Bookman holiday.

Spent 5 days on the other side of the mountains, visiting Toby in Hood River, and Todd in Portland, then heading for the coast. Got lucky, the weather was nice the first day on the beach. Stayed in a nicer hotel than usual, the one situated over Haystack Rock. (Clerk started off quoting 350.00, then when I started to walk away, 225.00, and then, finally, 169.00. Heh.)

Toby works in White Salmon, across the river from Hood River, and I think he's happy with being close to the wilderness. He seems in a good place.

I spent a bunch of time at Artifacts, a bookstore that is far funkier than mine, and the other bookstore in Hood River, which was more mainstream. Both managers were willing to talk, which is somewhat unusual. I took pictures of cool books I don't have.

Checked out two bookstore in Astoria, one which was pretty small and limited, the other somewhat more funky. Much less conversing, especially by the former. Not sure why, but most owners seem too threatened to talk about business. Sigh.

My definition of funky has expanded--I've come to realize that, as strange as my store is, there are stores that are even stranger. The stranger, the better.

Visited a nice bookstore in Cannon Beach. Started to brag about being in business for 40 years, and the clerk immediately perked up; "We too! 40 years!"

"That's amazing!" I answer.

Headed back home, saw a huge beat-up building with "Books" written along the side. It was packed with stuff, most of it falling apart. The lady behind the counter was selling the place. Someone already connected to selling online could probably make use of the clutter. But I also found at least 5 books I probably wouldn't have found anywhere else.

We buy books in every place we go. Which is kind of nutty, but then...I know how it feels.