my sometimes-skeptical social commentary

When my parents moved in the early 90′s, they let me pack up their set of classic books and take it with me, instead of moving it with them to their new house.

It’s a big set. Everything you might expect from something like a canon assembled in the 1970′s. When I was a kid I would sit in the living room and look at them. They were so impressive on the bookshelf. My dad had built the living room and the bookshelves there, and it was one of those living rooms that didn’t have a TV. We had a record player, the books, and a fireplace. I remember playing Monopoly on the green rug with the rest of the family.

Now these books are on a shelf in our guest bedroom, next to an oak desk that was my grandfather’s, which is next to a bed that was my great-grandparents. I used to keep them in alphabetical order, but I gave up on that a long time ago, and now they just go back on the shelf wherever they fit. I like to sit in there and read, and I find that when I’m working on my computer I get a lot more done in the spare room than I do in the living room.

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