Tidying the hoard

The architect who designed this house said he had never designed a house with so many bookshelves. There are more than these in the house, and they are nearly as spacious and full.

I love books. I really love used books. I have a favorite bookstore where I can load up armsful for $15, and I have a friend who regularly donates to my collection. Yesterday she gave me a shopping bag full of Michael Connelly and David Baldacci and Stuart Woods novels. Not Grayt Litrachuh, but hours of pleasure for me.

So.

With all this used-book harvesting, my bookshelves have gotten a little...untidy. This is not a before picture; it is a midway picture because I needed an excuse to take a break.
I bought those jug things up there on top at Pier 1 and I've always been pleased because I knocked the salesman down on the price of one of them by pointing out the hairline crack in it. I don't often haggle, so it wasn't just a jug; it was an achievement. The green glass whatnot and the aluminum bucket were from the same Pier 1 trip. The only reason I bought them is that they were big enough not to look lost way up there between the top of the shelves and the ceiling.

All those things have been there for years and I'm sick of looking at them.

And the books were all at odd angles and the pictures I had placed artfully among the books were getting knocked askew by the new acquisitions.

This morning I hauled out the stepstool and got upanddown and upanddown and upanddown.

I am satisfied.

The Nelson DeMille books are all together again, as are the Susan Howatch books, and the Peter Mayle books, and on and on.

The self-help books went on a top shelf. I'm tired of reading about how to help myself instead of just doing it. If I need inspiration, they'll be there.

Husband's Foxfire books and "Carrots Love Tomatoes"-type books are on another top shelf. If he wants them he can climb up there.

The cast-iron Hampshire pig is a bank and it stayed right where it was because it weighs as much as my left leg.

The hundred thousand National Geographics in their sleeves didn't move either. I don't know why I keep them except that when I was growing up everybody kept their National Geographics. We never take them out and read them. Maybe they'll be a collector's item someday.

Right.

The framed art on the chair to the left...well, tomorrow's another day.