That’s what I used to call my books.
I’d have stacks and stacks of them, lying in piles everywhere, because I never had enough space.
(That picture is NOT an actual picture of what my bookshelves used to look like. I had a picture of it somewhere, but alas – I’ve not had enough time to try and find it. I don’t know if I’d even be willing to share it either, for when I took it, I was a little – erm, over-the-top shall we say, with my decorative style. I also had put an art project I’d done up on my ceiling (yes, I said ceiling) that was visible in said picture, and it made for a very odd picture to have. Not to mention the stuffed animals. In my defense, I took the picture because a friend didn’t believe me when I said I had crazy bookshelves.)
When I bought my first house earlier this year, one of the things I commissioned my father to help me with was building bookshelves. I could, should I have desired, gone the quicker Ikea route, and found the cheapest bookshelf at a local store. (For the record, I’ve NEVER been to Ikea, and have been told by many friends that I need to go. Maybe I should make it a Bucket List item?) However, I was rather poor, and so any sort of bookshelf like that would have to wait. It meant I needed to do something in the meantime.
I grew up with the old Brick-And-Board Bookshelves. My parents used to work for a bookstore where that was how the books were displayed, and I grew up playing hide and seek with them in the store and warehouses behind, me hiding with a good book, them seeking me to no end and not succeeding in finding me very often! There were lots of times the only way they found me was to have me paged over the intercom. But I digress.
I have many fond memories of those brick-and-board shelves. And knowing that my father was desirous of projects to help me around my new condo, he took it upon himself to build that bookshelf you see in my previous post. He also built (with brick and board) the bookshelf in my main bedroom.
Both these new bookshelves have double the meaning for me now, here as an adult with CLEAN bookshelves. The brick and board come from two different sources, albeit they have their source in the same event. (And to save my fingers and your ears, I’m going to start referring to it as b&b, which is not to be confused with a B&B, which are lovely places to stay and read books at.)
The bookstore that my parents worked up went out of business when I was freshly out of high school. The b&b were divvied out to whoever wanted some, so my father took extra – some for himself, and some that ended up in the crawl space underneath our house, for whichever child would want them. Seeing as how I’m the only one of the three siblings who has any inclination to read, the logical choice was me. The b&b in my bedroom mainly consist of these.
The b&b in my spare bedroom that comprises my main bookcase also come from that event, but from a different source. Our family recently inherited that b&b from the former president of that old bookstore that was a major part of our family’s life. We kept in touch with him and his family over the years, and when he passed away earlier this spring, we were cleaning out his basement, and there we found even more b&b. The family already had enough of their own (they also do b&b bookshelves), so they let my dad take what he wanted/needed to make my main shelf.
Both my bookshelves have special memories attached to them, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’d thought to have eventually saved up money enough to get “regular” bookshelves, but after realizing the history of my own, I don’t think I’m ever going to want them.
The question becomes – How long will it take before I have to start double-parking on them?
If you’re interested in reading more about this 31-day writing project, start here.