The heron waded at the edge of sand and water for more than twenty minutes, than delicately stepped in between the pilings of Dave’s wharf and disappeared from sight. (The webcam might have captured the scene about 8 a.m. EDT.) The bald eagle soared, chased by the squawking gull whose lobster-boat droppings were in the eagle’s talons, surely a quintessential Americanism. The plumped robin perched atop the blueberry bush (immediately outside the webcam window) and snacked on all the blueberries within reach. Thus it is that the robin is heart-healthy and an occasional webcam star. Sunny, dry, a bit of a breeze and a hint of fall all conspired to make the cup of coffee taste even better.
Lobster boats, sail boats, and Roseledge Books as harbor backdrop. Perfect.
Scott brought the latest box of new books from the post office (RB is too close for home delivery). It held two recommended, lesser-known mystery series for Roseledge Books to start carrying. You may recall my marketing ploy of getting you hooked on a mystery series not often carried by other bookstores, thus luring you to return each summer for the series’ latest installment. Mixed results so far. Two Roseledge Books Regulars couldn’t wait and read the whole series in the winter. One other admitted to reading the latest installment in hard cover, instead of waiting for the paperback which is all RB carries. My find for this summer was Elly Griffiths’ series set on the marshy coast (the fen country?) of England and featuring forensic archaeologist and academic, Ruth Galloway. These latest possibilities look equally promising for next year.
The first possibility is Julia Keller’s A Killing in the Hills, a murder mystery set in West Virginia (from which she comes) and recommended by Anna Quindlan as one among several good books she’s reading which were written by women journalists. I also like that she writes about a place she knows well because I often read books for their sense of place. The second possibility is Australian Peter Temple’s Bad Debts, which introduces Jack Irish, “a some-time lawyer, a part-time debt collector, and occasional private eye” ( also interested in turf, football, and cabinet making, says a readerly friend who recommended him). I haven’t found an Australian detective as memorable as Arthur Upfield’s Bony (Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte series) whom I last read a very long time ago, so I am hopeful. Then last night what did I hear on NPR’s Fresh Air but critic John Powers describing and liking Jack Irish (” he’s smart, funny”), so I am encouraged. I’ll keep you posted.
A bookseller’s task is never done. And isn’t that a good thing.
The last minutes of sunlight and the boats seem to gleam. The day is done.
The summer is winding down. Fewer boats sailing in, fewer Sea Street walkers, runners, struggling bicyclists or parents carrying wiped-out kids on shoulders, more leaves falling, but that may be due to poplar and/or maple blight caused by our soggy, foggy summer. The sun-glo (sweet, orange) grape tomatoes are ripening at a perfect pace for one appreciator. Scott just called. He is on his way down (from Wiley’s Corner) because he needs one-dollar-bills for his garage sale tomorrow. This may be my only sale of the day.
Time to settle in with a 20th anniversary edition of Peter Lovesey’s The Last Detective. the First Inspector Peter Diamond Book. I had forgotten how much I liked him. The Jane Austen in Bath tirade alone is worth the price of the book. The last of my blueberries and wonderful homemade ice cream (a gift; thank you, thank you) are a perfect treat and if hunger for goodies persists, I have at hand a bag of frozen gummi bears. Charlie likens these to frozen lumps of rubber, but what does he know? If they tasted better, I would be tempted to eat more.
As good as these treats are, all would be better if you were here.