Birding with Yeats: A Mother's Memoir Read Online Free PDF Page A

sister was complete. Danielle has always been his number one star.
    So the transition to high school went more smoothly than we’d anticipated, and for that I had Danielle partly to thank. But as time went on, as much as Yeats enjoyed Art Beat and a few of his classes, the old homework beast began to raise its ugly head. Some kids procrastinated by watching movies or playing video games or going on their social media. Of his own choosing, Yeats didn’t partake of those activities, and we didn’t have a television. Instead, he came downstairs and ranted and raved at me. It was exhausting and crazy-making and half the time, I’d shut his words out. There are only so many times a person can answer the question, “Why do we have to do homework?”
    AT THE SAME TIME Yeats began high school, we opened Ben McNally Books on Bay Street in downtown Toronto. Ben had spent the last fourteen years managing Nicholas Hoare Books and was more than ready to have his own shop, be his own boss. He wanted a place spacious enough for book launches and stunning enough to one day be called “the most beautiful bookstore in Canada.” It was Ben’s dream shop, full of wooden bookshelves with artistic detailing, an open space with high ceilings and ornate chandeliers, but also quiet little spaces where a person could feel alone with the books.
    Bay Street was the heart of Toronto’s financial district and our store was just north of the cluster of the city’s tallest towers. We were blocks away from the headquarters of all the major banks — the black buildings of the TD Centre, the golden towers of RBC gleaming like giant jewels in the sun — as well as hundreds of law firms, advertising agencies, and real estate offices. Just north of us were Toronto City Hall and Old City Hall, full of judges, civil servants, and bureaucrats, all, we hoped, looking for good books to read.
    We spent a busy year designing and building the store until its grand opening in September, 2007 . From January of that year, Ben had run an office from our basement at home. But he also spent hours in the store space, which was in an old downtown building that was once a bank. He met with the designer, the banker, the book publishers. He dealt with the problems with the ventilation and the plumbing. He met with the cabinetmaker who customized the gorgeous bookcases for us. He acquired his first-ever credit card — a sign of the apocalypse, according to one of Ben’s oldest friends.
    One day Ben came home and said, “I’m thinking of getting a cell phone.” I stared at him. My mouth must have been hanging open because he said, “What? All these people need to get in touch with me all the time. Sometimes it’s an emergency; I need to make a lot of decisions.”
    I said, “A cell phone? Is this Ben McNally?”
    He blinked at me a couple of times and then laughed. “You’re right. I’m not getting a cell phone.”
    The fact that Ben was even contemplating having a cell phone told me that big changes were afoot. Every so often he joked about getting a television, especially to watch the World Cup, but I knew he was just kidding around. The cell phone had sounded real, though. I remember thinking, From this point on, our lives will be different.
    Ben asked me to help with the buying, but to do that I needed to work in the store to have a sense of the customers. I’d spent the past fourteen years at home with Yeats, and now I was dipping my toe back into the wider culture. I decided to work two days a week to start.
    I’d begun my bookselling career in December, 1986 . I was hired as a temporary clerk over the Christmas season in a tiny old Classics store on Bloor Street. I remember standing behind the cash register on my first day, looking over the shop and feeling a profound sense of belonging: This is what I’m meant to be doing . When that job ended after Christmas, I applied for a position at Book City on Yonge Street. Ben hired me, which was how we met,