I finally surrendered a few months ago and hired Will, a domestic god if ever there was one. Will is to clutter what Zeus is to MountOlympus, what Poseidon is to the sea. He looked at my laundry room heap-and-hovel and did NOT turn and run. Instead, he calmed the waters, dug into derelict lint-crusted corners and turned mountains of god-knows-what into small tidy piles. And then he did the same for crammed kitchen cupboards and panting-for-breath, overstuffed pantries. Bless his soul.
Until he said, “Next, we’ve got to do something about your books.”
Books are a slight problem at my house. They’re like cockroaches – they proliferate, slip into dark corners and crevices, make themselves at home in unwelcome spaces like on the kitchen counter, under the bed, by the john. They taunt and stare with that closed-spine look that says, so when, really, are you gonna read me? Cleaning wizard Will wondered why I needed six, no, nine books on my bedside table. I wondered why in the hell it mattered to him.
And then a lovely weekend in October like this one here rolls around, and once again That Big Book Sale salts the “Ouch” of our book problem. The last thing in the world I need is another book I haven’t read, and yet, I’ll walk out of the sale, this year at the Omar Shrine Auditorium, with a loaded bag, feeling morally superior for supporting the Friends of the Library and patting myself on the back for digging out esoteric treasures, like a first edition hard back of William Baldwin’s The Fennel Family Papers, from the vast morass of Danielle Steel, Robert Ludlum and Patricia Cornwell books. I also found a Laurie Colwin novel I’d never heard of before (I thought I had them all!), and a hard cover I bought for my girls (the Hunt sisters) simply because of the title: The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters, by Elizabeth Robinson.
If by chance you’re also a page hound, or suffer from a tad of book lust, drop by the Shrine. Happy hunting!