Take my Mom's books. I spent many months reading, sorting, dusting, and giving away piles and piles and piles of books from every corner of my house. Most of them I read but some I discovered I had either started and couldn't quite get into, or just wasn't interested in that kind anymore. My shelves were dust free, orderly, and I could see what color the shelf was for a change! I had room for every book ON A SHELF! There was a point in time when no book lived in my house without a home of its own, rather than stuck in a box or bag or cornered in a room unable to breath.
I was so proud of myself.
So why, when I am so at peace, would I want to bring more books home from my Mom's while I am helping her find such order on her bookshelves? Last fall, I helped her downsize her large collection of books, discard old magazines, and sort through boxes and bags and more boxes and bags of books, puzzle books, and magazines, only to find my shelves cluttered again! Since my Dad died, we have sorted and tossed and given away even more things, including more books. Her shelves are dust free and looking darn good now. And mine are over crowded again and as I write this post, I have a bin of books sitting on the floor to my right, waiting to be loaded into my car to take home.
When I was first
I need to learn to let books go on without me.