Happy Books

I have a bit of an obsession with books. "Well, duh," you're thinking. But I also have an obsession with having my books nicely arranged on bookshelves. That isn't a bad thing until you move into your own house and vow that you won't buy another mismatched set of bookshelves; you're going to get those built-ins you've been wanting since you were 12. But then the books start piling up on the floor because there's nowhere else to put them. Pretty soon the piles start taking over the room. I was almost ready to break down and get some planks of wood and some cinder blocks, but then my brother came to the rescue. He's very good at woodworking, but he's also very busy. (Four kids and a love for skiing—on both water and snow—will do that to you.) Late last year, he decided he could make some time to build me some shelves. Here they are under construction:

Nice, huh? After a few weeks and a bit of dust, they were all in and just needed to be painted. It took me forever to get the primer on, so I thought I might just finish by May, but then my mom came to the rescue. She volunteered to help with the last two coats, so we finished in a week. As I side note, apparently my feet get exceptionally hot when I paint. See how red they are?

And apparently my mom thinks it's funny to paint my toenails bright, shiny white. Anyway, hot feet aside, we got the painting done, I waited patiently (well, I tried to wait patiently) for the paint to dry, and then I finally—finally—got to introduce my books to their new home.

They're so happy to be home. It's such a beautiful home, and there's room for all of them—but just barely. Sheesh! My obsession had gotten even more out of control than I thought. There was supposed to be room for a few more knick-knacks. And even more important, there was supposed to be room for more books, since I know I'm not going to stop buying them. Oh, bother. But I'll worry about that another day. Today I'm just going to sit back and enjoy my fabulous wall o' books.