This bookcase. I think my mother had it custom-made. Maybe my father built it. I don’t know.** It lasted forever, through three children and many moves. I remember it against a wall. Used as a room divider. Painted tan. Painted green. In the den. In the living room. Eventually it was adopted by David and Terri, and I don’t know how long she used it before it went…I don’t know where.
I still have some of the books that are shown on it in this photo. In fact, a couple of them are on the shelves behind me right now. The poor Hummel figurine–no telling how many times that was broken and glued back together before it was unfixable.
The baby is eyeing the bookends. They also endured multiple repairs over their lives. One of them survives.
chipped
cracked
broken
mended
packed
rediscovered
put on a shelf
dust covered
put behind glass
brought out
photographed
examined
treasured
all of the above
** ETA: According to an expert source, my father did build the bookcase.
I wonder if Amélie would be a different film if they had a book gnome in stead of a garden gnome going around the world 🙂
I need to see that movie! Tim has it, I’ve just never watched it.
“chipped
cracked
broken
mended
packed … etc.”
Seems like you captured the story of my life in 15 lines. Book gnomes rule!
They do–probably all of our lives are like that–if we’ve really lived.
your father built that bookcase when you lived at ft. carson, colorado.
Thank you, Ralph. I love getting details like that. He did a good job, because that thing was sturdy and endured a lot.
How’s Arnold?