The bookshelves in the loft have been too long overlooked and had acquired the sort of dust layer usually seen in attics in horror movies. Continuing my on-going project of getting realistic about why I am keeping books I've forgotten I even had, I've spent several days cleaning and sorting books.
About eight boxes went to the library on Saturday for a future book sale and at least eight more have been loaded up to be taken off today. There are also elderly (falling apart) paperbacks to go into paper recycling and elderly and long outdated text books to go to the dump, alas.
There are so many memories on those shelves. Here, in no particular order, are a few:
A song book from my summer Spanish class in 1959 -- a special six week course at Universidad Tecnologico y de Estudios Superiores in Monterrey, Mexico. I still remember the words to the songs and Las Clases de Cha Cha Cha was a favorite, along with Besame Mucho and Caminante.
My Old Kentucky Home: A Handbook for Southerners contained a grocery list in my grandmother's handwriting -- and a nasty memory: it was a fervent defense of segregation.
Europa Touring(1969) was the guide to our great motorcycle adventure and contained a packing list and a diagram of how everything (tent, clothes, cooking stuff, etc.) would fit into our duffel bag.
'57 /'58-- my ninth grade Latin textbook. I went on in high school to take four years of Latin along with three of Spanish -- anything to avoid physics and chemistry and higher math. Arma virumque cano, you all.
And in a folder full of pictures and pages torn from magazines (the low tech Pinterest of the time) along with much that reminds me how our tastes and interests change over time, I found a picture that was possibly the inspiration for our little Japanese style house that John built on a lake in Florida sometime in the Sixties.
I still like the look of it.
It's emotional whiplash, darting from one phase of my life to another. Part of the reason this job is taking so long.