Yesterday was my last shift at the bookstore, except it wasn’t. I was hardly in the bookstore, instead travelling to the Barossa, to sell books on behalf of the store for a book event. The book event happened to be for my mum’s book.
Mum and I drove up to the Barossa together, and got to spend the whole day together. It was amazing hearing people come up to her and tell her how much they loved her book, ‘A Family in Paris‘, as she signed their freshly bought copies, or copies they had been cherishing since they bought them last year, when the book came out. The weather was glorious, the event was at a beautiful winery, and afternoon tea was provided (including jelly cakes made by a lovely old lady who charges $5 a dozen. Delicious!).
It was a nice day to end on – it reminded me how important books are to people. Even though I won’t be working at a bookstore any longer, books will always be important to me. I won’t even be able to stop myself from reading, or from talking about them, or writing about them, or trying to write them myself. Not working in a bookstore just means that I will have to take time out of my day, or week, to duck into a bookstore to stock up. But this isn’t necessarily a bad thing – I can now browse and exclaim in delight over new books without worrying about whether the book is in the right spot alphabetically or where on earth I am going to fit it on the shelf. But books, and bookstores, will always be there for me. I just have to stroll through their doors.
(I say that I’ve finished at the bookshop, but in fact I have to go in today to return any unsold books and put through all the sales. So I’m not quite done.)