Locally Grown: Retail

I live in one of those neighborhoods without an official name, or even a clever mishmash nickname like Tendernob. It's North Oakland, but that covers a lot of ground.

This might be disconcerting, except it means I'm a stone's throw from several great hoods whose recognizable names make them more expensive and crowded than mine. Dwelling at the crossroads is really very handy.

Somehow, in this anonymous wilderness, a handful of small businesses have managed to put down roots. I can't say they're thriving, but they seem to mosey along comfortably. I'm not talking about pawn shops and Korean barbecue joints, though there's no shortage of either. I mean actual retail.

Adding to my already big love for this corner of Oakland: We just got a used bookstore. It's so close I could stumble over in my jammies, pick up a few $3 Penguins, and be home before the snooze alarm went off. It's also cute as a button—there's a play space for kids because the owner has a little girl, and it feels like somebody's living room.

They'd just gotten the credit card machine up and running the first time I went in, and they were tickled pink about it. "We're going to make labels for the shelves next!" said the fuzzy, bespectacled guy behind the counter. Good call, man.

I'm most excited about the bookstore, which replaced a bizarrely high-end lingerie boutique. (Most folks coming out of the liquor store next door probably weren't looking for a $250 bra-and-panty experience.) But there are other gems also: A kids' store owned by a slightly crazy but friendly lady who makes all the clothes and custom stuffed animals herself. She seems to open and close it at whim—there's usually an index card taped to the door saying something like, "Jenny has a soccer game, back later."

Then there's the fancy paper store. It's about the size of my kitchen, has no internal doors (only blank walls), and doesn't seem to sell anything. The pretty display cabinets always look empty, and there's never anyone inside. But a friend who used to live across the way loves this store, and stops in to visit the owners whenever he's in town. If it weren't for that, I'd swear the place is a front for something. Black market Hallmark cards?

Neighborhood X . . . stay elusive and sweet, and you'll always have a fan in me.