I’ve always lived with other people’s stuff. Perhaps my mother did too until the day she bought a sofa and chair all of her very own. My grandfather might have done so also until the day he bought a heavy sofa and chairs all of his own. We moved in here with masses of other people’s stuff and our very own, new sofa.
Almost everyone of those books I’ve been sorting once belonged to someone else too. Masses of them. I confess that I discarded only two costume books from the tall bookcase, but I was ruthless with the cookbooks. Ruthless, what a frightening word when you are cutting back a collection, cutting back on a love.
I had the worst allergy attack I’ve had since childhood after sorting that bookcase. Perhaps all those discarded books were getting back at me…ruthlessly.