Conrad Boyce is the editor and publisher of the Cosmos. He has a BA in English from the University of Alberta and a diploma in journalism from Grant Macewan Community College in Edmonton. He lived and worked in the Yukon and Vancouver Island before arriving in Ontario in 1995. Beyond these pages, he is the Artistic Director of OnStage Uxbridge, and the technical manager of the Uxbridge Music Hall.
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Something to curl up with
If you’ve ever seen me wandering about the streets of Uxbridge with my mutt, or perhaps in one of my occasional forays onto the stage of the Music Hall, you may have noticed that unless I’m being particularly conscientious about my stature, I tend to walk with a bit of a stoop. Okay, more than a bit. I look like I’m about to dive into the earth.
Many years ago, my family doctor told me that this curvature of the spine would probably lead to some severe back pain in the future. Well, so far it hasn’t happened, but as I approach the magic age of 60, I must admit to a little trepidation about it. I’m not keen on pain. And since she’s not in a position to dispute me on the matter, I blame my mother for it all.
In my youth, you see, I probably spent about 40 hours a week curled up in an armchair with a book. And since my mother was every bit the bookworm that I was, she didn’t bother me much about it. She didn’t force me to sit bolt upright with my feet on the floor. That’s no way to read a book, after all. You have to be really comfortable to get the most out of a book, and if it destroys your posture forever, so be it.
When it gets right down to it, a curved spine is a very small price to pay for the immense pleasure of reading. So is sleeplessness. Many’s the night I’ve told myself, or my slumbering spouse, that I just wanted “a few more pages” before turning out the light, only to discover as I finally closed the book that dawn was creeping up over the horizon.
Small wonder, then, that just about my most favourite place in the whole world is a bookstore. Any bookstore. If we’re in a mall, and my beloved wants to shop for a coat or a pair of pants, I’ll say (unless my opinion is desperately needed on the pants, which it usually isn’t), “Okay, well, I’ll just be over there in the bookstore, come find me when you’re done.” Same in an airport (I’ve never actually missed a flight because of browsing, but there’ve been a few close calls). Or a village that we’re visiting on holiday. If it has no bookstore, it’s probably not much worth visiting anyway.
Imagine my inestimable delight when, upon arriving in southern Ontario in the fall of 1995, I found myself on the main street of a town called Uxbridge. The street itself wasn’t all that attractive, kind of a mixed architectural bag, but down on the lower part, beside the Sears outlet, was a wonderful shop called Blue Heron Books. It had a very smiley owner named Barb (many of my favourite people have had that name), a silky black cat named Sinbad, and an amazing variety of non-fiction (my literature of choice - I could happily read the encyclopedia, and have) on its shelves.
There were lots of reasons I decided to eventually settle in Uxbridge. My wife is the principal one, but Blue Heron is certainly among the top five. I must ask Barb sometime why she chose that name. Could it be because the heron is among the most beautiful of birds, and books among the most beautiful of man’s creations?
As you will read on page 7 of this issue, Blue Heron is celebrating its 20th anniversary this week. I count myself blessed to have been a customer for 70% of those years. Not the store’s best customer income-wise, of course, I’ve never had that much money to spare, although I have longingly promised both Barb and Shelley from time to time that if I ever won the lottery, theirs is the first establishment I would visit. They’re not holding their breath.
But I rarely pass the doors of Blue Heron without popping in for at least a short visit. For a chat, for a treat for Lacey, and to check if there are any new Shakespeare bios, or Candace Savage nature books, or DKs. For fiction, I’ll usually go to the library, they’re not books I usually read twice. But for anything else, Blue Heron is the first place I go.
I used to envy Barb, and I’m still jealous of Shelley, for the job they have. I know it’s a whole lot of work for not a whole lot of profit (sort of like the Cosmos!), but to be surrounded by books all day... what bliss!
Maybe if I did win the lottery (but don’t you have to buy a ticket first?), rather than buy out Blue Heron’s stock, I’ll just buy the shop itself, or start another one someplace, like Tahiti.
In the meantime, though, I’ll be content to wander through its welcoming doors, coming out of the cold to the warmth of a wealth of good books. A bookstore like Blue Heron, like a book itself, is a wonderful thing to curl up with.
