A Little Sadness

I stopped at the local bookseller's on the way home tonight. I didn't buy anything because I was shopping for Valentine's Day, and not for myself. I expected a rack of beautiful, unusual Valentine's cards ... there were none. Or, at least, none *I* could find. I wonder whether it is because they are going out of business at the end of March. No sense getting stock in, under those circumstances, I guess.

You're wondering, I suppose, why I'm writing this here, in my gratitude journal. It's because I'm grateful for the presence the local bookseller has been in our city all these years. I'm grateful that when my children were small, I could take them to see the larger-than-life diorama of Goodnight Moon's "great green room," which surprised and delighted me decades ago when I first encountered it at their old location, and has always brought a smile to my face when I see it.

I told the man behind the counter in the children's section, "I have a question," and realized I was teary. "I have a question," I started again, "but I'm afraid I might cry ..."

"March thirty-first," he said quickly.

"Thank you. But that's not my question." Again, I was surprised by the emotion I was feeling. "I'm wondering what will happen to the Great Green Room." I had to wipe a tear when he told me they didn't know -- they were trying to find someplace for it, but it would cost a fortune to move, and it's very fragile.

I didn't even take a picture of it today. I will another day. And I've had an idea that maybe, someday very soon, I will make a video of the Great Green Room, and recite the words to the beloved bedtime story. Maybe my future grandchildren would like that, someday. But it won't be the same as standing just inside the threshold and seeing for themselves the telephone, and the red balloon, and the picture of ... the man in the moon ... and the three little bears sitting on chairs, and the comb and the brush, and the bowl full of mush, and the little old lady whispering "hush." Goodnight moon. Good-bye, room.