My husband and I will soon have a free shelf. You see, it’s currently occupied by a wooden ship model that I inherited from my grandfather, but the ship will soon be moving to a new room that has a nautical theme. So, free shelf.
There’s so many possibilities for a free shelf. Admittedly it’s not very large, but we could put movies on it, or video games, or decorative turtle sculptures. But we might put books on it, even though it’s in the middle of the family room and every other shelf on this particular case is, indeed, filled with movies and video games.
(We are sadly lacking in decorative turtle sculptures.)
We are in desperate need of more book shelf space. We have three six-and-a-half foot tall bookcases that are stuffed to the gills. Additionally, there are books hiding around the rest of the house. I’ve got at least two on my nightstand. There’s a new Orson Scott Card on the kitchen counter, partially concealed by the wine rack. My newest purchase – The Day of the Triffids, found at my local second-hand store – has joined a stack on the buffet in the dining room.
Plus there’s two boxes of books in the basement, and another three and a half wedged in the office between the reading chair and the bookcases.
One might look around and come to the conclusion that we own too many books. I would argue that there’s no such thing as too many books, but that may be semantics.
On the other hand, I may never get through all the books I do own, and maybe we could stand to stop buying more.
(Admittedly, we have so many boxes of books because our mothers recently made us come home and clear out everything from our old rooms. But still.)
I can’t help it, though – I love the things, and I love that each and every one contains a journey inside. Even if I never get to all of them, there’s something about just being surrounded by them.
How about you, Squiders?
