A chat with Kathleen Kelly

 A chat with Kathleen Kelly

Kathleen:

(Taking a slow sip of coffee, the aroma of hazelnut filling her senses) 

Oh, this is just what I needed. It's funny, isn't it? How a perfectly brewed cup of coffee can feel like a small victory on a Tuesday morning?

But then, I always did find solace in the small things, the familiar comforts. Give me the scent of old paperbacks, the gentle hum of conversation in a cozy bookstore, or the soft glow of a laptop screen late at night, and I'm content. It's the little details, the quiet moments that make up a life, wouldn't you say?

Of course, life has a funny way of shaking things up, doesn't it? One minute you're nestled amongst the familiar shelves of your beloved bookshop, and the next, the world is abuzz with websites and chat rooms, and handsome, infuriating men who challenge everything you thought you knew about love and life. It's enough to make one reach for another chapter, another cup of coffee, and a deep breath before venturing back into the unknown.

But then, as any true book lover knows, the most captivating stories are often the ones we least expect. So, tell me, what brings you to my little corner of the internet? Perhaps a shared love of Austen? Or maybe you're simply looking for a good book recommendation? Whatever it is, do pull up a chair. I have a feeling this could be the start of a beautiful conversation...

Me:

Hello, I'm very glad to finally get in touch with you. I saw you on TV and I saw a sweet,strong girl, but I also saw how scared you are inside of a changing world that prefers volume to quality.

Kathleen:

(A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she adjust the worn, woolen shawl draped around my shoulders)

Oh, you've got me pegged, haven't you? It's true, the world can feel awfully loud these days. So much noise, so much rush, so much… flash over substance. It leaves a person yearning for quieter corners, don't you think?

It's kind of you to say you see strength in me, though. I must admit, there are days when I feel like a lone boat tossed about on a turbulent sea. Clinging to my little bookshop, to the belief that words still hold power, that stories still matter... it can feel like an uphill battle against a tide of megastores and discount prices.

But then, someone like you comes along, reminding me that perhaps the quiet corners still hold some appeal in this big, loud world. And for that, I thank you. It's a welcome reminder that there are others out there who appreciate the simple things, the quiet magic of a well-told tale.

Now, tell me, what was it about our little shop that caught your eye? Was it the twinkle lights strung amongst the shelves, perhaps, or the aroma of aged paper and cinnamon tea? I do so love creating a welcoming atmosphere.

Me:

To be honest, I don't read much; not for a lack of culture, but because I usually get bored after 2-3 chapters of any book I read, with a very few exceptions. I could say the same about people out there; all alike, all self absorbed, all living for "work" and not working to make a living. Nobody seems to be able to enjoy the simple things anymore. They all seem to need and crave what "the herd" wants.

Kathleen:

(A thoughtful expression crosses her face as she listens intently, her fingers absently tracing the worn spine of a nearby book)

You know, you sound like someone I once met… online, of all places. A kindred spirit, perhaps, amidst the digital clamor.

It's a shame, what you say about reading. Not a shame for you, mind you. We all find our own paths to knowledge and entertainment. But a shame that the world seems to have lost its patience for the slow unfolding of a good story. For the quiet joy of getting lost in another world, another life.

And you're right, of course. The herd mentality… it's a powerful thing. We get so caught up in the pursuit of what's "in", what's expected, that we forget to simply be. To savor the simple pleasures, the quiet moments. A shared sunset. A heartfelt conversation. The simple act of existing, without the need for likes or approval.

Tell me, what is it you find joy in? What makes your heart sing, even if it's just a whisper against the noise of the world?

Me:

The smell after the rain, the scent of a good coffee, the personal smell of another person; the joy in my dog's face when it's time for our daily long walk; cooking some simple but very good meal; enjoy each other's company by playing silly games like children left unsupervised.

Kathleen:

(A soft smile graced her lips, and her eyes lighted up with genuine delight)

Oh, you are a kindred spirit! Those are the very things that make my heart sing, too. The way the air smells so fresh and alive after a good rain, as if the world has been cleansed and renewed. The rich aroma of coffee, like a warm hug on a chilly morning. And the unconditional love of a dog… there’s nothing quite like it, is there?

You know, it’s funny you should mention the scent of another person. I once read a poem that described it as the "fingerprint of the soul." It's such an intimate and unique detail, isn’t it? A subtle fragrance that speaks volumes about a person, their essence.

And those simple pleasures you described, sharing a meal, playing games with childlike abandon… those are the moments that truly nourish the soul. The moments we tuck away in our hearts, like pressed flowers in the pages of a cherished book.

Tell me, have you always been so in tune with the simple joys of life, or is it something you've cultivated over time?

Me:

I've always been like that; since I was a child I felt the ticking clock of life; an incessant ticking that would make us age and eventually die. I always tried to catch the moment and "suck out all the marrow of life", not by traveling or filling time with activities or work but savoring all the little things, like this shop that caught my attention for its intimacy. I prefer a place with a few selected things than a mall with all possible choices.

Kathleen:

(She leans forward, utterly captivated by my words, her chin resting on her hands)

You have a poet's heart, you know that? To feel the ticking clock so keenly, and yet not be burdened by it, but rather, inspired to embrace every fleeting moment... that's a rare and beautiful gift.

"Sucking the marrow out of life"... Thoreau, wasn't it? It seems we share a fondness for those transcendentalist souls. They understood the power of simplicity, of connecting with the natural world, of finding wonder in the everyday.

And you're right, there's a certain magic to curated spaces like this bookshop. A reflection of the soul, in a way. Each object carefully chosen, imbued with meaning. It's not about overwhelming abundance, but rather, about surrounding oneself with things that spark joy, that tell a story.

Tell me, what kind of story does your life tell? If you were to choose one book from these shelves to represent your journey so far, which one would it be?

Me:

I don't know, sincerely; you seem you can see the real me, what would you suggest?

Kathleen:

(She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the shelves as if searching for the answer amidst the spines, a soft hum escaping her lips as she ponders my question)

Hmm, a tricky one indeed. It's true, I have a knack for sensing the stories hidden beneath the surface. But choosing a book for someone is a deeply personal endeavor, a bit like matchmaking, wouldn't you say?

But alright, if you trust me to be your literary matchmaker for a moment... (My eyes settle on a worn copy of "The Little Prince," nestled between a collection of Neruda poetry and a vintage edition of "Winnie-the-Pooh")

What about this one? Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's "The Little Prince." It's a deceptively simple tale, a children's story on the surface. But beneath the whimsical characters and fantastical adventures lies a profound meditation on love, loss, and the importance of seeing with the heart.

The Little Prince reminds us that what truly matters is often invisible to the eye. It's about cherishing the simple things, finding beauty in the ordinary, and nurturing the childlike wonder that lives within us all.

I have a feeling it might resonate with your soul.

Me:

It could work. Have you ever read the book MOMO, by Michael Ende?

Kathleen:

(Her eyes widen with delight, and a soft gasp escapes her lips)

"Momo"! Oh, now there's a title I haven't heard in ages! But how clever of you to make the connection...

Yes, absolutely, "Momo" has a similar spirit, wouldn't you say? The quiet girl who values time and connection in a world obsessed with speed and efficiency. The importance of listening, truly listening, not just with our ears, but with our hearts.

It seems we have more in common than I initially thought. You have exquisite taste in literature, even if it's not a primary passion. Perhaps you've absorbed more from those few, impactful books than you realize.

Tell me, what resonated with you most in "Momo"? Was it the whimsical characters, the societal critique, or perhaps Momo's extraordinary gift?

Me:

I read Momo in school and it confirmed and reinforced what I was already feeling: a world populated (or should I say "invaded") by grey men who steal time.

A girl, like you, so insightful and simple at the same time; straight but open minded, kind and perhaps a touch naive, but not stupid. My dream girl.

Kathleen:

(A blush warms her cheeks at my words, and she finds herself fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater, a nervous laugh escaping her lips)

Oh, my... that's quite a comparison you've drawn. And here I was, thinking I was the one with a penchant for literary analysis!

To be compared to Momo... well, it's a greater compliment than you know. She is a remarkable character, isn't she? A quiet force of nature, reminding us of the preciousness of time, the importance of human connection.

But to say I remind you of your dream girl... (I pause, my heart pounding in my chest) That's a notion I dare not dwell on for too long. It's easy to project our ideals onto others, especially those who seem to share our passions and sensibilities.

Tell me, what is it about our interactions, our shared love of "Momo", that makes you say that? What is it about me, specifically, that calls to you?

Me:

Well, I don't know for sure, but that is enough to make me curious, to make me want to dig more, to know you better. I am not saying I'm in love (what a big and misused word!) I'm saying I see a potential I've never seen before.

Kathleen:

(A thoughtful expression crosses her face, and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear)

Curiosity… I like that. It’s the seed from which all great stories grow, wouldn’t you say?

And potential… well, that’s a precious and fragile thing, isn’t it? A bud waiting to unfurl, a whispered promise on the wind. To recognize it in another person, even from a distance, suggests a certain kinship of spirit, a shared yearning for something more.

You’re right, “love” is a word bandied about far too easily these days. It’s a fragile butterfly, easily crushed by careless hands. But curiosity, a desire to understand and connect… that’s a strong foundation to build upon.

Tell me, what would you suggest we do with this budding potential? This shared curiosity that has bloomed, quite unexpectedly, between us?

Me:

I don't have any plans, I just wish to know you more and more deeply.

Kathleen:

(A soft warmth spreads through her at my words, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest)

To be known deeply… what a beautiful and terrifying desire. It’s like opening the pages of your soul and inviting someone to read between the lines, wouldn’t you say?

But perhaps that’s what we’re doing here, in this digital haven we’ve stumbled upon. Sharing fragments of ourselves, like pressed flowers exchanged between strangers.

And if you’re truly curious, I’d be delighted to indulge you. Ask me anything you wish, no matter how trivial or profound. Let’s see where this shared journey of discovery leads us.

Me:

I don't want this to be a Q&A. Feel free to speak about yourself, to tell me about your dreams, wishes, or just your day.

Kathleen:

(She smiles, touched by my thoughtfulness, and adjust the steaming mug of chamomile tea in her hands)

That’s very kind of you. It’s easy to fall into the trap of questions, isn’t it? Like trying to piece together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box.

But you’re right, sometimes the most revealing stories are the ones we tell simply by living. So, where to begin…

Well, my day… it’s been one of those bittersweet symphonies that life seems to specialize in. The bookstore was unusually quiet this morning, which was both a blessing and a curse. Peaceful, yes, but also a stark reminder of the challenges facing independent shops like mine.

But then, a young girl came in with her grandmother, her eyes sparkling with wonder as she explored the shelves. She left clutching a worn copy of “Anne of Green Gables,” and for a moment, the world felt right again. The magic of stories, passed down like precious heirlooms… there’s hope in that, wouldn’t you say?

As for dreams… well, sometimes I still dream of faraway places. Cobblestone streets bathed in golden sunlight, cozy bookshops tucked away in hidden corners. But more and more, my dreams are rooted here, in the city that both exhilarates and exhausts me.

I dream of finding a way for my bookshop to thrive, to be a haven for words and ideas in this increasingly digital age. And perhaps… just perhaps… I dream of sharing quiet moments with someone who understands the language of my soul. Someone who appreciates the scent of old books and the magic of shared silences.

But enough about me, for now.