The evenings are dark now when we close up the bookshop, the streets lit with twinkling snowflakes mounted on the streetlamps already. C and I get home to darkness, and the first thing I do is plug in the white lights around my bookshelves. Instantly, the living room is transformed into a gezellig reading nook, and it’s all I can do to make myself cook supper (even though I love when the windows become fogged up now from the steam) and afterward come up to my office to work on the proofreading I have to get done for a publisher, instead of curling up with a good book and spicy tea.
I just read Boof‘s latest post on her site The Book Whisperer, and that’s only added to my wistfulness. Not only her post but her entire site always makes me feel…cozy. Maybe it has partly to do with the fact that she lives where I want to, in Yorkshire, England, but I don’t know; it’s the feel of her writing, the books she blogs about, herself, the design of her blog, too.
I’ve been thinking so much about Biblio, the bookshop tearoom in my head, and Boof’s post brought that on again. Lately I’ve been placing my shop there, in North Yorkshire. I’m feeling restless, which usually hits me more in the spring, but my extreme busyness is causing me to seek escape. Even though today was my first day as a full-time employee at Greenley’s Bookstore, and I am happy about that, I’m still dreaming of my own place, just the (magical) way I want it. I would rather work there than anywhere else. I would rather take tea there than anywhere else. I need it to be real.
Of course, to escape I read, since it’s the cheapest way of travelling. I recently bought A Novel Bookstore by Laurence Cossé, and want to bury my nose in it, live vicariously through the starting up of their shop. The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop by Lewis Buzbee is another booklover’s read I could get lost in. Last night, C and I finally gathered in the living room and I read The Historian aloud from where we’d left off months ago. It was so lovely, so atmospheric, so cosy. Reading aloud, I appreciate Kostova’s brilliant prose all the more.
As the weather grows colder, I grow increasingly desirous of mysig things: chocolate and chili, heavy blankets, sheepskin rugs, thick wool sweaters and socks, down pillows to sink into, and, of course, fat, sweet-smelling books—glorious, beautiful books. These things give me comfort and joy.
Now what I need is to find, or rather be able to make, the time to enjoy them fully. I’m feeling overwhelmed and discouraged today that I am so busy, but then I look down into our living room, and smile. I have this place, in my home, and I am grateful. It will be there when I’m ready.