bit by bit

I am getting there. The bookcase is back in my room, but in a different spot.  I spent a couple of hours last night emptying cartons and putting my books, DVDs and CDs neatly on shelves.  Tip of the iceberg, I am afraid.

My problem (not mine alone, of course) is that I consider books are people. I have copies of books that I don't even remember buying -- and with good reason. Some were gifts. I  don't want them but I can't throw them out and that means I'll have to wait till the College Women's Club collects books again next year for their sale, by which time I will have forgotten about them. Meantime they are cluttering up my precious and limited shelf space.

On the other hand, I kept out a few books that I either want to look at again or have meant to sit down with but never have. Then, of course, there was this familiar face in a magazine from 1986 that stopped me cold.  It made me remember how young and beautiful we all were a quarter-century ago.  And how fleeting it all is.

There is a pile of still unpaid bills at my left hand. I can't concentrate. Last night, to distract myself, I decided I should research what to do with all those little bits of soap when they get too skinny to use and are too big to throw away. I found a bunch of recipes (sort of) for heating them up, melting them down with some water, and turning them into cute little guest bars.  Brilliant! Put the slivers in a container with a little water and put it in the microwave till they melt.  Then pour the stuff into soap molds. Simple, huh?  Would you like to guess how much time I spent cleaning blobs of soap from the inside of my microwave oven? I am so glad I didn't waste my precious essential oil of lavender by adding a drop or two to the mixture.  Fortunately, I was not able to find it.   I don't think I am cut out to be a soap-maker. (or re-maker, as the case may be).I am not sure what I am cut out to be.

Today was more or less a disaster from 8:am-8:-pm.  Aside from the usual agggravations, I managed to sew through my fingernai while I was trying to hem Marty's sport pants by machine. I TOLD you the hand-done hem wouldn't stay in: he kept getting his foot caught in it and it came down.I will spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say that this was my least favorite part of the day.

My most favorite part will probably be in about ten minutes. Bedtime.