Yesterday, I began to put our bookshelves together. They will require some modifications to make them fit into the area we've chosen for them. But once that's done it will seem as if they were designed specifically for that spot. They are large, very large, and dark.
One of the first big steps of moving into our house will be complete. We will have a place to empty the many boxes of books. There will be storage in the cabinets underneath, a place to hide things. Now, it is just a matter of sorting through thousands of records to determine which ones I want to keep. A friend also has several thousand records at his house in Alameda that I am thinking about taking. I would never have the time to listen through them, much less enjoy them in any meaningful way. But I want them anyway.
My knees hurt, my body aches in odd places. Putting things together on the floor is much more trying on the body than I remember. Everything is. It occurred to me that any job that requires manual labor is becoming less and less available to me. It's an occasionally nice fantasy: that I could just go back to mowing lawns for a summer, to get out in nature and to regain some health. In truth, it would probably kill me and I would hate it as it did.
I am having a steak for breakfast, with bacon and eggs. Soon, I will be dancing like the kid pictured above, with a clean shirt and new shoes.
Maybe we will move to LA, or buy a motorcycle and join the Navy.
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