When I was 14, I left home for boarding school. I took very little with me to remind me of home: a small bag of clothes, 4 or 5 of my favorite books, my cd player. As I grew older, I fell into the habit of carefully selecting only those things that mattered most to me to keep and letting everything else go.
By the time I left college that included 2 bags worth of clothes and shoes, 4-5 boxes of books, and my computer.
When I was 25, I lived in a tiny 500 square foot apartment with my then boyfriend. Our entire spare closet was filled with 8 boxes books. He gave me an ultimatum, get rid of the books, or else.
My books and I found a new apartment (and a new boyfriend).
3 years ago the boy and I bought our first home and I carefully packed up my then 12 boxes of books to move into our our (walk-in) utility closet. Over the next year they would overflow into our spare room, bedroom, and living room.
One day the boy suggested we build a bookcase and actually unpack the books. At which point I knew I would marry him.
I’m one of those people who never really feel at home in a place unless she’s surrounded by her books. At any given time I will have a handful of books on my nightstand, the end table next to the couch, on the kitchen counter and my desk. I am always wondering around the house picking things up to read and setting them down for later.
This weekend I will be taking some old friends down from my bookshelf. Probably like most kids, I found JD Salinger when I was around 13. I was a shy, cynical kid and in Holden, I found a friend. Many words, better words, have been written about Salinger’s passing. Instead, I’ll leave you with his words, which I stumbled upon, here.
“I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.”
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