Before I could even read, I loved books. The colorful pictures, text crawling so orderly across the bottom of the page, and the way my golden books looked lined up neatly on my little house bookcase. Every time I got a new book I would take it to the shelf and judge the size finding the perfect position on my shelf. My brother would come in and knock the books off the shelves destroying my system. As soon as he was gone I would start all over again putting everything back in order.
I learned to read, I got bigger books, and outgrew my little house bookcase and it disappeared. As my mother releases furniture old friends keep showing up. My little house bookcase is back and I am once again lining up my knitting books by size to live on its shelves. Of course my cat, Seven, is disagreeing with me on what should be placed on the those shelves. His vote is fluffy blankets or a stash of catnip, not boring old books.