I'm a creature of habit. My Saturday routine usually consists of harnessing Savannah for an hour-long walk through Argenta before the sun fully rises, then returning home, collecting gym gear, getting in the car and driving south across the Arkansas River, then west on Markham to my midtown fitness center. That's where I spend an hour in an energetic kickboxing class with a group of like-minded women under the guidance of our motivating instructor, urged along by K-pop blasting away at 130-140 beats per minute.

A recent morning began differently. I knew it was the day that would include the "No Kings" march from Little Rock across the Broadway Bridge into North Little Rock, which would attract a considerable crowd. What I didn't expect was that the streets in Argenta, as well as access to the river bridges, would be shut down as early as four hours before the event. Cars were already circling in confused patterns, trying to find their way out of the neighborhood, with puzzled drivers often stopping and clambering out of vehicles to interrogate police officers whose barricades were blocking entrances to our usual routes of departure and arrival.

It eventually dawned on me that I probably wouldn't be able to traverse my usual route to kickboxing.

So I forced my reluctant brain to rethink plans, and decided to head to the North Little Rock location of my fitness center on McCain Boulevard. To avoid the incomprehensibly blocked Argenta streets, I consulted Google Maps, which guided me north on Pike Avenue, right on Pershing, left on JFK, then another right on McCain.

Sounds simple, right? But keeping current with once-familiar routes isn't easy for me. And it didn't help that the brightness of the rising sun made it hard to read street signs. Despite stressing all the way, I made it to my destination, and got there in time to attend a sculpt class that wore me out about as much as my beloved kickboxing workout.

Returning was easier--the charm of Park Hill, North Little Rock's first planned suburban development, was worth experiencing after a long period of not being there--but the unease of trying to get somewhere on routes that no longer felt familiar kept me on edge.

Until the early afternoon.

We decided to walk the dogs to the nearby grand opening of Books by the Pound at 601 W. Fourth St. We'd been watching the owners working on the project since the new year as it slowly but surely reconfigured 8,560-square-foot space to sell new and used books, vinyl records, CDs, DVDs, and video tapes. There's a spacious parking lot next to the building, and a convenient location of Circle K across Fourth Street if refreshments are needed.

Bookstores tend to be lenient in admitting canines (WordsWorth on R Street in Pulaski Heights is a good example), so I gathered 12-pound Savannah in my arms and walked in (after asking a guy who held the door for me if it was OK to carry her in, and he responded, "I don't know," which made me realize he was a customer, not an employee).

A busy young man checking out customers looked at me with great seriousness when I asked if we could bring Savannah and Rikki in if we held them, and softly replied, "yes."

So we barreled through the door into a reader's wonderland. Natural light illuminates racks upon racks of books arranged by genre: kids, mysteries, travel, poetry, biography, history, cookbooks, art, science fiction; I can't name them all. Displays of vinyl records bring back memories (remember the cover of 1973's "Half Breed," with a barely clothed Cher sitting bareback on what appears to be an Appaloosa? Now I can't get the stupid lyrics out of my head). So do the iconic covers of VHS tapes (some still in their original sealed packaging), and toys, vintage and otherwise.

Pricing is based on weight, with a full box of books averaging $35. The boxes are mounted on small grocery-store-style push carts so shoppers don't have to balance their selections in their arms as they shop. There are cute mini-sized push carts, complete with smaller boxes, for kids as well.

The best part? I didn't see a single shopper staring at his or her phone. They were pulling books off shelves, flipping through albums, considering the merits of DVDs, asking the staff for guidance, sitting and sampling a few pages of a choice find, showing off an unexpected discovery to those nearby. Savannah was delighted with all the attention she attracted, especially from the kids; her tail never stopped wagging.

And best of all, those shoppers were talking. To each other. And having a great time doing so.

So long, anxiety. It doesn't take much to turn a day around.

Karen Martin is senior editor of Perspective.

kmartin@adgnewsroom.com

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