the shop around the corner

I love You've Got Mail for the same reasons everyone else in the world does: the storyline, the chemistry, the zingers, their version of New York, daisies, Kathleen Kelly's ridiculously cute apartment....

...but also so so so much for this quote:

"I started helping my mother after school here when I was six years old. And I used to watch her. And it wasn't that she was just selling books, it was that she was helping people become whoever it was they were going to turn out to be. Because when you read a book as a child it becomes part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does..."

I've historically guarded against disappointment by refusing to articulate goals (we all have our own variation of sticking our ostrich head in the sand, right?). But I still knew what grade I wanted to get, or what record I wanted to break, even if I didn't say it out loud. So who was I really fooling? If I think about it, I wasn't deluding myself, but trying to trick others into thinking that I wasn't trying too hard or overly invested in the outcome. Some teachers and coaches might have been fooled, but many (my favorites) saw through the act. 

Oh hey there, tangent. How did Kathleen Kelly lead to that? Oh yes - the real reason I love You've Got Mail, and the reason I watch it every fall, is that it reminds me of a goal that I always felt too sheepish to admit but that, for some reason, I'm going to admit here and now: I want to own a bookstore someday. And on top of that (if the certain demise of brick-and-mortar bookstores wasn't enough of a challenge), I really would love to write a children's book. Just saying that makes me want to cover this space in disclaimers: "Don't judge me by my writing here!"... "I probably won't get around to it!"... "I was totally kidding about the whole book idea!"

But I really do want it. I want to put words to a simple, good-hearted, cheeky story that will make at least my own children happy. 

(And I'll obviously guilt them so they won't be able to tell me if it's boring or silly.)


The books I've read as an adult have challenged and instructed me, but the books I read as a child, well, they've become "part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does..." Maybe it's because as a child you're not hunting through books for passages to underline or character traits to emulate, but simply sinking into the story, and letting parts of it sink into you. I remember them more clearly than any texts I studied at length in college. I remember how I felt when I was reading them and what time of year it was. I remember how they took over my imagination both waking and sleeping: working their way into the games I played with my sisters and my dreams at night. 

So that's my goal. Nothing earth-shattering, but small and valuable to me. And as an added bonus, if Kindle-proliferation buries my poor little book and bookstores have become obsolete, I'll have the immortal words of Frank Navasky to boost my spirits: "You are a lone reed, standing tall, waving boldly, in the corrupt sands of commerce." Thank your, Frank. Thank your.