Bookcase cleaning has been memorable

I am attempting to do the impossible. Of all the impossible things there are, this one is taking far longer than it should. I am cleaning out the bookcase in the hallway.

The reason that this is impossible is because there are picture albums, carvings, empty old banks made out of glass mustard jars, vases and lots of books taking up space in the bookcase. There is a hardback set of Zane Grey novels that I have never read that belonged to my grandparents and a set of Mark Twain’s that I have read and enjoyed. A collection of repair manuals that belonged to my grandfather’s brother waits to be put back where they belong. Never mind that they are out of date. They are precious because they are old and belonged to someone I once knew.

Then there all the paperback novels. At one time my ambition in life was to be a paperback writer, concentrating on romance novels. I chose romance novels as there always seems to be a market for them. The only problem is that I absolutely despise romance novels. Most of the ones I have read follow a set formula of highly improbable events.

I managed to empty the shelves and douse the bookcase with lemony furniture polish. Then I started putting things back and the trouble began. I picked up an picture album and dusted it off. Did I immediately put it on a shelf? Of course not. I leafed through it and got lost in memories. A long time later the album finally made it to a shelf.

The next few albums also required that I leaf through them and I wondered why I kept an old photo of an out of focus dog whose face was out of the picture. I tossed it in the trash and congratulated myself on being able to throw something away. The handful of negatives also made it to the trash. All of this took place in a couple of days.

Then I picked up a book. It was one I had enjoyed several times and I leafed through it to reacquaint myself with the characters. When I looked up from my reading, almost an hour had passed. This became the procedure for the next few days.

If I recognize the title, I flip through and soon am lost in the world of fiction. If I don’t recognize the title then I reread a few pages to jog my memory then I read a few pages more. This is why the process is taking so long. I’ve been at this for a week or so and there are still books scattered everywhere just waiting to lure me into their world.

No matter how long it takes, it still needs to be done. At some point the dust bunnies take over. In the middle of all this concentrated cleaning there are the usual chores that need to be tackled. Supper won’t fix itself. The plants that leap into my arms won’t plant themselves. All the little mundane things that fill my days will wait their turns while I read just one more page.

Cleaning a bookshelf is my way of taking a vacation while seated in a comfortable chair surrounded by old friends that live on the pages of books. I’m glad the authors chose to share them with me.

At this rate it will be Christmas before the books and keepsakes are back where they belong. Like other housework, if it ever gets finished it will be time to begin again thus rendering it an impossible task to finish.