Literary Cats

There are literally hundreds of books in our house. Seriously. Some are mine, some my husband Paul’s, but most were left to me by Daniel, who left me the house. Out of those, some were actually collected by Daniel and some were left from generations gone by.

I still haven’t gone through all of them to see exactly what we have. OK, so we moved into the house two and a half years ago, but hey, I’ve been busy! Recently I gathered every single book in the house into one area: the upstairs hallway (or “gallery,” as my friend Andrea the historical house appraiser calls it).


Two or three times during this process I would say, ok, I think that’s everything, only to remember that there were several stacks of books still in the storage area we refer to as “the guest bedroom.” And then, oh yeah, there are all the ones I put on the shelves in the dining room closet when we first moved in. And wait, I seem to remember a few dozen more stacked up in the downstairs hall cupboard.

It took a while, but I think that finally all the books in the house are here, except for the scattered few on and around our bedside tables and coffee table that we’re actively reading (including our Bibles).

Wednesday being chore day, today I forged ahead in my ongoing plan to sort the books and categorize them and decide what to keep. I didn’t get very far, even with Ray and Bailey’s help, because I kept coming across books I wanted to peruse. But I figure when it comes to getting a big job done, a little at a time is better than not at all.


One of the books I came across today was an old sketch book of mine, and I got kind of excited when I found it until I discovered it had two, count ’em, two sketches in it. One from 1997 and one from 2000. I must have kept misplacing it. But now I’ve found it again and I’ll add more sketches.

Hopefully more than one every three years. *sigh*