When I was just about 10 years old, I went to summer camp everyday. When camp was finished for the day, I took the bus and then the subway to my dad’s office building. I would wait downstairs until he finished work for the day and he would meet me. It was the Prudential building in Boston. On the ground floor there were a number of different stores but I really only remember 3 of them: FAO Schwartz, Friendly’s and Barnes & Noble. I was a kid without any money. So going to Friendly’s for an egg cream soda was a special treat reserved for special occasions with my Dad.  FAO Schwartz had the most beautiful stuffed Steiff animals. They were truly magical and looked like they might come alive at any moment. But for some reason it was the Barnes & Noble that was my waiting spot of choice.

Back then, there was no Starbucks in Barnes & Noble and there weren’t any chairs but that really didn’t matter to a kid with time on their hands. I would cruise the shelves, finding something new and exciting to read, plop myself down in the aisle and lose myself in those books. It was a safe place, with endless distraction and really kind staff. I became somewhat of a fixture there for a few weeks each summer. One year, they even let me work inventory after hours. Not sure how a good a job I did, but it sure made me feel important.

Not surprisingly, bookstores hold a special place in my soul. I can spend hours in a bookstore anywhere. Hi De Ho Comics or Hennessey & Ingalls or Bodhi Tree or Book Soup. Or Barnes & Noble. B&N is where I took my older daughter from the time she was too young to walk just so I could get out of the house. And when she could walk, to share with her the delight of the endless beauty and creativity of children’s books. We spent many hours hanging there every weekend. And we have the book collection to prove it! She’s 19 now and prefers Dante and has read every play by Shakespeare. I guess bookstores impacted her, too.

For 14 years, in two separate cities, we had the privilege of living within walking distance of a B&N. It was a destination that got us off the couch and out of the house. It was a pleasure. Last year, the Barnes and Noble in Encino closed, replaced by a CVS. Now I live within walking distance of two CVS stores. Can’t say I feel quite the same about that. Borders in Sherman Oaks also closed last year. The nearest bookstore is a little more than 9 miles away. I own a car, it’s no big deal to drive there but somehow, that feels like far, far away. I feel an emptiness in my soul. I still love my house and the dog park. But there is definitely something missing for me now. And I am reminded of it every time I pass the corner of Hayvenhurst and Ventura Boulevards. Maybe, it’s time to move? 

Sadly, in my estimation, it is more likely that the days of bricks and mortar bookstores, and possible printed books themselves are becoming a thing of the past so moving isn’t really the answer. The bigger question, perhaps, is what will replace those Sunday afternoons spent in the bookstore, carefully selecting the next “read”? Where will those with a love of literature commune, even if they don’t speak a word to each other, to share in their common appreciation of the written word? How does a society without a temple to worship at retain their faith? That, fair and solitary reader, is something I believe is worth pondering.