(Okay, I'm finally getting back to books. I already brought this up, but I'm doing it again.)
I admit it ... when lockdown happened last year (or was it two years ago? I can't remember anymore; it's all a big blur.), I freaked out and started "panic buying." Not toilet paper (well, a little ... okay, a lot) but a different kind of paper. You see, shortly after the world went on lockdown, our library closed for remodeling ... and all of a sudden, I found myself in a panic. A "what if books become unavailable" panic.
Paper books, not digital. I only like to read paper books. Reading digital books is just not the same; it has to be paper. The gentle color of the paper (instead of a bright, blaring screen). The soft feel of the paper (instead of cold, hard plastic). The whoosh of the page turning (instead of nothing). The ability to easily jump forward or backward as I want to (instead of scrolling this way and that, searching for the page I want, getting lost in a jumble of words that all look the same). Dog-earing a page (gasp!) to mark my place (instead of no page to dog-ear, no signs of where I've been in the book). Etc.
And digital books are even more at risk of becoming unavailable. It wouldn't take much to take those offline. (Which is why I have been buying up Bibles from thrift stores. So that when "they" decide to crack down on Bibles, I have a good supply of them.)
Book-lovers will understand the need for books (well, duh, of course!), those who are in the middle of several books at once, scattered around the house, different ones for different moods: The Princess Bride, Treasure Island, a U2 biography, The Case for the Real Jesus, Anne of Avonlea ... those who get antsy when they suddenly find themselves with a few extra minutes (such as waiting in the car to pick up your kid from some event) and they realize they have no book to read (oh, how slowly the torturous minutes tick by!) ... those who stand at the stove with a stirring spoon in one hand and a book in the other (or who don't hear the oven timer ding because they're lost in another time, another world, far, far away) ... those who sleep with a book under their pillow so that they can rest their hand lovingly on it while they are sleeping (Okay, I don't do that one, of course, because that's just crazy. But what I'm trying to say is that if you're that crazy into books then ... well ... then you might actually need some help. Or some friends. Or a good therapist. I mean, I love books and all, but there's a limit.), etc.
Over the years, in an effort to keep clutter out of my house (I've failed miserably!), I have gotten rid of most of the books I had, choosing to rely on the library. (I love the library!) But then lockdown hit ... and the library closed ... and I realized how vulnerable I really am. And I became addicted to buying books, to building a home library.
And now, with the world falling apart, collecting books has become a passion of mine, setting up two big shelves of books so that I have them at my fingertips, in paper, whenever I want them. These books are mine. All mine. Forever.
The ironic thing, though, is that now that I have a plethora of books to choose from, it's almost harder to know what to read first. When I had only a few from the library, well, I was stuck with just those few. Made it much easier to know which one to start. "Well, all I've got is this giant, 500+-page book on Julia Child, so I guess that's what I'll read right now." But now that I've got tons, across the whole spectrum of genres and moods, it's much harder. Do I choose an educational one? A kids' one? A classic? A just-for-fun one? One of each, in the same week?
You know what I realized: Reading good books is a bittersweet thing. Because you enjoy them while you're reading them, but then ... they're done. It's over. This also makes it hard to know which one to read because you don't want to waste the good books, to read them at the wrong time or in the wrong mood. But of course, you won't know which ones are the good ones until you read them, until they're done. (Kinda puts you in a conundrum.)
And you can never get that "reading it for the first time" feeling back again. And so even if it was a good book, it might only be good once. Getting to the end of a good book is bittersweet. Sure, you can read it again, but it's not the same. (Except for Little Women and Wind in the Willows and The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, which can and should be read all the time, over and over again, and they won't lose their charm. They only get better. And I want to read The Silmarillion again. And take notes this time. Because, boy!, was that a hard book to follow! Enjoyable, but hard!)
Another problem with loving books ... and I wonder if anyone else does this ... is that it's not only hard to figure out which book to read some days, but then there's this: "Do I want to finish one I already started or start a new one right now? Or would I rather research lists of good books for the future instead of reading right now? Or cruise around online, reading about other people's love of books? Or should I go out and hunt for books at the used-book store? Or, gee, maybe it would be fun to start writing my own book? Or ...?"
And before I know it, my mind is already tired and I've got "analysis paralysis,' and so I do what I do almost every night: Go into my room, shut the door, and watch an episode of Gilmore Girls. And the books sit patiently on my shelf another night, waiting to be read.
Oh well! I'll find my rhythm eventually. After all, the books on my shelf aren't going anywhere. They're mine. All mine. Forever. And so I don't have to panic anymore about not having books available when I want them.
(Now I just have to worry about not having enough room to store them all. Which makes me wonder if I should get rid of some. Which brings me full circle, right back to where I was when I got rid of all my books in the first place. And the cycle continues. It's nice to have routines to count on, isn't it? 😉)
