bookshelf

Lately I’ve been reading some old books from the old bookshelf.  Now, part of me knows this is yet another distraction from the real task at hand…and yes, it is definitely escapism.  But it is an escape to a simpler time, when I was ten years old and cared about nothing but spelling tests and art projects.

I wrote about my bookshelf for a scholarship application my senior year.  I don’t remember the prompt, but my point was how books, no matter how childish, stick with you.  You can scan your bookshelf to remind yourself of who you are, what you do and what you want.  Of course, it can also go the other way…you can buy books of a certain style or genre, and, whether you actually read them or not, project a false sense of who you are for friends and acquaintances all for the purpose of esteem.  Not many people have seen my bookshelf, so I’d like to think it is more honest than that.

Really, I should say “book shelves,” because my collection has spilled over with additions from architecture, art, and history.

So I’m re-reading The Dark is Rising sequence by Susan Cooper, an old favorite that weaves together Celtic and English mythology into a little twentieth century saga.  It gives extra pleasure now, since I can read them much more quickly and get to the good parts.  A short cut to that feeling of accomplishment when you reach the end of a book.  A feeling I haven’t felt lately, except when clearing the sink of dirty dishes or something else mundane.