One of the few household items we moved to the apartment was a folding wood bookcase, weighty but worth the haul up two flights of stairs. It sits in our “living room” and holds all the books we own, along with some games and mementos that made the cut.
On display is the foul baseball that my husband caught on August 4th, 1971, hit by Rod Carew of the Twins; my college art professor’s thrown pottery vase that I gave my grandmother, and then inherited after her passing; the feather found lying in our path at a local state park, a gift from the angels; and a ceramic toad our daughter found in honor of the party girl we left behind at our old house, still catching bugs by light of the patio door. We miss her.
And there’s a glimpse of a few well-used books, although much less than when we two English majors started out together in life. One thing you learn quickly when you live on the third floor is how heavy literature can be. Literally.
This month I’m taking a photo a day and following the topics of Susannah Conway’s August Break 2014. And why don’t you join me? I double-dog dare you!