September 2008

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When our floating city docked in Ketchikan (I had to visualize catch-a-can to remember how to say it), Alaska at 7AM, we dashed off to fully utilize our 4 hours off the boat and in the rain.  Before arriving, I wondered what in the world we were going to do in a city that is asleep.  Alas, it appears Alaska sleeps on cruise liner docking schedules in the summer, the town was up and ready to greet us.  Read the rest of this entry »

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Despite Kim’s best efforts, she can’t actually make it to every independent bookstore in the world, let alone this country, and of course I barely ever make it east of the 405.  So we’re incredibly grateful to our readers who have taken the time to write us about some of their favorite bookstores–it lets us expand the scope of this blog.

If you have a bookstore you love, please feel free to contact us at kim@bookstorepeople.com or claire@bookstorepeople.com and plug it.  You can also simply add a comment at the end of this blog and tell us about it that way, but then you’re depriving us of an easy future post and you don’t want to do that, do you?

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We miss Dutton’s

Note:  this tribute was too important to both of us for just one of us to write it.  So we decided we’d both contribute to it.  Anyone who also misses Dutton’s should feel free to write in and add memories and musings to the comments at the bottom of the blog.

Claire:

You wouldn’t think a furniture store would upset people so much.

But lately a lot of people have been coming up to me.  “Have you seen it?” one said.  “I almost cried.  It’s a furniture store now.”

“It” of course is the former site of Dutton’s bookstore, a meeting place, sanctum, mini-vacation, last minute gift-resource, and support system all rolled into one.

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I loved the day the teacher passed out the Scholastic book flyer.  I would pour over it and calculate how to spend my allowance money.  When I was in fifth grade, I stopped receiving an allowance, so I painstakingly examined the next few flyers to eke out as many books as possible from the last of my money.  Read the rest of this entry »

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“I’ll wait outside,” said my sixteen-year-old son after a brief glance inside the entryway of Curious George and Friends Bookstore in the heart of Harvard Square.  I thought about arguing with him, but I knew I didn’t have a shot of getting him in there.

The problem was, it was a kids’ paradise and Max refuses to have anything to do with childish pursuits.  Meanwhile, the other seven “kids” with me (ranging in age from 8 to 46) had happily raced inside.

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