When Meg G lived in a small studio in Lincoln Park circa 2001, I adored taking the red line to the Fullerton exit, wandering DePaul's sidewalks with freshly shed & dried leaves, having a cup of white hot chocolate at my favorite coffee shop, & then hunkering down for a Thursday evening slumber party with Meg and her books. When my computer got a virus a few weeks ago, I started reading for hours after coming home from work rather than scrolling through web pages. The books above (half of them Stefanie's) have adorned the loveseat next to the window that overlooks my garden. It is as if both my intellect brain and aesthetic brain needed to be reminded how much I treasure a story & the physical shell of a book. Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth is possibly the best collection of stories I have read in years. I craved a story daily as if it were a fresh baked brownie which I also crave daily.
When I visit the homes of friends, it is the bookshelf that provides a little window into who they are, where they have been, and represent ideas that have wiggled into their brains. I am still a de-clutterer to the nines (donating about a bag of clothing from my small closet every two months or so as if excess is the plague) but I think I need to remember to hang on to the books that I have read and loved. And I need them to be present: their lovely spines casting color from the bookshelves and luring new readers and adventurers to come play. And no, I am not trying to score brownie points by having the Holy Bible on top of the stack. I promise.
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