Natural Essays

The appeal of the printed word

By Richard Phelps
Posted 6/23/22

It’s always the same challenge – what to get the woman who has everything? Doesn’t matter the occasion, birthday, Christmas. She doesn’t like flowers. Can’t stand …

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Natural Essays

The appeal of the printed word

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It’s always the same challenge – what to get the woman who has everything? Doesn’t matter the occasion, birthday, Christmas. She doesn’t like flowers. Can’t stand perfume, on man nor woman. Wears no make-up. Never polishes her nails. Thinks restaurants are always busy, “It’s Mother’s Day, they’ll be backed up into the street!” Never read a book until she met me. Was a truant child until she became a teacher. Came from a big family living on a high, tree-lined street above Utica and so learned early on how not to be found, which wasn’t too hard with her parents out on the Yahnundasis tracking down their Callaways, excuse me, Titleists. About the only thing I know she will like is a pair of wool socks. And, so, that has its limits.

I was racking my brain.

As long as she has her own “things,” she is not a selfish person, and was not likely to take offense if the gift was not directly owned, in the long run, by herself. As a teacher she is quite dedicated to her students, and it is well known in the system that if you have Mrs. Phelps you are in for doing things a little outside the box -- which is for herself about the strongest justification she could have for herself being inside a school, no matter what age she becomes. With the pressures on schools these days, and especially on elementary kids with the Covid years, and the in-home schooling, and the masks, and the bad, horrific news coming to us on a weekly basis, with all that, it seemed to me they might need a little lightness; they might need a bit of time to explore without excessive interference, or overprotection.

I thought: what if I give everyone of her students a gift card to the local bookstore? The bookstore is only one block from the school. She could organize permission. They could walk there. The money would stay local. The kids would be exposed to the store and get to know the owner. Feel comfortable. Be shopping for books with their friends. I could not think of anything negative. I went to see the owner, Brittani O’Hearn, Blue Fox Books right on Main. It was December. Snow flying.

The bookstore is a well-lighted place with big old-fashioned windows looking across the street to Millspaugh’s, and the decor was organized and varied and the layout simple, effective. Brittani was with a customer, Christmas a big season for bookstores, and as I waited my turn, I angled to the history section and continued my study of Carthage and what the world was like before Rome. If I had a time machine, I would love to travel around the Mediterranean around 7-800 BC. Anytime down to the age of Socrates. Think of it: the early settlements of Spain with Celts, Iberians; Carthage, Egypt, the Levant, Turkey, Greece, the tribal villages of pre-Rome Italy. What a mixture, what a time.

“Brittani, what do you think of the idea of my wife bringing her whole 3rd grade class in here to buy books? Do you have enough age-appropriate stock? Would it bother you having that many kids? I would pay for them, say a cut-off of BLANK per kid?”

“Wow, no, that would be great! I’ve got lots of books. It would be fun.”

She filled out a very odd gift certificate.

I was a little nervous Christmas morning, but I have learned to live hell or high water with Mrs. Phelps, and when she figured out exactly what was going on, I could tell by her sly avoidance she had some pride in me.

Last week, with school winding down and the kids winding up, the excursion to the bookstore was finally arranged, the class divided in two to make it more manageable, personnel shuffled to help, and they were off like young ducks on a pond, or something out of Madeline.

It went well. Exciting.