Invisible Passage

When Sarah was a puppy

Time. We don’t see or hear or taste it and feel no rush of wind as it races by (or as we race through it), but traces of its passage impose on consciousness. People kept remarking on Sarah’s greying face and how she’s looking like an old dog. “No, that’s just her coloring,” I kept saying. “She’s only eight years old.” Then I looked back at pictures of the puppy we brought home in January of 2008. Her face does have more grey in it. Sigh!

Winter. Would it ever arrive? Would we have winter this year? We’d all begun to wonder, especially after Tuesday night’s historic overnight high temperature for northern Michigan in December. It’s still too soon to say what January will bring or even how the rest of December will play out, but while roses were in bloom yet on Thursday, the wind was chill, and there were some snow flurries. Seasons are such mysteries. Their formal divisions – based on movements of heavenly bodies – often seem irrelevant to life on earth, which is always particular to where one is living that life.

Business. As elusive as time, as uncertain as winter! I don’t expect lines to form at midnight, crowds camping out on the sidewalk, impatient for my bookstore to open. Mine is not that kind of business, Northport not that kind of town. My in-store December sale, though, is a good one: 20% off new books in stock, 50% off used books in stock. Consignment items (few) are the only books not discounted this month. Everything else is fair game – fine bindings, first editions, the rare, the beautiful, the treasures calling your name!

Hours. Tuesday through Saturday, 11-5, are my regular hours until the end of the year. Closed December 25 (and January 1), and probably closing early on December 24, too. The sale is on now and will continue through December 31.

And now, from Time to Hours, we have come full circle, the perfect signal for me to close this post. Just think -- in only a matter of days, we will be having more light again between morning and evening dark!