I’m not really a big spender - my cars are all budget variety and my house isn’t super-sized. Designer name tags don’t appeal to me. But, I do have a vice, a horrible addiction, an obsession, a weakness . . . perhaps even a compulsion: books. I am hopelessly addicted to acquiring books. I love the feel, the look, and the smell of books. It warms my heart to be surrounded by them. Shelves of books make my heart go pitty-pat, stacks of them make me feel at home. There is nothing that makes a home look warmer and friendlier inside, in fact, than shelves or piles of books, in my humble opinion. Boy, is it warm in this house.
I confess. I am a bookaholic.
Here’s the real problem. I can confess till the cows come home, but ask me if I want to be reformed. Well? Do I? Uh, no, I’m fine with it. I’m fine with the haphazard piles of books on the floor, the crammed (sometimes double-layered) shelves that line almost every wall, the lack of floor space - okay, I’d like more floor space, but not if it means parting with the books I haven’t read (or the ones I’m certain I’ll reread). I’m even willing to live with the sore toes caused by the occasional book avalanche.
Yes, it’s true. We have book avalanches in this house. Admittedly, I’m a klutz. I often have a sore toe because - get this - I have an old college toe injury that sometimes acts up. But, half the problem with my frequent toe pain is book stubbings. Ouch. Books have sharp corners and they’re heavy when they fall. If you’re totally obsessed with books, to the point that they’re piled willy-nilly in every room . . . let’s face it; you’re going to have a few run-ins, if your balance isn’t remarkably fine-tuned.
Just this once, I’m going to provide photographic evidence of my addiction. If you’re related to me, kindly avert your eyes and remember that I have managed to rear two very well-read boys without either of them having any serious book accidents.
An unexpected (and insistent) visitor amongst the stacks.
A "clear" view of the books in the office floor.
This is so scary.
I even hide my books. Note that there are two copies of The Queen's Fool (I'm pretty sure I meant to send one to my mother . . . oops) and a very ironic title - No More Clutter. Oh, so that's how you de-clutter. Hide some of the books within a cabinet or two.
This is so embarrassing . . . I've even "borrowed" some of the shelf space in my son's room.