I managed this week to get rid of another box of unneeded items. I have been ruthless in discarding irems from the sewing room. My goodness, how I wish I had the money I have invested in all of the fabric, thread and notions that I am throwing away.
This weekend, after the dust of Thanksgiving has settled, I will tackle the issue of books. The main reason to buy an e-reader, for me, would be the issue of storage. I have books spilling out of bookcases, piles of them on the floor in front of the bookcases. I can't even imagine what it would be like to have 3000 books taking up the space of a stenographer's notebook.
Getting rid of books is anathema to me. I was raised and still believe that they were sacred. They occupied a place of honor in our living room. As a child, they were my most treasured possessions and provided hours of escape from the harsh realities of my upbringing. I don't want to give the wrong impression--I wasn't abused or neglected, at least not in the sense that we see abuse and neglect today. But books took me to exotic worlds where people lived exotic lives. They wore linen in summer and didn't wilt it with sweat. (Later I came to see the enormous difference between summer in Ireland and summer in the mid-Atlantic)
So, getting rid of books is physically painful. I find some solace in the fact that perhaps others will be as fascinated as I by their contents. There is some satisfaction in the fact that the local library, so critical to our small, isolated community, will benefit through their semi-annual book sales.
I am making progress and I do feel lighter in spirit because of it. My office, while still cluttered, feels much less chaotic. My household feels calmer. It's easier to find some things and I don't have this never-ending weight of undone chores. It is slow going, but I am seeing some cleared surface area.
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