We recently got our bookshelf back. The top part of the shelf had been broken off, but thanks to some glue and nails it’s secured back good enough. Which made me happy as only furniture and books can. Perhaps my true life calling is to sell antiques and first editions…
Stacking a book shelf is an indulgent ritual. First, placing all the books before you on the carpet, then surveying their familiar covers while wondering which order would be best for them to be in, asking yourself whether or not you can put your top ten favourites on their own shelf…
This is how it ended up:
Top shelf: Penguin Classics and $9.99 Penguin Books because there’s no way those matching covers could not be next to each other.
Middle Shelf: General paper-back fiction in alphabetical order according to author’s last name. This was a hard shelf to organize as I was torn between colour coding, then ordering them by size. Tough call.
Bottom Shelf: From left – plays, reference books, autobiography, hard cover and acting guides.
That’s when I knew for sure that I was a perfectionist, and pedantic, and a little bit crazy, all with a dollop of ‘should have been in bed not organizing a book shelf at 1am’ on top. But what the hell when looking at it makes me so darn pleased. Except when I think about the books still in that box. Then I have to repress anxiety. And for the record, yes, I left my top favourites on my smaller, special shelf. Though, them being apart from the other’s is actually tearing me up a little. Which is when I realised that I was able to double the crazy perfectionism from above. But just look at ‘em sitting there all proud and important.
How do you stack your bookshelf? Is it important how you order them or do you just shove them where they fit?
Reminds me of a cosy but messy English apartment where you like to spend the night because it means sleeping with the person you’ve just started to get to know properly and everything is dreamy but sometimes the house is just damp and there are crumbs in the bathroom, and that unnerves you.
Having a bookshelf back is good, but it does make me wish for a house with a personalized library so that I can really pretend to be Belle from Beauty and the Beast (that costume won’t be a complete waste…) but more than that, the idea of having a room of nothing but dark mahogany shelves filled with hundreds of books, with a writing desk under a bright lamp, comfy, worn armchairs, and finally a window seat in a bay window that overlooks a green, tree filled garden. Sitting there on a rainy day with my laptop open for a new writing project, or a new book and a fizzy drink would be heavenly.
Ah, dreaming is nice. There’s just something comforting and relaxing about being surrounding by books and arm chairs. I guess you could say that it’s one of my happy places. That and a pool full of candy that never gets sticky. Or discovering I have magical powers. Or in the arms of that hunky guy I live with after he’s just fulfilled his dream. Whichever is nice.
There is only one draw back to the return of the bookshelf and that is that I am now gripped by a need to fill the last gaps with more books…