Day 2: Books

“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.” –Anna Quindlen

For me today, the B is a no-brainer.  I have loved books as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl, my Easter basket held Nancy Drew mysteries instead of stuffed bunnies.  I still have letters from childhood friends in which we exchanged notes about what we’d been reading.  I spent hours in the summers at the public library, working my way through all the books by my favorite authors.  I remember being so disappointed to learn that Daphne Du Maurier was not going to be writing anything new.

Even in high school and college, I can remember hiding books behind my textbook or in my lap during classes. Not having time to read was never an excuse. I made time to read. I still do.

I tend to develop an attachment to my books, wanting to own the ones I love.  Consequently, I now have books in every room of our house.  My bedroom shelves hold most of my signed books, many I collected at readings and conferences.  My poetry collection is there as well.  In my office, the shelves hold all the books I own from my years of book club.  My craft books (quilting, photography) are there, along with the plays, particularly all my Shakespeare.  My YA novels are on the office shelves.  I also have the classics, many of them paperbacks I taught in English classes.  My favorite copies of To Kill a Mockingbird, A Separate Peace, Huck Finn, and Cold Mountain are all held together by rubber bands and marked heavily.

Sometimes I consider the possibility of culling them shelves, seeing about selling some of the books to which I feel less attached. When I try to sort them, though, I usually end up sitting in the floor in front of the shelves, flipping through the pages, trying to decide what to read next.