Turning a page

One of my stranger personality quirks is that I can become oddly attached to stuff -- inanimate objects that can't feel back. And yet, when I part with something that’s somehow meaningful to me, I’m left with a little empty spot inside. Growing up, my idea of cleaning my room was putting all the things I didn’t need in my room in a Red Owl supermarket box and taking it to the basement. One spring, my dad had to drive me back to the car dealership where he’d just traded in our old car. I was in tears because I hadn’t properly said goodbye to it. Not until he assured me that the T-top on the old Olds would soon attract a loving new owner did I feel better about leaving it. Dumb, I know.

But so it was with my bookcases. My two, six-foot tall oak laminate bookcases that had been with me since elementary school. I remember going with my mom to Scandinavian Design to pick them out and then setting them up in my room. I did my homework on one of the middle shelves, which had a door that folded down into a desk. And for 20-plus years, those shelves lovingly held hundreds of books. This is no small task for someone who reads and collects books like I do, and those shelves saw it all, from the Sweet Valley High series to Anna Karenina and the Wisconsin Blue Book. In high school, my ski racing medals dangled from a ribbon I had nailed to the top of one of the side boards. I pinned things like postcards of James Dean and Elvis, notes from my BFFs and a silk rose from Homecoming to a piece of cork board I had attached on the side. Eventually, I grew up and took the bookcases with me to New York, where they provided tons of storage – a necessity in my 250-square foot apartment. And despite the belief of the moving guy who delivered my stuff in Brooklyn that they never should have been moved in the first place, they made the trip back to the Midwest with me. In fact, they moved three more times: To my apartment on Gilman St., to the guest room of our Oregon condo and finally to our home on Blackhawk Ave.

The problem was, they never were quite balanced right on our old hardwood floors here. The shelves were starting to sag a bit. And with an infant who will soon be on the move, I wasn’t sure they would withstand the Toddler Test. We know it well – the bookcases were the first stop for many little ones who visited our home: Walk in, run to bookcases, push books to the back of the shelf. I knew the best thing was to pack up my books and get rid of them until our kid is older or we have a library. But after I realized it was time to give them up, it took me a few months to actually do it. I packed up one bookcase a month ago, but the sight of it sitting there empty made it look forlorn and made me sadder. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and quickly packed up the second bookcase so I could move them out and make some room for Owen.

I listed them on Madison Freecycle Friday afternoon, and within an hour, I had a taker. John from New Glarus wanted them for his two “voracious readers” at home – his wife and 13-year-old daughter. I sent him a photo, we arranged a time for him to pick them up. With that, they were on their way out.

As I dusted them Friday night, I started to have the qualms. Maybe I didn’t need to get rid of them. Maybe we could put them in the basement! Or the garage! I told Colin I was having a bit of lister’s remorse. Still, I went back to the fact that they were being taken by readers. I was giving them the best possible new home, where they’ll live happily with new readers -- a girl who once read seven books at once -- and house a whole new bunch of books. Freecycler John came this morning and loaded them up into his Red Taurus station wagon and now our living room looks a whole lot bigger -- and emptier. But I’ll turn the page to my next chapter -- exploring life with my son and making him a reader, too.