My mother and grandfather were avid readers.
They loved to buy books, read them and put them on the bookshelf. After he had passed away, my mom brought home the bookshelves full of her father’s library. I’m sure I inherited my love of reading from them. By the time I left home, I had three bookcases of books. They spilled over with classics, mysteries, romance and literary fiction. We could have opened up our own library. Now, with my mother gone, I owned all the books in the house. I counted them. They added up to over five hundred books.
My problem was, what was I going to do with them all? I had no idea, so I gave myself time to think. I borrowed my friend’s convertible on a hot, humid day in August and moving them to a storage unit until I could decide.