Whenever I go “home”, I always seem to come home with more stuff. Stuff of mine that has been hiding in a closet somewhere. Stuff of my grandmother’s that has been passed on to me. Stuff that I buy because I forget to bring the right clothing for the events I am attending.
Trying to find space for this “stuff” in our two bedroom rental can be a challenge. So, when I came back Nor Cal recently with a box of books, all 60 to 100 years old, I was ecstatic, yet hesitant.
I adore old books. OK, I may even have a slight fettish for them. There is something about those hard covers and yellowed pages. There is something in wondering who held the book in their hands and where they were that intrigues me. You can probably guess that I am anti-kindle! Old books seem magical to me.
My only problem is where to put them. We have one 3 tiered bookshelf in our family room. The other Ikea bookshelf is acting as a hutch to store my glassware. I am receiving my mother’s old hutch to remake and use for the glassware, but still I am struggling to decide where to put these books.
I have a dream. A dream of a library. Of reading nooks. Does anyone remember this?
This is the epitome of my dream. Sigh. Someday, perhaps, in a home of our own, this dream will come true on some scale. Then, all these books, these wonderful pieces of history, romance, and imagination, can be displayed in all their glory! Could you guess that I teach English?
What would you do with your books?