Kindling my love

Never say never.  I love books, their look, their feel, their smell – I have over 350 of them in my loft, stored alphabetically in boxes so I can easily locate these old, faithful and reliable friends.  And that’s the problem – over 350 of them and more entering the house on a weekly basis: it’s becoming unmanageable.  Then there’s the problem of my summer holiday.  Three weeks in Spain.  It’s not the three weeks that are causing the difficulty but the nine books that I’ll read during that time, which is exacerbated by the fact that I only take hand luggage so there’s not a whole lot of room for anything else.

Then my sister bought an e-book reader.  Urgh, how could she?  How clinical, how lacking in personality…but she couldn’t stop proclaiming how thrilled she was with it.  She read two books in a week, the children went unfed, the dog unwalked, she remained in bed in the morning, browsing, downloading, reading, wallowing in words.  But I wouldn’t do it, no way.

Persistent in my mind, however, was a flickering image of a small suitcase stuffed with heavy books, the clothes, make-up, toiletries left behind.  Could I possibly…   No!

Yes!  It makes sense.  I can’t fill my suitcase with books, I can’t fill my loft with books, I can’t fill my cupboards with books…but I can still fill my heart and mind with words.  I’ll let you know how the relationship works out.

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