It took a few attempts, but we finally succeeded in getting to the bookshop of any bookish person's dreams. I only managed a few photos from the children's area of The Old Library Bookshop since I needed to concentrate on browsing and managing my flock of three. My mother came to the rescue and fully occupied Kate to prevent any disasters or mental breakdowns from happening to any of us. It was so nice to be able to go row by row, examining books and looking for the ones we needed.
Here are my purchases with only the E.B. White essays being on my list, but the rest were authors and titles I recognized as being great finds. I actually have a slight obsession or confession to spill.
The woman who has babysat our kids since they were little has a few books from her childhood in her house. She's not a reader, but she keeps them for sentimental reasons. She has several of Gene Stratton Porter's books in vintage hardbacks similar to these that I covet the very few times I have seen them on the shelf in her bedroom. I have wondered what will become of these books and how long I have to wait before offering to take them off her hands for a small fee. But to ask about them is too bold, so I covet in quiet. So to have found two copies for myself has unburdened me immensely in this area. I am now free to let those books go. Just completely free. Yep.
And very quickly, I will show you the other non-book item I could not resist dragging out of that darling bookshop. It slowed me down on my way to the children's area as I walked past it sitting on a little table cradling an open, welcoming book in its wooden arms. And then on my way out, I just knew we had to have that for our house.