Chekhov's Mistress
Surgery, No Anesthesia
Perhaps you can relate to my tale of woe. Since becoming a family of three, we’ve thought about moving from our cluttered one bedroom apartment for those proverbial greener pastures elsewhere. We’ve just listed it for sale and have to prepare for troops of moneyed single people peeking into our cozy sanctuary in hopes that one or two will want to make it theirs.
The realtor paid a visit and immediately went to work deciding which things we had to get rid of to make our home look more spacious and truly represent its 700+ square feet (non-city dwellers cringe here).
The result of this pretense is that we have to get rid of a lot of books.
Gasp!
The realtor says to banish three out of our four bookcases. We settled for two (one is for children’s books) and he said that we have to do something about the other books stacked up throughout the house. He said “you can’t possibly need more than five or ten books.” I smiled as I shoved him out the window, saying “you just don’t get it!”
No, I just smiled.
It was just a few months ago that we set about donating or selling off stacks of books and boxing up many more. And no sooner had I stored a bunch away, I started to dig them out again for one reason or another.
So, I’ve spent the day paring my collection down to the essential few hundred and it has been painful. Of course I keep telling myself that soon we will live in a new home and free all of the inmates from the land of misfit books and live happily ever after.
That’s my dream anyhow.
Why doesn’t anyone understand? You have to have your books at hand. It’s good to think about them, reread passages, have some variety from which to anticipate reading next. And dammit, it just makes me feel good to have them around.
Now, we’re not talking about collectibles or anything. These are just books: some new hardbacks, others old paperbacks, most bought capriciously, but kept with serious intent; some waiting patiently for attention while others are well worn. They’re just books.
I keep telling myself.
Read widely, think well, and write often.
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About this Post
- Posted by: Bud Parr
- Date: November 13, 2004
- Filed Under:
Song of Myself: Diary
- Comments:0
- Links to this Post: Technorati
