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They’re taking over my house!

I recently spent a little time with somebody who has fewer books in her whole house than I have on my cookbook shelf. (Not that I use my cookbooks often, since I’m highly allergic to domestic activities, but they’re there if I need them.) I can’t imagine being content with only a skeleton crew of books.

In this house, they multiply like bunnies. Besides the obvious places, like bookshelves, we try to corral our book population on end tables and beneath end tables, on the kitchen counter, on the dining room table, in boxes in closets, on the floor beside every bed, maybe some underneath the beds, but I’m afraid to look because they’re probably overdue at the library, and a few in the bathrooms. They mate in the dark and produce baby books, or maybe I need to break the habit of stopping at garage sales, library sales, and bookstores.

Years ago, when a friend of mine started making a lot of money in her business, she shrugged and said she’d learned not to get too excited about money; the more you have, the more you want. Apply this principle to books, and I’m in deep trouble.

Maybe the love of books is the root of all clutter, or at least most of the clutter in my house, but at least it’s happy clutter. Anybody know what I mean?

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