I moved on 3 February. This is the first time I've ever moved where I forced myself to make the books wait. In the past I've moved and had a gorgeous wall of books in every room then spent sleepless nights wondering where my blankets were. This time I was intent on being "grown up" about it. I would do the bathroom, the kitchen and the bed. I would hang the curtains and go grocery shopping, and at the end of the "must-do" list, I would get to the books, cataloging them along the way because in packing I'd noticed that I have more than one copy of more than one book, and this is purely because I'm completely disorganized in life and library.
I also became ruthless and gave away quite a few boxes of books. I joined BookMooch and sent books to New Zealand so they would have good homes. I was also determined not to have incredulous movers again. (Despite the hard-core de-booking, they still wondered why I kept so many books if I'd already read them, and why would I have a whole two boxes of books labeled "to read immediately?" The serious derision started when we arrived at the door, and I had to pick up an Amazon box for us to enter.)
It's now weeks later and my books are not satisfactorily on shelves where I can comfort myself by running my hands over them or pulling one out for a quick favored passage. I can't see my books because of the crazy idea that I would catalog them and note both "stars" and tags on LibraryThing. Heh. I started. I truly did! I've got about six hundred of them listed on there, and among them are a few tagged as "2 copies." But this is no longer satisfactory. I must get these books on shelves...now!
Other people may feel more comfortable after their curtains are hung. I just don't really see the point in my curtains. I'd be much more comfy with my wall o' books. At this point the music is stacked on the piano in a mess, the cookbooks (which I rarely touch) are neatly tucked into the kitchen, and all of my "real books" are stacked and boxed still.
I'm sure there is a name for this bizarre need. I know plenty of other people who have the same problem. We are readers. We become emotionally attached to some books as much as we do to our pets. When one goes missing because we had to share it with someone else, we grieve and purchase another copy, vowing never to loan another book to that person. When we recommend a favorite book and someone doesn't love it "enough" for us, we secretly wonder what's wrong with the person previously thought perfectly normal. If it's a favorite person who doesn't gel with a favorite book, we rethink how favored the person is, not the book! I'll be honest. I've broken up with partners who didn't love books like I do. I've not dated other readers for long because they just didn't "get" why certain books are so perfect -- even readers with libraries far larger than my own.
So, I've now started this book-blog. As if the intranets need yet another opinion on books... But there's the money, and heck, I think it blogging may be a requirement as a US citizen. If I must have a blog, I suppose it should be about books and books about books and other things I love.
However, before I write about any more books, I've got to free my library from the boxes which bind.
I also became ruthless and gave away quite a few boxes of books. I joined BookMooch and sent books to New Zealand so they would have good homes. I was also determined not to have incredulous movers again. (Despite the hard-core de-booking, they still wondered why I kept so many books if I'd already read them, and why would I have a whole two boxes of books labeled "to read immediately?" The serious derision started when we arrived at the door, and I had to pick up an Amazon box for us to enter.)
It's now weeks later and my books are not satisfactorily on shelves where I can comfort myself by running my hands over them or pulling one out for a quick favored passage. I can't see my books because of the crazy idea that I would catalog them and note both "stars" and tags on LibraryThing. Heh. I started. I truly did! I've got about six hundred of them listed on there, and among them are a few tagged as "2 copies." But this is no longer satisfactory. I must get these books on shelves...now!
Other people may feel more comfortable after their curtains are hung. I just don't really see the point in my curtains. I'd be much more comfy with my wall o' books. At this point the music is stacked on the piano in a mess, the cookbooks (which I rarely touch) are neatly tucked into the kitchen, and all of my "real books" are stacked and boxed still.
I'm sure there is a name for this bizarre need. I know plenty of other people who have the same problem. We are readers. We become emotionally attached to some books as much as we do to our pets. When one goes missing because we had to share it with someone else, we grieve and purchase another copy, vowing never to loan another book to that person. When we recommend a favorite book and someone doesn't love it "enough" for us, we secretly wonder what's wrong with the person previously thought perfectly normal. If it's a favorite person who doesn't gel with a favorite book, we rethink how favored the person is, not the book! I'll be honest. I've broken up with partners who didn't love books like I do. I've not dated other readers for long because they just didn't "get" why certain books are so perfect -- even readers with libraries far larger than my own.
So, I've now started this book-blog. As if the intranets need yet another opinion on books... But there's the money, and heck, I think it blogging may be a requirement as a US citizen. If I must have a blog, I suppose it should be about books and books about books and other things I love.
However, before I write about any more books, I've got to free my library from the boxes which bind.
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