I’ve been going through my books. So far, I have resold about fifty. FIFTY.
For those of you who have never read fifty books, nevertheless, who don’t own fifty- I know this sounds absurdly incredible.
And it is.
I’ve sorted through books from some of my beloved undergraduate literature classes- “The Complete Works of Christian Le Troy;” “The Best American Short Fiction Stories;” and books on how to teach English overseas missionally. I’ve ran my fingers over the glossy covers of books that I have yet to read that I bought in anticipation (before busy-ness and laziness have set in), and some also in part of a deep-seated idealism of somehow (single-handedly?!) keeping local bookstores and the local Barnes& Noble in business. (Take that Amazon!)
Books are things I tell myself as I place the next book in my designated “resell” paper bag (sturdy handles= necessity). I recall how a (now ex-) friend gave me this book on easy/fun/adult? gluten free and dairy free recipes. Pretty sure I never opened this one. It stayed as a symptom of my many moves and lack of follow through with “go through your stuff” time.
My theory is that people do two things when they move a lot- get rid of pretty much everything or move it all with you. As I’ve made give-away piles and trash piles, I know I’ve done the latter.
But books hold memories too- I flip through an old copy of “The Life of Pi,” and I find my notes chronicling the train ride of when I was a fresh 21 and traveling from Changchun to Xingjian that first winter in China. I am reminded of the hard seats, the lack of sleep, the crowded train car, and the brilliant sunrise over the Chinese countryside.
I believe it was Louisa May Alcott who once said that books are like friends. I understand the sentiment. And so, like in life, I have decided to chose my friends- and books- well.
Lavender, Lemons, and Cherry Trees 