Wallowing Under the Bookshelf

I'm on a cleaning spree here. I know why women do spring cleaning - it's like a nesting instinct that we can't control. The sun shines, the temps warm up, we feel the need to clear winter out of the house like a down coat out of the closet. I don't hate housekeeping when I'm in the mood.

I was weeding through decades of books the other day when I came across my Anne of Green Gables series. Wow, I loved those. They made the keep stack, which was incredibly short. Since being introduced to the free Kindle app for the iTouch, I've been a convert. I rarely pick up the printed and bound word anymore, but instead reach for over 100 books at my fingertips, and they all store so neatly and compactly that I carry them with me no matter where I am. So because of my new Kindle love, I pared down my book collection to favorites and sentimentals. The bookshelves are sighing happily with the weight reduction.

But that Anne of Green Gables set gave me a dose of reality for a moment. I may never read them again, but I did truly love them at one time. I thought I'd keep them for my little girl to love some day. My mind filled with futuristic thoughts of sunshine and happy meadows of flowers and quiet moments of getting lost in a good book. (What? Your happy place doesn't look like that?) But just as quickly as that image filled my head, the backdrop was kicked down and I realized that it was a stage and I was the lone actor. The reality is that my little girl is 16 and not into reading.

I had a moment of panic as I wondered how on earth that happened. The first part. The part where I have a 16 year old. I mean, we were just married yesterday, right? So that means I'm not 21 anymore either, huh? And then the worst thought of all struck me. I nearly had to sit down.

I'm closer to having grandchildren than I am to the day my first child was born.

I'll be balled into the fetal position in the corner if you need me. But it had better be good.