I've been clearing out some main floor living space but haven't given a whole lot of thought to the book situation and what that may mean as I tend to think of books like being wallpaper, only nicer. However, all music, anatomy and dog training books are now tidily taking up floor space at Violinist's house...bags and bags of it. I spared him the remains of old dinner the now deceased Sandra never got to enjoy.
From Buff's room I removed five garbage bags of assorted junk. Mostly fished out from beneath his bed. I left an L.E.D. undercar kit, bearing and seal kit and inexplicable Elvis album propped against the wall - the real vinyl kind of Elvis. It was mine. Why Buff has it is the inexplicable part. I reserve the right to not explain why I owned it.
"It's going to stay this way. Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. It'll stay this way. But, Mom there's a lot of junk under the bed."
"Let's have a look."
"No. Mom. Really, it's pretty bad."
"Where'd it all go? Where's all my stuff!"
"Look, don't complain. You just finished calling your stuff - junk. I left you Elvis and the tacky body building posters. And I only hauled the muffler out to the Shop from Hell. Did you know there were antlers under there? And a FOG MACHINE!"
"I don't know anything about a fog machine. It's not mine! Honest."
Fun's room is next.
Please pray for me.
(The illustration is, I think, from an ancient homemaking book - I can't remember - still thinking about Sandra's leftovers.)