My niece is a voracious reader who dreams of leaving that whole public library baloney behind in favor of her own personal library. Can you blame her?
I had that same dream when I was her age, but have had thirty years to make good on it. I’ve amassed quite a collection, most of which (I donated many boxes of books to a local library a while back) is now quietly collecting dust on the bookshelves, side tables, and/or any available flat surfaces of my home — up to and including the floor. And, though the threat of our home collapsing under the weight of said books concerns me deeply, I continue to purchase more. It’s like a sickness. A sickness that makes you feel good and learn things and exercise your brain and whatever. Disgusting.
Anywho, I got to thinking: This little girl wants books and I appear to possess more books than generally considered healthy for an individual person (if I were a library it would make more sense — you might even be disappointed with the selection — but fuck the library). And, I definitely want to cut back on the amount of just plain “stuff” I own. Perhaps I could send some of these books her way to get her personal library started!
So, each weekend for the last six or so weeks (I haven’t kept track), I’ve sent my niece back in Texas a little package containing an age-appropriate (she’s ten) book from my collection and a little note wishing her well, etc.
At least, that’s how it started.