I hate goodbyes

Posted By on July 22, 2011

Not just goodbyes to people, though I’d rather poke myself in the eye repeatedly than drive my brother-in-law to the airport for his trip home after a visit. At least when I leave my aunts and my cousin, I’m thinking about enough gas in the tank or the traffic over that bridge under repair. I can distract myself.

But I don’t just have a hard time with farewells to the people I love. I literally cried as the new owner drove away in the car we used to bring our newborn son home from the hospital. We’ve moved over 22 times since I’ve been married. Each time, my last farewell is out loud to each room in the house. I thank those walls for their shelter and for the happiness and sadness and anger and joy we’ve shared within them.

When a shop I’ve used closes, I often feel a little betrayed–they should have found a way to stay open! (I still glare at the former home of Cambridge Coffee, my first home away from home when we had no Internet access.)

Last night, I received a “fond farewell” from Borders. I didn’t realize they’d been in business for 40 years. I only knew of them for 12 or so. After I quit the day job to write full-time, I found myself easily distracted by laundry and 40s movies–and the kitchen. So, I’d pack up the laptop and mosey off to Borders. They had yummy coffee, a ton of “research” material, and the best selection of the kinds of movies I love best. Those WWII-era take-your-mind-off-it froths, obscure indie movies, like one where an astoundingly sexy Christopher Walken and Jonathan Pryce are literally brawling over JP’s wife, and lest we forget–TV programs from waaaayyyyyy back!

I remember my favorite table, which I shared with Amy and Theresa and sometimes my girly, who loves books and coffee and movies as much as I do. I literally remember words on the page from Unexpected Babies, which was the first book I wrote after I was free of the day job.

I think I’m part of the problem. I read mostly from my Kindle these days, or my iPad if it’s dark and I don’t want to shine a light in the sleeping husband’s eyes. But I love to read, and the roomy nature of an electronic reader makes sense for me. I’m just sad that Borders didn’t find a way to make sense in the changing marketplace.

So, here’s a fond–and a sad farewell, to Borders where I talked and quaffed coffee and wrote and wrote and wrote. I’ll miss your books and movies and music and caffeine–and the friends with whom I shared good times, as well as the friends I found on the shelves in your stores.

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