Migration

We have made contact with the Book Shelf Fairy (Thank you, Book Shelf Fairy.  You know who you are.).  The bookshelves will arrive tomorrow.

This is good because the books.  Are taking over.  The house.  

And Husband lately has been fond of saying, "Do we really have to have stacks of books everywhere?"  

And the Mom Trying to Write has responded, "Yes."

So my books and I are all of a dither.  Those books who were lucky enough to have a shelf space have been un-shelved in preparation for their forthcoming move to the living room, where my writing corner is, and pairing with their soon-to-be-delivered mates.  The shelves have been cleaned with Murphy's and warm water. They have been anointed with lemon oil.  (Yes, I will be sore tomorrow.  Sometimes sore is worth it).  Please forgive me if I say this feels like a ritual cleansing, but for someone so in love with words and stories, for someone who feels as if each book is an old friend (okay, and a few are old enemies), it does.  The books who have never had a home (photo above, and others) have caught wind of the change in the air, and are fairly trembling to take their places tomorrow after the delivery folks arrive sometime between 9:30 and 11:30, not that we're keeping track.

But first there will be the Grand Sorting.  So that books of a feather can flock together.  So that the Mom Trying to Write can feel organized for at least a half an hour.  There will be stout little piles of books all over the living room floor.  Poetry collections here.  Poetry anthologies there.  Craft of poetry here.  Writing craft in general there.  Old testament translations and commentaries here.  Bibles there.  Classic fiction here.  Contemporary fiction there.  Fiction anthologies here.  Pride and Prejudice, Pride and Prejudice Cliffs notes and Pride and Prejudice fan lit there.  Journals and reviews here.  New Yorker there.  Poets and Writers here.  Oh yeah, and three slots for parenting books there.  Maybe.  Or maybe they will be banished to some other shelf where they won't interfere with my Poet Energy.

If you can't tell, I'm really excited.  I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight.  But if not, I'll just turn on my reading light and reach down to the pile on the floor next to my bed.  And read 'til I fall off again.

(P.S.  As usual, I borrowed a title.  Migration is the title of W. S. Merwin's new and selected poems, and I recommend it).