I’ve become a very bookish lady in my old age…if seventy three is old.
When I was a kid, I had one bookcase in my room. When I came back from the Army, I had gramma’s old white bookcase then added a brick and board bookcase. When we moved into the big house, we had a giant bookcase along one wall in the living room. Other bookcases sprouted here and there…always the white bookcase among them.
Today my life is still filled with bookcases, and I love them. The living room has three…one is the old white bookcase. This dark wood bookcase is one that George found in a dumpster. The owners of the house charged him ten bucks, and he brought it home triumphantly. It once had doors, but it has movable shelves. Once it was out in a garage, and now it has biographies, poetry, quilting, G’s cribbage boards, and other comforting subjects like that.
At work my boss says the other shops have only one small bookcase each. Not ours. This week we have six bookcases. Last week there were more. I have so much fun with books on Wednesdays.