Some Of My Books

The other day, Rebecca, in a comment to one of my comments on her blog asked me to take pictures of my bookshelves as she had done.
I said I would and then forgot but today I remembered.
One of the things which made me want this house with the burning desire of a thousand suns was the fact that it had a library. An entire room for books.
Now there are books in it, yes of course, and also the boys' rocking horse and there are toys and there are games and puzzles and little things the children made for me over the years and pictures and a mantel with sacred objects (to me) and two rocking chairs and an old light of my grandfather's and a huge leather couch which my sister-in-law gave us and it's too big for the room but somehow it is squeezed in there. It is often covered in the larger of the stuffed animals. The Big Bears, the chimpanzee who makes noises and moves his arms and sometimes for no reason whatsoever, he will begin to chatter and hoot. Perhaps he wants a book. Or to be read a story.

Anyway, it's a fairly dark room and so forgive me the quality of the pictures. But here are some of my shelves.

Mostly, there is not much order. Well, a little. But it's not very logical. 

Such a pretty book. May gave it to me. And a set of Dr. Dolittle. 

New home of the Beatles, plus a Little Mermaid tea set (which May also gave me) and dolls. 

Some of the children's books. A few. 

There are more. And my old LP's. And god knows what all else. Some of those corners get pretty dark and deep.

Okay. There you go. There you have it.

I am making a soup which has everything in it from beans to a mango salsa I made last night to sausage to greens to sweet potatoes and butternut squash. It's either going to be the best soup ever or not.

I mopped floors. I did not make a dress. I have that to look forward to. It has been a quiet day and I have taken it easy and I am as mostly at ease and grateful for all of it- every book, every doll, every seashell, every floor, every wall, every camellia, the smell of Fabuloso and white vinegar, the sun going down with the skeleton arms of the pecans reaching out to grab up the last bit of light.

Inside and out. I am grateful.