March 14, 2012 § 15 Comments
It is rare that I shop. Really.
You would think that when in town, I’d bust out of my office and zip over to the three-layer mall that is stacked no more than a mile from my commuter parking lot and get some shopping done (you know, when you need a new white blouse or your sister-in-law’s birthday gift or some artisinal olive oil from D’Olivia).
And this weekend, when HM and I did shop, was really more of a stroll and a leisurely conversation on foot, we ended up at the Record Exchange on Hampton. What? records? of all things! But the Exchange is a library of music, of vinyl (records), of CDs, of tapes and I think there are 8-tracks in there, too. And posters and stacks and shelves and tidy piles of records and records and more records. But truly, picture a well-kept library, that zigs and zags with shelves immacuately maintained and most records sleeved in those awesome heavy plastic envelopes.
Yes, we found some music (cuz HM newly restored and set up the Yamaha round table we bought way back when the kids were little and CDs were just coming on the market). Itching for that vinyl “sound” because we have only a few albums that have made it through the various moves, basement-warping existences and petitions for more space, we thought to purchase one or two old retros and get the house hopping. Still a Stones fan, I found an album with “Waiting for a Friend” on it (forgot the album title – sheesh) and an Arlo Guthrie album that I had once owned but has been gone lo’ these many years.
Then HM whistled me into another area of the store where I found him flipping through “author” albums. These, he thought would be good to have, to listen to while we’re chilling on the lower level, maybe working, maybe painting, but above all, poised to listen.
Actually, it’s the kind of thing that makes you want it to rain, so you have a good excuse to stay inside and chill and just listen to the written word, being spoken.