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Category: books (Page 1 of 3)

#53 – A Quiet Season

This year, for my family, has not been an easy one. We are just sort of riding a challenging wave. A wave we’ve been on for several months.

I believe we all ride these waves at some point. And, my people are made of strong stock. My Italian background is riddled with tragic and very sad tales (a large part of one side of my family’s last name is Saro). I am a little too optimistic of a person to believe I am destined for the same, but at times I have wondered…

Through this uphill climb, my family has spent a lot of time together, loving one another and snuggling in close. We watch a lot of Friends. We eat a lot of yummy homemade food, which is the catalyst for spending as much time as possible around the table talking about every little thing. There is always so much to talk about.

And, we all read A LOT.

While I pour most of my energy into my family – the Bee Hive has taken a bit of a backseat. My focus is honed in elsewhere – thus the no events or book clubs or writing workshops or blog posts, etc. The spaciousness for creativity is limited.

I spend a lot of time feeling bad about this. I look at Instagram posts of other bookstores and all that they are doing and all that they offer their communities and I feel like a total failure. And, like the Bee Hive has slid into mediocrity.

“We will forever sit around the table and talk.
And, we will always turn to books for comfort.”

And, yet…this is where things are.

Despite the lack of offerings at the moment, I am very grateful for the opportunity to be able to possibly extend some comfort to my community, and beyond, through books. Because, either collectively or individually, we all are always going through something. And, whether it is by people coming into the store and something jumping off the shelf for them that is exactly what they need. Or, customers using the website to order books of whatever genre they are looking for. I am very aware that the books people choose and what they read is incredibly personal and private. And, I am extremely honored to be trusted with the information that other people are taking in at any given moment. And, of course, so appreciative that they support the Bee Hive with their book orders. Especially those that might be easier to just have arrive at their front door.

As far as the waves go…it is necessary to remember that you can’t ride the same one forever.

This particular one my family is on, while painful, has also been beautiful in that we have grown very strong. And, close. We laugh deeply – and with appreciation – at the ridiculous, ironic, and hysterical. We will forever sit around the table and talk. And, we will always turn to books for comfort. And, probably, also…Friends.

While this cycle may be a less outgoing one, there is a more creative, bustling one on the horizon.

The Bee Hive, as its own entity, stands patient. As long as it is filled with books and people come in and out of it – it is, for the most part, doing its job.

I work to take cues from that contentment.

And, I look forward to the inspired and focused energy and creativity that the next wave is sure to bring.

 

#52 – More Magic

The first summer Bee Hive was open (the store opened in November), was the summer that coincided with the initial sensation that was The Hunger Games. At the time, dystopia was what our kids needed – and the books were coming fast and furious. I can not say that any of them were as good as The Hunger Games, but they served a purpose. Stories based in the future where young badass, usually female, protagonists kick the butts of the always cruel, always evil, and most certainly corrupt – authorities. To me, it felt like a world that our kids needed to escape to. To wrap themselves in stories where the young underdogs rise up to take out the very power that held theirs back – was, and is, intoxicating.

After a couple of years of dystopia having a pretty good run – things in real life got pretty grim. Too…dystopic. For real. The U.S’s administration changed hands, and, almost instantly, so did the genre of choice.

From dystopia…

to…fantasy…

Really excellent fantasy.

Alternate worlds. Sweeping powers. Shape shifting. Portals. Creatures and witches and spectacular magic and epic journeys. None of which remotely resembles what is happening in this world.

Not even a bit.

Glorious escape.

Recently – due to a fairly recent trend in reading – I have beefed up the Bee Hive’s selection of Young Adult murder mysteries…

The bloodier the better.

(The why of this is not something I am quite sure about.)

Dystopia has also made a comeback – the biggest since The Hunger Games summer.

Not terribly surprising.

But…

Magic and fantasy – still rule.

In my house – it is what we are completely honed in on.

Delighted by.

And, grateful for.

After the His Dark Materials trilogy, The Girl That Drank The Moon was followed by The Time of Green Magic and we are now – and I have wanted to do this one forever – happily being enraptured by The Hobbit. (All hail the great and glorious reining king of fantasy.)

But…

The magic, for me, has not just been confined to stories.

Truly, magic is never confined just to made-up tales.

And, I have always known that. All you have to do is witness a rainbow to be reminded that we are surrounded by some seriously mystical stuff.

But, recently, after reading The Time of Green Magic by Hillary McKay where one of the main characters is a drawing of a spotted cat from Chauvet Cave come alive – magic started to really pop out everywhere for me.

“All you have to do is witness a rainbow to be reminded that we are surrounded by some seriously mystical stuff.”

Putting dirty clothes in a washing machine – pressing a button and then taking clean clothes out = magic

My son’s huge, warm, bursting-with-love hugs = magic

Thinking of a person you haven’t seen in a while and then bumping into them = magic

My daughter running the challenging (and unpleasant) 800 meter with rhythm and ease = magic

A project or creative endeavor coming to completion in all its glory = magic

Connecting with people over books, music, movies = magic

A full moon rising with mighty intention on the horizon = magic

Homemade pizza = magic

The Bee Hive = magic…

I totally get the need for the different genres our kids are attracted to and why.

Worlds that are futuristic, violent, sterile, strange, unjust, wild – serve a purpose for hungry imaginations that are in need of something…other…then what the present moment holds…(or perhaps resembling?)

And, it is true that Katniss Everdeen’s very impressive archery skills may be seared into our heads forever.

But, won’t we always be drawn to the fantastical?

The mystical?

The wizard. The force of nature. The washing machine – that make us stop for a beat in wonderment?

There is a reason we are surrounded by magic in stories and otherwise.

It is what softens the edges. Brightens the dark. Keeps us bold…

And, watching.

For whatever…

is around the corner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#49 – Virginia Woolf, George Jones, and Green Chile

I am not sure why, but somehow, when I was in college – I was very aware of the need to milk the experience in every way I could. Someone, somewhere, said to me at some point – this is your opportunity to spend time learning and studying about whatever you want. This is a block of time – such as you will probably never have again.

I heard it. And, I took it to heart.

In every way.

After, starting out at a small, private, liberal arts school – which is what I thought I was supposed to do. I ended up transferring to University of New Mexico – long story, but in a few words: Albuquerque on a summer road trip with my sister, spotted a cute Native American guy riding a bike on UNM campus. At the time, that was all it took…Well, the cute guy and…the clouds in the ocean-like sky of which I had never seen the likes of before…

Randomly moving to Albuquerque, New Mexico (I am a Los Angeles native by way of New York-transplant parents) sort of clicked everything into place for me. I worked at a coffee shop – the one right across from campus where all the cool kids hung out at. And, fairly quickly, became a part of a web-like community full of an eclectic mix of artists, musicians, grad students, and college graduates.

I opted out of a BA in English for a BA in University Studies – meaning, instead of, as I saw it, wasting my time on science and math and other subjects that I would have been required to take for a degree in English (and were difficult for me because of my pretty severe dyslexia) – I could choose what I wanted to take, as long as I met the credit requirements. So, I took every literature course I could – along with film and some art and music history. I read, discussed, and wrote – one semester, 25 papers – my way through college.

All the reading and writing and discussing of books that I did during that time was definitely happening in tandem with a life full of, and rich with – music.

I fell, fast and hard, in love with a drummer – actually, an extremely intelligent guy with multiple degrees. But, his amazing record collection and the full drum kit in our living room was an added bonus.

*Abundant live music, dance parties, strumming George Jones songs on the back porch, and green chile-laden potlucks and camping trips inevitably breaking out into jam sessions were very regular events, I think, we all took for granted.

“I took every literature course I could…I read, discussed, and wrote – one semester, 25 papers – my way through college.”

For me, the words and thoughts of Virginia Woolf, Flannery O’Connor, James Joyce, and Mark Twain – were infused with the lyrics and sounds of Liz Phair, Juliana Hatfield, Yo La Tengo – and, Coltrane, Mingus, and Parker. My mind and perspective were expanded – equally – by both.

Life definitely followed a cycle of long, oppressively-hot Albuquerque summer days; moody, chile-smoked fall evenings; and cheap, poorly heated structures-cold winters…

Still.

It was stretching. It was freedom. It was community. All to a constantly revolving stellar soundtrack.

Such a specific moment…Rather than as much time as possible on screens – we spent as little time as possible. It was all about in real life connection. We all worked really hard in whatever we were striving toward, but – then we would come together…

Those four years profoundly shaped who I am, at the core.

That time is my point of context for my priorities, my values, my desires, my parenting, my perspective, my cultural and artistic sensibilities…

It was luxurious in that I lived so simply – yet so fully. With curiosity. And passion. Love. And, focus on satiating my hunger for learning.

There have been times since then when I have wondered what my twenty-three year old self would think of my life. Would she be proud? Disappointed? Ashamed? Underwhelmed? Overwhelmed?

I feel there have been moments that would cause her to cringe. In fact I have been very aware of such moments.

But, I do feel that perhaps I have gotten to a window where she would think I was okay.

I feel that the recent transformation of the Bee Hive is an opportunity to make my younger, clear-eyed, less-muddled self proud.

She would be excited, I think, about being the owner of an independent, community-based book store. Surrounded by books by ridiculously impressive women writers, thinkers, researchers, and change-makers. She would be proud to run a business that works hard every day to nurture community and connection. She would be into being around cool kids – of every age – on a regular basis. And, I think, she would think the Bee Hive playlists aren’t bad.

That moment…

We were all working so hard to be able to go on to whatever was ahead.

But, really, we had it all.

I mean other then the gorgeous and amazing offspring that has since transpired…

We had what people sometimes search their whole lives for without ever finding.

Living fully in the moment. Surrounded by opportunities to learn, grow, and create. Music around every corner. And, people – to love, support, debate, bounce ideas off of, and connect with on a daily basis.

And…mucho green chile.

 

 

 

 

 

*Other then the incredibly rich local music scene, Albuquerque, at the time, was the stop over between Texas and California for many touring bands. EVERYONE played in Albuquerque’s, mostly small, venues. There were typically so many live shows in the Fall, that we used to refer to October as Rock-tober.

#46 – Transitions

It won’t be the same again. I mean – it could, maybe some day, potentially, feel like it did before.

But.

It won’t…

ever be the same again.

What we all have been through, this past year, it is more weighty then – just – bouncing back. As if – nothing ever happened.

Yes, we will probably go to movies and out to dinner and over to other people’s houses again. Eventually.

But.

I feel – changed. I feel the Bee Hive is – changed. I feel the community around Bee Hive – is changed.

And, I want to honor that.

I can’t say that I am not fearful – to open the doors again – to the public. To put myself and my family and the Bee Hive in that vulnerable position.

And, honestly, I have no idea when that will happen.

With out of town visitors sure to start rushing in again. I am weary. And gun-shy. And, in no hurry.

As with most, my kids have been in the situation of being home for the past year. It has taken an almost ridiculous sort of juggle (as so many parents have experienced) – running the Bee Hive while tending to Cash and Olive’s emotional, academic, and psychological health at the same time. Unfortunately, I have not quite honed my superhero powers enough to succeed at fulfilling the need and desire to be in two places at once. Yet, Olive and Cash always trump everything else. And I wonder how and when that complicated juggle may subside. Just a little.

But, I have had a lot of time. Alone in the Bee Hive. To think. Mull over. And, really form in which direction I want it be of service in its next phase. How to make the most of this opportunity at a rebirth.

What’s come out of the lengthy process of mulling – is a sort of reflection of the journey this last year has taken me on personally.

“I have had a lot of time. Alone in the Bee Hive. To think. Mull over….How to make the most of this opportunity at a rebirth.”

Lots of cooking. Lots of time at home. A desire to improve on who I am – mind and spirit. A desire to improve on how I am in this world. A desire to read women writers – fiction, poetry, memoirs. A desire to experience other places. A desire to stay well – both physically and emotionally. Robustly so.

A desire…for the Bee Hive to serve a more diverse crowd.

And so –  I have been ordering books. Not just a few here and there.

But, hundreds of new titles for Bee Hive.

Women’s fiction. Lots and lots of fiction by women writers of all kinds. As well as poetry and memoirs. Non-fiction by scientists, social activists, and politicians.

Gorgeous books about food – cooking it and growing it. And, mixing a mean cocktail.

Books that show other people’s homes. In all sorts of lovely, amazing settings.

Books about self-improvement and wellness.

And, because customers have been asking me for years – just more grown up books – male authors included! – in general.

So fun!

And super scary.

There have been no kids books sacrificed in this process – I swear.

In fact, in the midst of my shifting and recreating – my ten-year-old son came in the store, he looked around, and said in awe, “It looks like Christmas morning…”

So – I believe – it is kid-approved.

And, I hope – very much grown up approved.

It is not the pre-pandemic Bee Hive. All the toys and puzzles and the beanbag chair are gone. I am not sure how they could not be.

At this moment in time – I can’t imagine another story time as of before: small space, lots of kids and parents touching books, each other, and sharing instruments and scarfs.

But – something else – something that feels safe and comfortable and appropriate will take the place when the time is right…

And, I am hopeful, that there will be other events on offer to serve a broader audience. And, perhaps, help recreate connection among us that have been starving for it – for each other, for way too long.

My thought is perhaps an oasis can be provided.

Well, that’s the idea, anyway.

Both in a carefully thought-out selection of books.

And, in those that they bring together…

In the meantime – this transition – not just between the past, present, and future of Bee Hive, but also the bridge between a world of people getting sick – and safety – is challenging. And, uncharted. And, uncertain. And, I feel, needs to be taken incredibly seriously.

So, the Bee Hive’s timeline is…day by day.

I promise though – things are on the way to being bright and shiny. And different. And, I hope, in the process of becoming better than before.

Because…

You all deserve better than before.

XOX

#45 – Lessons of 2020

I think, at this point, the world is exhausted of this year. And, truly – logistically, it is time to bid it farewell. Just about 366 days – lived and gone. A fresh set of days, weeks, and months – waiting in the wings. For better or for worse. But, I feel it is safe to say – we would all love for the this new block of time, to be for the better…

As with most – this year kicked my butt, for sure. But, it also showed me, taught me – so much. How to convert a brick and mortar book store into an online book distribution center, for one. How to never assume I can run said book distribution center alone during the holidays – even during a Pandemic, is another really big one. Who my people are. Both the Bee Hive’s beautiful tried and true; and in my personal life – those that consistently showed up for me – even if sometimes I’ve been too crazy or pooped to show up for them. How amazing, resilient,and delightful Cash and Olive are. But, even for all their amazing-ness, resilience, and delightful-ness – they still absolutely need their people, their friends, their tribe. And, that without that – 10-year-olds get really sad.

I have been given a screeching-loud wake up call about how my lack of action and speaking out made me complicit in the despicable state of Race Relations in this country. I have been taking a hard look at my own tendencies and it is a long-overdue slap in the face for me. One that, I hope, will stay with me, and keep me mindful, conscious, and present about something that I just can not and will not tolerate in myself.  

One night of continuously texting photos to a friend and professional bread-baker, taught me a much needed lesson about the importance of hydration in bread baking. His patience and insistence – more, more, more – made it finally click for me after many, many years of cooking and baking – that there is no such thing as too much moisture in dough. It has transformed my life! And my baking! Not just my bread, but pizza dough, cinnamon rolls, pie crusts – are so much better. I continue to work on my bread, because it has provided a source of great yumminess and comfort for my family this year, but also, because of Covid and my friend needing to be extra careful – he hasn’t tasted my bread yet. And, when he finally does – I want him to see – I was paying attention during those late night tutorials.

As with most – this year kicked my butt, for sure. But, it also showed me, taught me – so much.

My daughter has been learning Latin this year. And, it turns out, has quite an ear for it. Cash and I, sort of, have been learning alongside her as she teaches us with her very drawn out, slow pronunciations. I am now referred to as mater and Cash is referred to as fraterculus. One particularly memorable afternoon, as the three of us sat around the kitchen table drinking tea – Olive brought out her Latin workbook and taught us all sorts of very important words – like tunic and wax tablet and writing plume. I was delighted to learn some Latin! I asked Olive – what about How are you? or Good afternoon? Yeah – nope. Nothing like that. Right! I learned – by way of my very bright daughter – what a dead language truly means. And that sometimes, tunics and waxed tablets are all you really need…

This was a year that really reminded me – drilled into me, really – the importance of books and movies and music. Movies for entertainment (thank god) and escapism. Books – for me, who spends my days surrounded by all things books, it was a year that reaquainted me with actually reading. I’ve craved it. I can’t get enough. During a time when I have been often exhausted, and sometimes a tad depressed – stories and characters, truly in the thick of the human experience, have been the only place I wanted to be. Books have always been company for my deeply introverted nature – so validating and soothing. This year, that’s been magnified by 100%. And, I think, probably saved me from going down any really dark hole. Music, for me has been a total distraction. I can not stop looking for the perfect song for whatever playlist I happen to be working on – and there have been many. Music has been complete poetry for me. And, a much needed balm.

The lessons haven’t been all bad.

But they haven’t been all welcome.

The day after Christmas, I got word that one of the most wonderful people I have ever known, passed away that morning. I immediately sunk to my kitchen floor and wept. And, I couldn’t stop. As I grieved in a way that actually surprised me in its depth – it occurred to me, that I was just one of many many many many people who have experienced the loss, the injustice, the confusion, the disorientation of all that this year has taken…stolen. In that moment I was profoundly moved by how few have been untouched by 2020’s long-reaching tentacles of death and pain, heartache and suffering.

It has been enough – I think.

Enough lessons.

Hopefully, this new year – this new block of time – will be a little less about lessons. And, instead, move us closer to living again.

 

 

 

#43 – Purgatory

I am third-generation Italian. Along with the natural inclination I have towards food – both cooking it and eating it; and, an admiration for pretty people on Vespas — I also inherited parents who experienced extremely strict Roman Catholic upbringings. And, who – even though they cringed every time they had to step into a vestibule – still sent my sister and I to Catholic school and had us go through the motions that good Catholics do – First Holy Communions, ashes on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday, Christmas Eve mass….There was much that put the fear of god in me about the faith that dominated my childhood, but the thing that truly stands out, to this day, was the idea of Purgatory.

The Purgatory that I heard about in Sunday school catechism class, is sort of an uncomfortable stop-over between this life and where you go next.

Webster’s definition of Purgatory:
(in Roman Catholic doctrine) a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

There is no going straight to heaven…not until you get clean.

If you had the opportunity to read the beautifully creepy Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders – he was incredibly creative in his conjuring of a gruesome hold-over zone – but in his case a Bardo, which is Buddhist.

Webster’s definition of Bardo:
(in Tibetan Buddhism) a state of existence between death and rebirth, varying in length according to a person’s conduct in life and manner of, or age at, death.

Same idea but you are on your way to rebirth rather then heaven.

Regardless, in two vastly different philosophies, there is a belief in an in-between place. A place where you are neither here nor there. A place where you gotta sit with things, until you can pass Go.

Purgatory has been coming to mind a lot for me lately.

I always felt creating an in-between world between lives seemed pretty cruel. Like waiting for test results, or a college acceptance letter, or if you’ve been approved for a loan.

Or the outcome of a particularly crucial election

Or for a vaccine to be made

Or….

Very much like this moment in time.

I am not sure if what is on the other side of this chafing dish is heaven or hell. Or, how long it will take to get there from here.

I feel in the meantime – while I am hanging in the Bardo – my skin is a little thinner.

The next book in our queue to read together at home was Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You: A Remix of Stamped From The Beginning  by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi. When I pulled it out for the first time to read – my heart just wasn’t in it. And my daughter asked if, just for that night, we could read The Penderwicks. Ok – so, we have listened to every Penderwick book at least twice on road trips and read each book, together, at least once. Cash and Olive have read by themselves, each book, at least twice. I am certain between the three of us we could recite each of the five books verbatim. (For those who have not had the pleasure, The Penderwicks is a delightful series of books about a family of four girls growing up on the east coast with a widowed professor father – who is often spewing Latin. Over the course of the books their family blends and grows from their father remarrying and other various lovely people coming into their circle. They eat tomato sandwiches, vacation by the sea, play music and soccer, grow up, fall in love, get in trouble, and burn a lot of stuff in the kitchen. They are beautifully written and truly charming). So Stamped remains on the shelf, for now, and we continue to indulge in The Penderwicks. “The Penderwicks are just so…happy,” signed Olive.

While Limbo Land has been a challenge of a lifetime – and I feel as if I am biting my nails more with each passing day – I am grateful to be able to wrap Olive and Cash up in The Penderwicks. Grateful for the beautiful change of seasons and the excuse to make green chili stew, and Frito pie, and pumpkin muffins. For the N.B.A. and the fantastic show they’ve been putting on for us (I am not sure what we will do at my house when life inside the Bubble comes to an end.) And, bread. Yay for the bread baking journey. Knowing that there is a fresh loaf of bread waiting to be consumed – can completely turn a day around.

I have been dreaming about the Bee Hive and how — some day, some way — it will be transformed to be of service to more people, create more connection, and have a wider scope – a broader reach. This is my hope for the store. And, the Hope that is getting me through many current moments.

Purgatory nor Bardo, I don’t believe, are meant to be pleasant.

The drawn out Unknown. The uncertainty of fate. The isolation.

The good news is – neither Purgatory or Bardo are permanent states. They are layovers. At some point you find out if you are going to heaven or hell. Or, what life you will inhabit next.

We will move on.

What life will look life after Purgatory/Bardo is, of course, a mystery.

I am keeping my fingers crossed…

that whatever we move on to, has vacations by the sea and tomato sandwiches.

I would even take some Latin here and there.

#38 – More

The news, the universe, this moment. Is more surreal. Unbearable. Confusing. Heartbreaking. Painful. Difficult. Tragic. Not – of this world.

My inclination, more and more, is to look ahead. Beyond. Into the future. To wonder. Speculate. Worry.

When – more then ever – I need to stay here. Right now. Present. Focused. Adapting. Accepting.

My patience is more apt to be tested.

My daughter’s 12-year-oldness, more supremely annoying. (Has she always been this annoying?)

My son’s frustration more…uncomfortable.

I am – more – tried. To the bone.

And, yet.

The breeze blowing through my open window is more – symbolic. Of Spring. Movement. Freedom. Open-ness. Connection – to the outside world.

The view from the top of Sun Mountain is more clear. Sparkly. Still. The glimpse from above of the school campus my daughter will be attending next year more a vision of hope. A symbol of a new beginning. A time – different – from right now.

“The breeze blowing through my open window is more – symbolic. Of Spring. Movement. Freedom. Open-ness. Connection – to the outside world.”

The unspecific meals we’ve been eating and the basics that fill my cabinets – beans, rice, oatmeal – feel more like a beautiful abundant bounty.

The melodic music on my playlists touches my soul more – sharply. And yet, like a balm.

Virginia Woolf – To The Lighthouse – which I am reading to discuss with friends – is more profound. Perfect. Brilliant. Even more so then when I first read it in college. And, was in desperate need of Virginia Woolf and her stylistic writing, thinking, and strength in her subtle, yet powerful and important observations. About human relations. The intellect. And this life. Our life.

Those friends – who I am discussing Virginia Woolf with – our sisterhood of four – are more of a softer place to land. Through email, text, and Zoom – we validate each other, support one another, and hold space for our challenges and beautiful moments. The connection, more then what I could have imagined when we unexpectedly discovered our bond one memorable night out together.

I feel Bee Hive is more important. Necessary. Relevant. Then ever. To be of service to the community that has supported and loved the store – more of a gift then ever during a time when libraries and schools are closed. Each day that my distributors continue to ship books and UPS and Fed Ex continue to deliver them – more of a sigh of relief. Though I continue to hold my breath. And hope. And pray. More.

Though it is quiet, everywhere. My rare and precious moments of peace and stillness are, more and more, the restoration that keeps me going. To stop referreeing. Reinventing. Restructuring. Reasoning. Rolling with it. To put my guard down. Stop washing my hands. Moving out of the way of others. And, being in constant protection mode of my children, the Bee Hive, myself, and the world that once was. That place. That place of calm. Is what fuels me. For more.

And, more. Gratitude. For the opportunity to go another round. After this one. Because, there will be another round. I have no idea what it will look like. Or, when it will be. Or, how we will get there.

But, my thought is – it will be…

More.

 

 

 

 

#37 – This Moment

I very much am of the belief that what we focus on – is what makes up our world. Our reality. This moment in time is completely of our own creation.

And so…

I have been having the extremely uncharacteristic urge to watch Christmas movies.

And read Jane Austin books. (Ah – the world of muddled love somehow magically becoming un-muddled. With basically no communication at all…)

And bake. I have a freezer full of blueberry muffins, banana bread, and granola. And, I am obsessed with somehow getting my hands on long-ago grabbed up yeast and flour. So, I can bake more. Or, at least, have it on hand…You know just in case, we are in sudden need of preparing for a tea party. Or something.

My dance parties have become parties of one. To the likes of Simple Minds, Liz Phair, and Smashing Pumpkins – music from another lifetime. And, yet, having  the effect of a warm embrace. And, a total release at the same time.

Olive, Cash, and I have been losing ourselves in The Golden Compass. A strange and beautiful modern-day fantasy classic – in which an evil woman is trying to steal children’s detached souls (in the form of ever-changing animals) and ferocious bears fight one another to the death for the role of king. An other-worldly story that I have, at times, while reading out-loud, transported myself to. Surrounding myself with the competent and brave heroes.

“This moment in time is completely of our own creation.”

The elegant notes of Vivaldi and Pachelbel float through my house as my daughter works on Spring, Largo, and Pachelbel Cannon on her violin. I ask Olive every day after her practice, when she is getting ready to pack up  – ‘Please, one more time?’ It is so lovely…like a riot of airy colors…flowers…laughter. Joy.

The Bee Hive is stocked and anticipating the influx of spring break visitors from Texas, Colorado, California, New York. The street is quiet though. The neighborhood deserted. But, if I put music on and don’t look out the windows too much – I can be in there filling orders and having phone conversations with customers and doing book fairy work. And, it can feel like…the Bee Hive is alive. And well.

It is magical…the worlds we are able to create with what we decide to focus on. We are the gods of our universe. If we choose.

I believe it is why I have been so obsessed with books my whole life. They – along with music, cooking, and adventures – have saved me. From what could have otherwise taken me down.

Let’s be smart and do the right thing to keep everyone well. And safe.

But then…

Let’s save ourselves.

And do what it takes to bring a reality into focus full of comfort and ease.

And wonderment.

And beauty.

 

 

 

 

 

#35 – ¡Viva la (shhh) Revolución!

It has gotten to the point where I sometimes feel a little crazy. Actually, all the time, I feel a lot crazy. It is not just the constant question of “Why am I doing what I am doing?” I am reminded of the passion I have for what I am doing on a daily basis. This other crazy comes from the desire to fight time, technology, and behemoth corporations – one in particular that I can’t seem to get away from. I want books and book stores to matter. Kids to love the printed word. And thought be put into where and how things are purchased.

Clearly, I need to work on my practice of radical acceptance.

Recently though this quote crossed my path from a speech made by Allison Hill, the incoming CEO of the American Bookseller’s Association:

“That’s my new job, to help ensure that the people, all of you carrying out the quiet revolutionary act to make the world better every day through books, bookselling and bookstores, continue to survive and thrive.”

It made me feel a little less nuts. And a bit more empowered.

After all – if there is anything I’ve always aspired to be, it would be a revolutionary. One hundred percent.

And, it got me to thinking about other quiet revolutionary acts – and how many of such acts, are able to go a really, really long way.

I don’t believe you have to shout from rooftops in order for actions to be effective. The simple act of where we choose to spend our money makes an enormous impact. Our communities are touched profoundly by our choices. I have seen it first-hand with Bee Hive – customers on a regular basis are the difference between paying the bills and not paying the bills. The people, and our dollars, have complete power.

“I want books and book stores to matter. Kids to love the printed word. And thought be put into where and how things are purchased.”

I have a friend who owns a couple restaurants in town. He pointed out to me that a certain large grocery store offers prepared foods in such a large variety, that people no longer have to go anywhere else to get their tacos or sushi or pizza. It is all in one place for them. The act of consciously venturing out of the grocery store to local restaurants will help my friend (and other’s like him) keep his unique, super delicious, community-oriented/enhancing restaurants in business.

There are so many other little things – riding your bike instead of driving, recycling, voting, teaching our children well, using refillable water bottles, supporting local farmers and artisans….so easily done – enjoyable even! – that would be considered part of a quiet revolution. I think.

It has always been my intention to not knock people over the head with my personal political views. But, truly, it is difficult to not be political when you are a book store, or any small business, owner. It is impossible to not shout – and from the rooftops this time – for people to please be aware of the monumental impact our actions have. The choices we make – are everything.

As long as things stay on the trajectory they are on – I will continue to make myself crazy with the desire to fight time, technology, and behemoth corporations.

But, I also live in the hope that the mini quiet revolutions that are going on in various forms all around us – will add up to something significant. Life changing even. And we, the people, will make a difference. The kind of difference that will matter. The kind of difference that will nourish our communities. Heal the weak connections among us. And, will, ultimately, feed us in a way that will allow us to rise up and take back the power that we truly have access to.

SHHHH.

Although LOUD is good, too.

 

 

 

 

#34 – And….Gratitude….

As partly documented here, on this blog, 2019 was a year of struggles and challenges. For Bee Hive, myself – personally, and, I believe, for many others. And, while I am truly pooped from it all – and perhaps a little scarred; rather then kicking it in the rear on its way out, I would prefer to smudge out 2019 with gratitude. And hope. Because, there is always light. To lean into.

My muses, inspirations, and in 2019 – on some mornings – my motivating factors for getting out of bed in the morning – are Olive and Cash. When Bee Hive first opened – they were both very small. Olive was just turning four – Cash was one and a half. They have always loved the store – but they never quite had the staying power to be there for hours – just hanging out reading or whatever. Olive has, actually for the past few years – but never Cash. After half an hour – he’s ready to leave. This year, that changed. Cash has become just as voracious a reader as his sister, and now all he wants to do is be at the Bee Hive. At home, his new favorite game is Bee Hive – a phone rings and he answers “Hello, Bee Hive, this is Christian – how may I help you?” He answers people’s questions, and using the Bee Hive website – helps them order books. (I wonder if perhaps he is plotting a take-over?) Olive is now 12 and I am already planning her summer around her being at the store – getting to know the computer system, becoming comfortable around customers, and perhaps filling in here and there. She is literally a walking catalog of most of the books in the store and would be an amazing bookseller. It is the vision I’ve always had for Bee Hive. And, for Olive and Cash. For them to truly be apart of it. I feel that they will go on to do other beautiful things with their lives and I have no intention of forcing any sort of family business on them – but, for this moment in time – I am so grateful that they are filling the Bee Hive with their sweet enthusiasm and big, bold interest and truly love and appreciate it. And, that all that Olive wanted for Christmas was books. And, a Bee Hive gift certificate.

“Let’s give ourselves a big, fat break – and read a book in the new year. Read ourselves to safety. To sanity. To comfort. To freedom. To emotionally healthy kids. All of it is, literally, a book away…”

It took me a while to figure it out – because I tend to get attached to people – but kids grow up. I believe the first round of Santa Fe kids who grew up with the store since it opened eight years ago – have outgrown the Bee Hive. Sadly. I miss them. Of course. But – and again, it took me a while to figure this out – there is a whole new crew of kids! They are now coming to story times or our writing workshops. Or, coming by the store regularly to pick up the next book in their current series. And, this crew will be with us for a while. And then, gradually, they will stop coming. And I will miss them. And be sad. And then new faces will start coming! Thank goodness for the cycle of life. For better or for worse.

Books. Of course. God, I am so grateful for books. The stories that connect us. Validate us. Make us feel not so alone. Or weird. Or crazy. Or whatever. And the gorgeous books that we are so lucky to have being published now, are incredible tools. For our kids. For ourselves. Let’s give ourselves a big, fat break – and read. Read ourselves to safety. To sanity. To comfort. To freedom. To emotionally healthy kids. All of it is, literally, a book away…

I am so grateful for moments of In Real Life connection. It feels so valuable. I don’t care who it is with. A friend. My kids. A stranger. Just – connection. I want to connect – and not about the stupid weather. How are you? I mean, really, how are you? Cause, you know, life is hard, and connection is what gets us through. As always – I am grateful for the lovely customers who come in the store – I think we’ve gotten each other through some rough days. Perhaps, without even knowing it.

Santa Fe! I was driving through town, there was fresh snow and lots of happy holiday tourists, filling the streets. Loving our awesome restaurants. Spending money in our shops. Skiing on our super fun mountain. Just so delighted to be in this unique town. Because, I was reminded – it is a pretty great place. We are truly fortunate to live here. And we are truly fortunate to have the visitors who descend upon town during certain times of the year. We would not survive without them. And, they remind us. Of all that we have.

So, here’s to a fresh, shiny year.

A beautiful, brand new decade.

As always…I am hopeful.

But, mostly – I am grateful.

 

 

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