For some time I’ve had a covetous eye on new, bigger bookshelves. Because, of course, one does not downsize one’s library. One acquires bigger bookshelves.
Well, on Saturday I found the shelves. Six feet tall. Bank Alder finish. Some assembly required. Drool, drool.
I brought them home in my little car. So for a little while, I was the Bookmobile.
When an engineer and an author build things together, they read the directions. (Only one of them understands the directions. I’ll let you guess which.)
But first, I moved ALL the double-stacked books off my old bookshelves. There’s nothing to make you happy like handling every book you own in one day. It was like a party for old friends. Dust and words everywhere.
My whole family helped to hammer in approximately 144 nails. (I promise I helped too. I just took a break to snap this picture.)
There was a quick episode involving extreme wobbles, and a few debates about earthquakes and fires.
But finally the shelves were done. Big. Empty. A smell like my summer job at Barnes & Noble.
But what good are empty bookshelves?
Anna Quindlen is quoted as having said, “I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.”
So now I live in a library.
Well done, Mom.