For the past 3 weeks, I have spent hours looking at this book case. When I am groaning through my exercises, I look at the books on these shelves and I'm transported away from my bed in Wamego where CB is counting to 10 too damn slow.
Here's what's in the bookcase other than books: my dad's Stetson, the blocks in memory of Maxine (Luke's $7 dog), the flag from Dad's casket, coffee mugs from Dad's time in the legislature and various other bits of flotsam and jetsam.
This particular shelf makes me think of my Dad. Every book represents something about Dad that I hold dear. There are books about historical and political figures like Harry Truman, there are books about Colorado ghost towns (my dad LOVED to drive his Jeep around Colorado and flirt with death), there is "Bleak House" by Charles Dickens which Dad insisted that I read (and which I am still trying to...it's on my Kindle, so that's a start. Right?), there are books by Shakespeare given to my dad by his dad, and there are books about World War 2.
I'm not sure I mentioned that Dad had 5 total hip replacements and 1 total knee replacement during the course of his life. He is my inspiration as I am grunting and groaning and trying to throw up as I do my rehab.
Every time I look at these books, I think of him and he's not so very far away.
Pretty cool, huh.
