i’ve just put away all the various books that have been laying about the joint here and it’s official: i need another bookcase. the five i have are now stuffed to maximum capacity. so i either need to buy another bookcase or get rid of some books.
i don’t see the getting rid of scenario happening, so it’s another bookcase.
earlier this week, during sisterclub, i tried to con my mom (who was a very special guest at sisterclub) into giving me my grandpa’s old bookcase. i’ve been coveting this piece of wood and class since i was 10 and my mom inherited it. it’s not much, just a tall skinny bookcase with a door. rumor has it that grandpa bought it for $1.50 at some rummage sale.
but i so want that bookcase. i want it with a passion that i don’t want much else. not only because it’s a piece of my grandpa whom i loved, but because it ties me to him. he loved books too. when he was alive the case was stuffed with the cowboy and indian books he read. now it houses precious momenty type crap that pains my heart and probably my grandpa’s too.
the bookcase was designed to gently cradle great stories and not scary, pastely, black-eyed mindless nymph things. it’s a dishonor to me, my grandpa, the bookcase and literature in general. but my mom would not listen to reason. she would have none of my nonsense and when they move to an apartment next month, the bookcase is going with them.