McHuston Booksellers

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Tag: book stores (Page 105 of 113)

First and Thursday = FIRST THURSDAY!

November 1, 2012 /

Simple enough as a blog header… So how come I failed to make the connection that, today being Thursday, the first day of November, it is the First Thursday? I looked down the sidewalk and was a little surprised to see one of my neighbor merchants with their front door propped open.

The beautiful evening certainly invited letting the evening air inside, but what surprised me was the fact that the store was still open. Oh yeah, waaaay after the fact: Today is the late night for merchants in downtown Broken Arrow.

In the past, there have been carriage rides and astronomy club telescopes and sidewalk music. This evening there is none of that. It may be that I wasn’t the only one who failed to realize the first day of the month was also the first Thursday. I did see some musicians unloading equipment from the trunk of a car, but deduced it was jazz night at the Main Street Tavern.

I’m going to have to make some sort of calendar marking to help me remember, so I can plan some sort of special something.

In the meantime, I’ve been out on my sidewalk bench picking the guitar in between customers.

It IS a lovely evening to be outside!

The Bistro and Murphy’s Law

October 26, 2012 /

My father-in-law had sayings for most every event or happenstance. Lay there and die, he’d say, after dropping something on the floor. To my knowledge, he never dropped anything living.

It never rains but it pours, he professed. That was a slight variation on “It’s either feast or famine,” another of his favorites.

Maybe the reason he said those last two so often was because – well, they’re true for one thing. And those things occur often enough that we are constantly reminded of the truism. And Ed saw to it that we were reminded. Murphy’s Law, he’d point out.

In restaurant parlance – I had it handed to me on Wednesday. That’s a cleaned up version of the actual food service saying. At lunchtime midweek the tables filled up and – as those of you who know me realize – I am at once the waiter, the cook, the busboy, and the dishwasher. Tea-refiller, too. Bookselling checkout clerk, as well.

Could have used a second pair of hands on Wednesday. Or maybe a clone. Two clones would have been better, although the second clone would have tired of the dishwashing duties I would have assigned him.

It was fun. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing, in its proper time and place. I hope my guests realized my hopes included great customer service for all, and toward that end I was moving about as fast as a man of my age and occupation will normally manage.

Wednesday amounted to a schooling of sorts, pointing out that some system had to be in place, whether circumstances demanded it daily or not. In every restaurant in which I’ve had the pleasure of participation, there was some sort of system – good or otherwise. Usually, even a bad system could be tweaked into something more efficient.

The Bistro part of the bookstore had no system previous to Thursday. There was a generalized plan supplemented by some ideas, a few of which turned out to be good ideas. Others – nyaaah. Out with those. The system that went in to effect on Thursday will be tweaked, I’m certain, but there was a much more streamlined delivery of plates of food at lunchtime and a loss less fumbling around.

Nothing like a good downpour to make one look for the umbrella. And that was Wednesday.

Today, a mere two days later, the pace was a complete reversal. Today was closer to what I had anticipated in setting up the food service: a chance to serve lunch to booklovers and strangers-soon-to-be-acquaintances. Not that I don’t want a full house of hungry guests. I’m ready now (he says with hesitant confidence…) and happy to wait on one and all. Enough full houses and I can hire a helper. Work smart, not hard, they say. Of course that means hire someone to do the actual labor. That day will come.

Friday, as Ed would have suggested, was the thinner part of feast or famine, since it never rains but it pours. Hey! The umbrella is ready and I’m anticipating another shower of lunchtime guests and the opportunity to serve up some fresh and tasty fare.

The Grilles and the lack of Grills.

October 20, 2012 /

I don’t think the weather could have been nicer – and a lot of folks made their way to the Rose District (that’s the new nickname for downtown Broken Arrow, you know…just passed by our elected officials). The event was advertised as Grilles and Grills, a combination car show and burger cookoff.

The grilles showed up in numbers, with some truly classy cars displayed from Broadway to El Paso. Main Street was blocked off – something BA is fond of doing. Any excuse for a parade. Saturday morning it was hot rods, Corvettes, pickups, ’57 Chevys, and about everything in between.

The two beauties in the pictures belonged to the same fellow, as it turned out – Dave Lewis, who has A-1 body shop in Broken Arrow. They are certainly a testament to the quality work he does. As I was uploading the pictures, I belatedly realized I should have asked permission of the owners before publishing photos of their vehicles. I sauntered outside just as Mr. Lewis and his wife were beginning to pull out of their parking spaces. I quickened my pace (a rare happening these days) and got to them before they revved and rolled.

The grills apparently didn’t show up at all. Someone popped in the bookstore to ask where all the burgers were, but I couldn’t say. I had to admit the thought of sampling a freshly grilled burger had crossed my mind. But not my lips.

Someone said there weren’t enough entries to stage a competition, but it would have suited me just fine if the top trophies were handed out to the grillers who were willing to give it a go. I believe they could have sold a few of them. The food truck across from the bank was doing a steady trade. (I sold a little Irish stew as well.)

Looking over the cars, I experienced a brief pang of nostalgia for my own car project, a Triumph TR-6 that I had intended to complete as a graduation gift for my daughter. That date came and went. The years dragged on and the progress was as slow as pouring cold motor oil. I embarrassed myself talking to one of the car show attendees, asking him how many years it took him to complete his restoration.

“A little over a year,” he replied.

Mine was ten years running and could have run another couple. Granted, I didn’t work on it every day, but still.

It was looking sharp, and I was excited when it was finally to the point that I could start it up and back it out of the driveway. I drove it around the block.

And just hated the feel of it.

I don’t know if I had tightened the steering too much or something else not enough, but I was remembering the feel of my little Triumph Spitfires, tiny little British sportscars that were fun to drive, even without any horsepower worth mentioning. The TR-6 handled more like an old farm truck, I thought.

After that spin around the neighborhood, I couldn’t get excited about working on it any longer. I sold it on eBay and the fellow hauled it in a trailer to Texas.

I wondered about the many restorers showing off their projects Saturday, and whether they might be old car book collectors as well, but only one came in and asked about auto manuals. There are a few over on a lower shelf – Chilton and Haynes repair guides – but they tend to be for cars like the Ford Pinto.

There weren’t any Pintos on Main Street on Saturday, but if there had been one, I bet it would have had fat black tires and flames leaping down the fenderwells.

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