Sorting and Downsizing

I never thought the day would come when I'd actually admit I might maybe just kind of am beginning to think about considering downsizing the number of books I have. My collection is split into two. The first part is the happy-to-give-away books in the downstairs Book Nook, which is to serve as a local book exchange. The idea is that once we are living here full time, I'll just keep the doors open and people can come in to browse for a book or to drop unwanted books off. I've provided a couple of chairs and will set up a snack bar, and maybe people will linger for a chat or just settle down to read undisturbed, which would be a happy thing. Kind neighbours have donated most of these books, or I've found them cheap at Value Village or library sales. From time to time, I donate a load to the thrift shop if I find they're not moving.

But the second part of my collection... These are my babies. The carefully curated collection of homesteading, gardening, how-to, history, mystery, and biography books I've lovingly brought together over many years. These are books I've read and re-read and will continue to re-read, like conversing with an old friend or eating a favourite meal. Some are long out of print. Some were written by people I've met and admire. Some are beloved stories from my childhood. I have some at home in the city and have been steadily moving some up to the church. Boxes of them. Plastic totes of them. Shelves of them. And as I've hauled them up to the balcony, I've found myself thinking lately, "Good grief, are ALL of these favourites?" Well...yes. Do I want to part with any of them? No. Will I read them again in the future? Yes. Am I in danger of exceeding the weight bearing capacity of the balcony? Maybe?

Sometimes it's necessary to limit yourself even regarding good and desirable things. Water is healthy for you unless you get too much of it, and then it can drown you. I'm fairly minimalist in all other areas of my life. I own two pairs of shoes. I have about five outfits I just recycle. I have few knicknacks, all of them heirlooms and meaningful pieces. All of my make-up fits in a sandwich baggie. I can and have lived out of one small suitcase for three months. I can and have moved house in a few hours. I could get dressed and cook a meal with my eyes closed, because I know exactly where everything is. Except the books... Why is it that this one area of my life is overflowing?

More to the point, how can a thousand books all be my "favourite"? 

But if I do decide---and it's a big if---to cull the books, how would I possibly choose which to keep? It's not true that you'll always be able to find old favourites at the library or online, especially the older books. What if someday I can no longer access the internet and need to look up some gardening information? When I'm an old woman in a rocking chair, won't I need all of these stories to keep me company? Hmm...

More likely I'll be an old woman walled in by stacks of Louise Penny and old seed catalogues, and they'll have to dig me out with a backhoe to put me in a home. Sigh. Yeah, maybe it's time to face reality and acknowledge this is an addiction...

My name is Kristen McKendry, and I'm a bookaholic. Some days I mainline three chapters before breakfast, and I've been guilty of locking myself in the bathroom at work to finish the last bit of a book, because once I get started, I can't stop. If I run out of a book on the subway, I hang over strangers' shoulders to see what they're reading. I neglect housework and yardwork when I'm immersed in a good story. I can't pass a Friends-of-the-Library sale without stopping to browse. Only there's no such thing as browsing, because we both know I'm going to walk out of there with an Alan Bradley or a Michael Pollan. I have books hidden all over the house. I'm not a social reader; I prefer solitude, and I've skipped social outings to hide in my room and read. Sometimes what I'm reading feels more real to me than my real life.

Okay, so, maybe it's not quite that bad. Sorta. But I definitely think I need to address the issue, buckle down, and let some of the books go, before I collapse the balcony. I could probably let go of The Joy of Cheesemaking or my ancient copy of Anne of Green Gables. The Invitation to Italian (1965) or The Timetables of History that only goes up to 1990. The world atlas that still shows Rhodesia. One has to start somewhere...

A Busy Day and a Hygge Sort of Evening

The limestone screening is in, and the wheelbarrow has been lashed down under a tarp. The overflow pipe by the eavestroughs is duly capped. The handtowel rack is installed and the funky bath towel hooks are up. The sanctuary has been tidied for an upcoming birthday party. Three fake birch trees with lights on them have been set up in one corner for ambience. Groceries have been purchased. Dog has been walked. Kitchen shelves have been dusted. Garbage has been put out. Basement windows vacuumed out and window screens installed. Second coat of spackle has been daubed on (will sand tomorrow). A little work done on the computer. Short story reviewed and proofread for a friend. Chicken has been roasted and divided up for future meals, including a lovely soup that's simmering on the stove. 

It's now just after 5 p.m., and I'm sitting on the couch with Brio for a well-deserved rest. After such a productive day, I feel I can relax with a book (and a box of Junior Mints. Don't tell). The wonderful smell of chicken soup in the air. A very satisfactory evening!

Limestone Screening

The ground has settled around the areas where we had the foundations excavated and waterproofed, and somehow water is still getting in here and there, through the waterproofing, the cement wall, the spray-foam insulation, and the vapour barrier. So we've ordered a truckload of limestone screening, and I will spend the next couple of days schlepping it to build up the sunken areas and slant the ground away from the building. Won't be pretty, but it's a temporary fix until we can do actual hardscaping. 

The tricky bit is that it's been raining for a few days, and the screening arrived damp. I'm hoping it doesn't compact itself into cement before I can spread the pile around.

So much of my life seems to revolve around hauling aggregates in buckets and wheelbarrows. I'll tell you, though, these days I much prefer hard physical labour to sitting at a computer screen. You can actually see what you're accomplishing, and you feel deliciously tired afterward, every muscle used and appreciated. Then you feel you deserve to sit on the couch and watch Netflix with a bowl of popcorn, and you don't feel guilty about it because of the calories you just burned. You don't burn many calories sitting at a desk and wiggling your fingers.

Gray Day

It's decided to turn into autumn after all, bringing chilly temperatures and sporadic drizzle. I've run out of drywall compound for today, can't paint until the spackling is done, so projects have to wait. The perfect excuse to curl up with a blanket and book and Brio (the dog). Last week I binged on Jenny Colgan's book Close Knit, so this week I'm making up for it by reading sterner stuff: Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies by Jared Diamond.

Book Sale

Through the kindness of neighbours' donations, we are swamped with books for the Book Nook, so I'm holding a sale Nov 8-9 to make some space. All books $1 ea except kids' books, which are 50 cents. Fiction, non-fiction, cooking, sewing, travel, etc.

Apparently we live at the end of the rainbow

 

Thanks to neighbour Brenda for the photo! If you look closely, you can see a 

second rainbow arching above the other.

Morning Walk, Missed the Mist

I walked Brio around the conservation area this morning and discovered they've blazed new walking trails through the woods. Unfortunately, a lot of trees were felled to make way, but I admit it's nice having a new alternative for places to walk. Once you've been up to the ball park, over to the orchard, and around the lake, you've basically seen everything in the village, the gravel roads being too hard on Brio's feet. So now there's a new, lovely, winding way through the pines and walnut trees to explore. Though I suspect in summer, I'll have to wear a beekeeper's suit to fend off the mosquitoes under the pines!

The geese were starting to collect on the lake, gliding along the milky surface with the morning mist rising around them. I took Brio home and hurried back with a camera to take some shots, and though the geese were still there, the mist had burned away in the rising sun.