From the mountains...

by Kent Fillmore

`January 15, 1996`

Mid-January. Just a few weeks into the new year. According to Norman Rockwell, I should be shoveling snow from my walkway, and wearing my L.L. Bean winter jacket. But then, I wonder if Norman Rockwell ever spent a winter in southern California? Somehow, I doubt it.

Mid-January, and the temperature is in the low '80s! Actually, the air was so clear, and sweet, you'd have to be crazy to not get outdoors and just walk... anywhere, so that's what I decided to do on Saturday.

I'm a habitue of bookstores, so I grabbed the local phone book, and looked for bookstores. I found a few spiritual book dealers, a B. Dalton, and ... something called The Book Village, specializing in used books. Now THAT sounds like a place I'd haunt and it was just down the road from me, a nice distance for a pleasant jaunt. I grabbed my trusty digital camera, and went to see what great literature I've missed in the last few years.

I entered a dim repository of pre-owned paperbacks. If you've ever been in a good, used book store, you'll notice a dry, musty smell of paper. I'm convinced it's a pheromone that paperback put out to attract readers. This little store was ripe with the aroma of many unexplored adventures.

As I wander down one of the aisles, I'm confronted by a rubber chicken, packaged and hung by it's heels.

I'm puzzled at first, but then I see the logic; it IS the Cook Book section. (Can I pay for it with a rubber check?)

The shelves are filled with interesting titles from Animalistic Shamanism, to Zootropic Angular Calculations. But even more interesting were the odd knick-knacks

It's not the Louvre, but then it IS warm and homey...

Odds and ends serve as "odd book ends"...

All in all, I found the collection wide-ranging, eclectic, and exactly what you would expect for a small but highly intriguing place to dig for literary treasures.

Book Village is located at 103, West Foothill Boulevard and you can usually find Terry (the owner) there. The only thing missing was a cup of coffee.

Wandering a little further down Myrtle, I'm greeted by a band of children playing in Library Park, a blue-haired lady walking her two dogs while discoursing with them on the state of the world, and some other equally pleasant citizens. A gentle, warm breeze tickles the trees and keeps the air clean.

The mountains are clearly visible, and the town seems to embrace you in a feeling of comfort. What comes to mind immediately is the lack of ... (how to put this delicately), the socially disturbed. After returning from a week up in the San Francisco Bay area, I was once again reminded of the radical differences between Monrovia and what has been called the largest psychiatric outpatient clinic in the western United States, San Francisco.

Finally, I'm drawn into a store named Kaleidoscope Antiques:

The owner, Linda Taylor, is very welcoming, and graciously allows me to take pictures. The store, two stories tall, was FILLED with antiques. (So many, that a second page is available if you'd like to see a sample of items.) I love browsing through antique stores and this one was like finding a vein of gold in your backyard.

(Click here for a photographic "virtual tour" of Kaleidoscope Antiques)

There was so much there I decided to make my first visit a short one-- just enough time to photograph what I could-- and browse at length another day. I'll be back, Linda!

Tomorrow morning, I'll toddle down to my favorite coffee haunt, Beantown, for my weekly installment of "Old Hair Raiser" and vainly pray for positive results. Until next Sunday, good bye, from the mountains.

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