that I expected to buy all that much. Last year I bought a basket, a huge bunch of ribbon for gift baskets and a vintage booklet about the Panama Canal and Eric bought a big kite to fly with Tyler and some other guy thing that I can’t remember. No, it wasn’t at all about buying stuff because I don’t even LIKE garage sales. What I like is the energy of this particular one. In case you didn’t pick up on it, I’m something of an excitement junkie. So imagine my let-down when we could actually stroll unimpeded down the street. If I’d wanted to stroll unimpeded down the street I’d have put on my ugly tennis shoes and taken a serious walk. No! This was supposed to be party-time. As it turned out, I bought a basket, one roll of ribbon and a white turkey platter to replace the one just like it that I broke last Fourth of July and Eric bought a blah rocking chair for the porch of the store. We were back in our kitchen making spaghetti for dinner in just under forty-five minutes, he having spent a whopping $20 to my $5.25.

So now I’m wishing for a good estate sale, but apparently that’s not happening either. The Akron paper shows three, two of which are not even in the ball park. One of them says books, but I’m getting weary of this particular company. Always they have books and always they’re “priced reasonably”, but what they mean to say is that they're actually junk which they have to price high because in the estate sale game you work with what you have. At any rate, my desire to slap make-up on my face at six o’clock this morning and wait for hours to inspect this high-priced junk waned considerably. So that leaves us with one more sale tomorrow.This company, too, goes wacko if they get an old book and from the sound of things they don’t have very many, so it will no doubt be Wal-mart quality at Tiffany prices. I vote for not going, but Eric wants to look at some non-book stuff for the store so I’ll probably colorize myself after all and go along for the ride. The deal is though that we have to go to The Nervous Dog for breakfast afterwards because I bought a groupon coupon for it, and then stop at the antiques mall so I can reload my shelves after a very satisfactory week there. Which, I might add is a  good thing, because once the holiday ended, buyers seemed to slouch off the internet like it bored them out of their skulls.

On a brighter note, Eric installed a new light fixture in the ceiling of my office and painted the new closet door. He is also – and this is huge – taking off the ENTIRE DAY tomorrow, so we can work on the office unimpeded for hours at a stretch. That is, of course, provided that I go to the estate sale. The immediate progress of the Magical Makeover it would seem hangs on the end of a mascara wand.

Chalk-Aholic!

Finally – the great driveway chalk mural HAPPENED! We had a blast, but I must say that it  didn’t turn out at all as expected for a variety of reasons. I had pictured everyone working on it en masse, but Tyler, our seven year old grandson, wanted it to be a project for him and me only, which as it turned out, was a very good thing. The two-year old dynamo required the undivided attention of the remaining three adults just to keep him from heading off to Akron!

The real downside though was the glow-in-the-dark chalk. I expected a much better product from Crayola, so was very disappointed on every level. Not only do you have to mix this stuff up (it’s rather lethal looking), but it also has the glow life of a lightening bug which means you have to make it right before you want to use it while still allowing 25 minutes set-up time. It comes with shallow plastic trays in ridiculous designs for drawing and doesn’t even provide enough gunk to fill them to the top. For $10 we wound up with five pieces of crumbly chalk (it promised eight) that disappeared almost immediately. Had I not bought regular sidewalk chalk too this project would have been over before it began. As it stood, after the fireworks Tyler and I drew three bombastic roman candles at the end of the driveway and were rewarded twice by passersby who commented on their neon-quality. But to tell the truth, Tyler’s hands glowed more than the driveway did which didn’t exactly send me into paroxyms of joy.

But I still loved crawling around on the concrete with this funny little kid who provided nonstop running commentary, as well as great design ideas. During the fireworks a long single line of geese paraded right next to us across the yard and into the lake where they huddled in terror until the sky stopped exploding. Right afterward Tyler drew the lake and suggested I make some geese. By the time we covered all available space the Fourth of July had been faithfully captured in chalk and my knees looked like two ripe tomatoes. Unfortunately, the glow chalk also failed to show up on camera, so you can’t see the finished product.

Believe it or not, I hardly gave more than a glancing thought to books this whole weekend (okay, so there might have been SEVERAL glancing thoughts), but both online and mall sales hummed along nicely in the background despite my inattention. To my surprise, the mall outstripped online, but online wasn’t bad at all. Here’s the big news though. Remember the chair I bought for the booth a couple weeks ago? I mentioned that I’d priced it, but didn’t care one way or the other if it sold. Well, guess what? It sold! So now I’m back to having nowhere for people to sit. I must say though that this was one really cool chair. I wish I’d snapped a picture while I had three chances to do it, but I didn’t, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. I’m beginning to think that if books really do go belly-up someday I may have a hidden flair for antique furniture! Who knew?

But as good as all that is, the important thing is we had a satisfying weekend with our family -- perfect weather; cute kids; great food, especially an east Indian blackberry and watermelon compote in ginger syrup; a trip to Medina’s Big Toy which Moira helped build back in 1993 when she was a senior in high school; wonderful Medina fireworks; a wide-eyed baby who LOVED them; and the fanciest driveway in the neighborhood.

But the very best gift of the holiday was what my daughter said as we climbed the stairs to bed with two tired little boys.

“You may not have gotten $10 worth of chalk, Mom. But you more than made up for it in Gran-worship!”

The Power of a Letter

My thoughts today are focused on letters – not the letters of the alphabet, but the result of arranging those alphabetical letters into a charming and old-fashioned thing called personal correspondence. You know how much I love finding packets of letters such as those I shared with you some time back tracing an early 20th century romance in Akron. What got me to thinking about it again is a challenge extended by fellow bookseller Kristian Strom in his recent blog post. Having spent an afternoon with a noted writer from Kansas he was struck by the fact that this fellow actually gets letters – real, honest-to-God-and-Emily-Post letters delivered in the mail as though it were the 1940’s. Not only did this make Kristian long for letters of his own, but motivated him to revive the lost art of correspondence by challenging his readers to join him in a 21 day stint of writing and mailing personal letters to friends, family, and favorite authors. While I didn’t formally sign up for the challenge – I don’t think I know 21 people to send letters TO – I am definitely going to send at least one. By the time you get to the end of this post you’ll know the recipient.

Ever since I was a kid I loved letters and practically welded myself to the mailbox in hopes of getting one. For years I had two penpals, a girl named Astrid from Sweden and another girl named Bridget from County Clare, Ireland. I acquired the first one through the kid’s page in the Akron Beacon Journal and the second was a niece of my Irish grandmother’s Irish friend, Nan Rainey, who if she had been British would have given Mary Poppins serious cause to polish up her resume. But it wasn’t until I was in high school that I acquired the ultimate penpal. I apologize if I’ve told you this story before, but I don’t think I have, and if I did it’s one of my better ones anyway, so pour a cup of coffee, take a break, and settle back.

It was Christmas 1968 and I was a reluctant member of the Future Teachers of America. I say reluctant because I had no intention of being a teacher. As soon I could get an education and break loose from bondage I was off to New York City to write the Great American Novel. My mother, however, believed that my career choices were limited to just three jobs – teacher, nurse, or nun. Seeing as how I’m not patient enough for the first, too squeamish for the second, and not nearly holy or quiet enough for the third, I didn’t give a nansecond's notice to any of them. To keep the peace though I did join the Future Teachers of America, but only for the Christmas party which was enough to get my membership duly noted in the yearbook and my mother off my back.

As it turned out, I needed one meeting AND one service project to make the yearbook, but as luck would have it, the party presented a made-to-order option so easy it was almost cheating. Pages of the Akron Beacon Journal adorned with festive red and green garland shrouded the blackboard that frigid afternoon, each filled with the names and addresses of local guys serving in Vietnam. Most of the Future Teachers got pretty jazzed over the idea of keeping up the morale – so much so that they tried out all the last names with their own to find the one that sounded best just in case there should be a romantic conquest involved. After all, in those days one of the big attractions of teaching was having the summer off to spend with your future kids. I, of course, was off to the Big Apple, so there was no WAY I wanted to snag a husband from godforsaken Ohio of all places. Besides, I had a boyfriend who was making me crazy enough. The way I saw it, practically anyone would do, so I sauntered over to the boards, planted my short self in front of the first page I saw, and only briefly mulled over the names at eye level. Eric struck me as a good name – solid, dependable, the kind of guy deserving of a package of cookies and a letter from a teenage girl with literary aspirations. So Eric Kindig it was. I pulled out a pen from my bookbag and crossed the name off the list with a deep sense of satisfaction. Whew -- off the hook!

Immediately replies poured in to the Future Teachers, but not for me. By the time I’d given up on it I didn’t even care because almost every single letter my friends received was invariably stupid and/or vacuous. When the burning question is “what are your measurements?” (mine were something like ten-five-ten) you know you haven’t missed a darn thing. But then one day in late January I returned home from school to find a letter so thick it was actually a packet. My mother was ironing and I was standing over the heat register in my plaid Catholic girl uniform skirt (which I always kept fetchingly rolled at the waist) reading the letter. Even as I write this I am back in that dining room in south Akron in the tall ugly white house which the city ultimately, and mercifully, demolished for urban renewal.

But the letter! Oh my God, to this day I can remember the blood shooting through my veins like a shower of liquid meteors. The guy could write! The guy had a college degree! The guy read books! Currently he was reading Michner’s Hawaii and pondering the travesty of the missionaries attempts to squelch the native culture. The guy cared about people too! Pages and pages told the story of the wandering children of war, especially the little Vietnamese soda girls whom the soldiers taught to swear and then laughed when they innocently repeated it. The guy also had a girlfriend. A considerable section was devoted to the girl back home who was a REAL teacher with a passion for her work, unlike me who was an out and out fake in the teaching department. In fact, he had just returned from an R&R spent with the lovely Pat in Hawaii which was why he was so late to respond. I guess that part didn’t make a big impression.

“Mom,” I said. “I’m going to marry this guy.”

Of course she laughed. And rolled her eyes. And told me I was off on yet another one of my “tangents”,  which on the surface was probably true.

Except that it wasn’t. Two and a half years later I did marry him. We met January 17, 1970, my freshman year in college, got engaged February 6, 1970, and got married June 20, 1970. I was nineteen years old to his 26 and we had never even exchanged pictures, much less talked about romance. As you know, we celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary last month.

So, in the end, I never did move to New York City. In fact, I ended up only about twenty-five geographic miles from where I started, but in other kinds of miles it was more than halfway around the world. I didn’t become a novelist either, but for a long time people actually did pay me to write stuff, and I’m still writing stuff here. The important thing is that a letter, written on pale pink stationery in schoolgirl penmanship, changed my life in ways I could not possibly have imagined. I suppose some people would say that I gave up my dreams too soon. But they would be wrong.

I am, and always will be, a woman of letters.