Books, books and more books

Steve screwed together two more bookcases from Target this afternoon which brings the total to thirteen and still not every book has a home.  We hoard books, that's all I can say.  Both of us do, but I'm probably the bigger culprit.

Last year I developed the habit of choosing one book, just one book, to re-home each day.  One hundred days into the project, it was getting easier to part with old friends, that's what it felt like, but then I got sick and the practice fell apart.

Now that we're in a Getting Things Done mode we're trying to give a place to all that we own - and getting rid of the excess along the way.  I'm bagging up clothing too and buying new duds for a change.  (I frankly like my longer, leaner look and hope to continue this for a while.  Never do I want to regain.)

So, that's how today went.  Books, books, books.  I dust shelves of books fairly often throughout the year.  We leave windows open whenever we can and then again, there are those three dogs.  There's something therapeutic about dusting books.  I usually find several that I'd forgotten about and tend to go on a mini reading rage for the next couple weeks.

But never, under no circumstances, will I ever be able to read all the books we presently own.  Not if I lived one hundred more years.  I don't know why that concept is so difficult for me to grasp.