Farewell, Ladybug!

Yesterday, T. and I went on a gift hunt for R., recent graduate of SDSU. In spite of my misgivings that stationary has fallen out of fashion with the young fry, we went to Kensington, an upscale neighborhood in San Diego, to visit my favorite stationary store, Ladybug.

Now, Ladybug is no Papyrus. It is criss-crossed with art supplies, over-sized sheets of natural papers, an unlikely array of stuffed animals, and the kicker: Any stationary purchased the owner would hand-monogram free of charge. I loved it!

Once in Kensington, finding parking proved to be annoying. (It seems that wherever I want to go, everyone in San Diego has the same idea and has beaten me to the punch.) However, with the car half a mile away from our destination, T. and I had the opportunity to take a nice walk, detouring at Starbucks for a Venti Bold with added ice (T.) and a Venti Americano (me.) Coffee in hand, we proceeded at a leisurely pace to Ladybug, where I felt sure we would find something cute for R.

When we arrived at the store, I was aghast. The gate to the entryway was chained and padlocked.

In that moment, I thought of all the times I had prowled around the store in a state of paper-loving bliss, and I waxed nostalgic, thinking of all the precious gifts I had bought at that store. I even had a soft spot for the eccentric owner, who possessed a bizarre hybrid of characteristics, being ingratiating yet slightly abrasive at the same time, who I would never see again.

I put my feelings of loss aside as T. and I implemented Plan B and C, to go to a used bookstore in our neighborhood, and then head over to another well-loved gift shop for the final touches on R.'s present.

In the back of my mind, however, I thought about the places in our lives, having relative significance, that take up space in our personal landscape. Though the departure of a favorite stationary store may not seem worthy of a eulogy, at least it deserves a proper goodbye.

Farewell, Ladybug! I will miss you!