Books on every wall, in every basket, and in piles upstairs.
The great Geezer brought out the suitcases this morning. I have piles of clothes everywhere to join with those suitcases. Even worse, I have piles of books waiting my attention. What shall I bring; what do I want to read on the plane or for the first three days at sea. I stare at my book piles in dismay.
Other packing plans are well organized. I’m proud of me, frankly. One formal pant and top outfit plus one dress. My glove leather shoes will go with both outfits. Three wire hangers in the hang up bag and I am done there. Jewelry: nothing of any value.
I’ve picked too many shirts and pants. Those can be winnowed down. But the books are a problem. You know I will be too excited to really focus on a book, yet books are a necessity for at least the first three days at sea. That leaves me with a choice of only those books that have no depth or richness. Mindless. Paperback only. Light weight, smaller size…I hope, and maybe three. No poetry. I have a whole basket of poetry just waiting to be read….too deep for the distracted traveler in me.
Four volumes of the Hornblower series are waiting in the book pile. There’s Pat Conroy’s “My Reading Life, that’s light, and there are several more in that same genre. Nick Hornby’s book reviews are tantalizing me too, along with a battered version of “Gift From the Sea.” There are three or four mysteries. And too, I can cherry-pick the sci-fi for something light. I’m overwhelmed.
I think I will go pack shirts.