The birth of wanderlust

When I was a young, I would lay in my bed at my parents house where late at night I could hear the distant sound of a train passing along the tracks across town. Occasionally there would be a lone long whistle, but normally there was just the sound of the wheels running along the tracks. It would give me chills and I would fall asleep imagining all the wonderful places where it would travel. Fanaticizing how exciting it would be if I could just get on the train.

I am the cat-lady of books.

As I write this, next to my bed are two stacks of books piled on my bedside table which also has two shelves filled with books. Another bookcase is built into the wall across from my bed. My office consists of walls of books, my writing room (which is seldom where my writing gets done) has a wall of books, and so does my dining room which is really a converted living room. I have more books than I could go back and reread if I spent the rest of my life reading them. Some were originally for reference back in the day when libraries kept limited hours, none of which were in the middle of the night, and didn't always have the material you needed without using inter-library loan. Now days, with the internet, I don't know that I really need most of them anymore. I've decided they are weighing me down, not to mention creating cleaning and dusting problems. I've been clearing them out and donating them in unbelievable quantities. Not only does the house feel lighter, I feel lighter.

Now, my husband is the cat-lady of empty boxes, the box of anything he ever purchased is kept in case he might need it and somehow it never gets thrown away. They hover in the shadows of storage areas like ghosts of things past. Perhaps I'll tackle that next.