Marrianna rearranged some of our book shelves this afternoon. In the process she pulled eight books out for disposal at the next neighborhood charity book sale. I don't know exactly, but suspect that is approximately .002 % of what are in the house. Yes, unless I have my math wrong, there are close to 4000 books, possibly as many as 5 or 6 thousand, in sixteen bookshelves spread through six rooms of the house. We are both book - what is the word I want - enthusiasts, lovers, nuts? If I had the resources I would collect rare books. Fortunately, I do not and even more fortunately, I know that I do not.
We avoid bookstores any more. Well, avoid isn't correct. We just don't visit them nearly as often as we used to. Every time we are in a bookstore we leave having bought a few more books. The problem with all these books, as Marrianna so easily showed today, is getting rid of them. Eventually, we will move to a retirement community and have to down-size again. Which means that we will need to be much more ruthless in selecting books to go with us and letting the others go.
The only thing more enjoyable than writing is reading. Even through the most glorious weather days, I had rather be sitting in either of two favorite chairs reading than outside. My mother used to say that the reason my eyes are so bad is that I would read under the covers until either the flashlight dimmed so completely I was forced to stop, she caught me, or I finished the book. I read cookbooks almost as avidly as novels, and even a dictionary can provide long spells of enjoyment.
Remembering again, my first book, or at least the first that I remember, was a slender childrens book of Bambi. My second grade teacher, Miss Standard, gave it to me on my birthday. I remember years later being surprised that there was a full sized book of Bambi, without pictures. Actually, there were two, a sequel, Bambi's Children. I thought it was as good as the first.
There was a long period of my life when I thought that if it was in a book and wasn't labeled fiction, it had to be true. I don't remember exactly when the realization dawned that this was not necessarily the case. There's nearly as much fiction in so-called non-fiction as in any fictional novel. Even cookbooks aren't necessarily accurate, though they are more likely to be than some other genres.
Incongruously, I almost never carry a book with me. I know people who do, and whenever there's an opportunity or quiet time, they pull the book out. I can't do that for some reason. I had rather observe my surrounding, and can even do that happily for hours, than read. Surely there is a reason for this, but I don't know it and don't intend to change now.
Books have left their mark on me. They have amused, comforted, stimulated, taught, led, frightened, and once in a while disgusted me. Because of and through books, I have explored ideas and places. When I walk by the shelves in the hall downstairs, or look over at the shelves next to me here, I know that there are friends there, ideas and people who have become a part of me. It's a very good feeling.
UPDATE: After reading the blog this morning, Marrianna tells me I am a horrible estimator of numbers of books. She said that my estimate of 4000 was probably twice as many as we actually have. So, we walked through the house together making quick counts, and she is right. There are only approximately 2000, maybe a few hundred more or less, but not nearly 4000. I stand corrected. It sure seems like more, and we still need to get rid of some before we down-size again.
Does 2000 books qualify us to be bibliophiles, as Felix says in his comment?
JMP> We are both book - what is the
JMP> word I want - enthusiasts,
JMP> lovers, nuts?
WordGit replies: Bibliophiles! :-)
Posted by: Felix Grant | July 10, 2009 at 06:22 AM