LITERATURE LIVE

On Sunday, January 22, Ron and I traversed the 49^th parallel at the Peace Arch crossing just south of White Rock. We were headed down the I - 5, bound for Village Books and Bellingham Bay on the Salish Sea. After taking Exit 250 for Chuckanut Drive and the Old Fairhaven Historic District we soon found ourselves in the midst of wide streets with angled parking in front of multi storey red brick buildings. We located 11^th Street and parked in the handicapped spot directly in front of Village Books.

It was three o’clock. One hour before Ron’s reading. After making the appropriate introductions and sussing out the reading space in the basement, we rode the in-store elevator to the top floor where the cafeteria was located. I noticed that the Fiction Section of the store was also located there. Was this by accident or design? I wondered.

While Ron went to get us a window seat I stood in line for two hot chocolates and two Swedish cinnamon buns. As the hot chocolates were being topped with whipped cream by the waitress I noticed that I might have ordered a beer from a cooler containing a wide sampling of local craft beers. Beer in a bookstore! What a novel idea! I thought.

In a corner of the cafeteria, overlooking Bellingham Bay and the San Juan Islands, two young male guitarists were quietly performing a selection of folk tunes. The room was primarily full of young people, probably students from the University of Western Washington. When Ron and I finished our buns and chocolate we returned to the bottom floor and made ourselves at home. Members of the audience drifted in. Conversations began.

At four, a young man named David, who looked remarkably like Harry Potter, introduced Ron. He then read from his book and answered questions from the audience which had grown to about thirty people. At half past five, people began slipping away but the conversations continued. Three people had had strokes recently. Some had family members who were still suffering. Others were caregivers or therapists. One lady and her fourteen year-old son had recently sailed down from Alaska and were living on their sailboat in the Bellingham Marina. Everyone we met was welcoming, helpful and friendly. Characteristics Americans used to be famous for.

Outside, across the street, atop another heritage building, a huge American flag wavered in the onshore breeze. However, as Ron and I now knew only too well, strokes pay no mind to walls, borders, and lines drawn on maps.