Aunty Millie always gave us books…every Christmas and every birthday…it was a family tradition that saw me making cubby houses on the shed roof, picking plums off the overhanging plum tree and reading about the adventures of Blinky Bill while trying not to stain the pages with plum juice. I carried on the tradition with my own children and managed to collect all the Famous Fives, Nancy Drews, Trixie Beldons and Anne of Green Gables several times over as my children grew up.
We’ve also moved house – a lot – and I always packed our book boxes. The packers could do what they wanted with the Noritake dinner sets and the Bohemian Crystal but the books were mine…some of which I only got to touch at moving time…to gently place in a box at one end and just as gently lift onto its place on its shelf at the other.
Until now. You see, it’s that time again – moving house time – only this time there are no packers and, come to think of it no book boxes. There’s nothing for it but to cull. Having moved a few times, with kids, cats, dogs and chooks in tow, I’m a bit of an expert at casting my eye around and and deciding what goes with us and what doesn’t make the list. Usually, books always make the list – my books and the kids’ books – but this time as I wander from room to book laden room I find myself in a bit of a dilemma.
It seems that the book fairies have been rather generous to us over the years despite laptops, iPads, and iPhones all sporting the ubiquitous Kindle app. I wander back to the front door and start a second reconnaissance…and groan.
Three timber bookcases laden with books…add to that one coffee table piled high, two chairs with precarious piles (and an apple core Sam) and a dining room table, well it was a dining room table once…now it’s a book depository.
Bedrooms…total count four bookcases and one wall of bookshelves…hallway…bookshelves and boxes of books…bathroom…yep, a pile of books on the floor…Sam?
And last, downstairs to my study where all good books go to die…wall to wall bookshelves, piles of books on the floor and my beautiful timber study desk…laden with books.
Did I mention we’re moving to a hundred year old beach shack that has – in total – two rooms? Hmmm…to cull or not to cull…it’s not even the question…it’s more a question of where to start or maybe when to start…or even why start at all???
I blame Aunty Millie…
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growing up writing 