I am in the process of moving out of my office at the college, an office completely filled with books. My husband went with me the other day and helped me fill 8 boxes with books, which took care of about a quarter of them…it was discouraging. I didn’t touch the file cabinets full of…stuff. An alphabetized file for authors I teach, being the most useful (and probably most useless now). I find it very very hard to part with any of it.
At home I’ve managed to empty 5 boxes by double shelving some books in my writing studio, and designating a lean 1/2 box to give away. (The shelves in the house are already stuffed full.)
This weekend I visited my mother. On Monday morning we went to see my 92-year-old aunt who recently moved from her one-bedroom apartment at the retirement center (where my mother lives) to a studio apartment in her son’s backyard. The new apartment may be a bit larger than her digs at the retirement center, but there is no closet space. In recent years, I’ve watched my aunt downsize from a house to an apartment, to the one-bedroom apartment, and now, again, to living quarters with no closet, and it’s been–inspiring. She commented, “After this, I’ll be moving to an even smaller space!”
There’s no baggage check in heaven. They don’t want your stuff.
And, still, it’s hard to give up my books. This one? I think, picking it up and opening it, reading a passage and then wondering if I wouldn’t like to read the whole book again.
Maybe I’d like to blog about this book! I could quote from this page!
And maybe, if I really want to read this book again, I can find it at the library.
Oh, dear books.