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The tall bookcase is new. I assembled it, all by myself, the day before yesterday. I was left alone because no one can stand to be around me when I undertake such things. I started quietly and methodically enough, but as the sweat began to roll and the blasted directions betrayed me, I became, shall we say, rather “animated.” Only once, however, did I have to prevent myself from bashing the thing to smithereens. I was on a step ladder at the time. There was a screw driver in my hand. But the need for shelf space outweighed my anger.
The result, I think, is quite nice. As you can see, the bookcase is already full. Meanwhile, as fate would have it, the books in the foreground arrived in the evening by UPS as I was nearing completion. They’re a generous and amazing gift from poet Gerry Boyd. So far, I’ve sorted them into four general categories: poetry; books about poetry; drama; fiction; nonfiction; biography; and reference. As I said, four categories. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... hmm — no wonder I have trouble building things.
I’ll write more about this wonderful shipment later — maybe in my next life, or after the aspirin kicks in. Obviously, each book must be sniffed, handled, examined, and properly welcomed. Quite by accident, I did find a pressed flower in one. I let it stay, of course. And I’ve already forgotten which book it’s in.
In the Forum: the old Victrola and “Tea for Two.”