The book box too far

In 2003 when my father asked me to help him move, he mostly meant help him sort and move books. He resolved to only take about 20% of the household books with him. So for months we packed up boxes of books. He asked me to take his extensive Andre Norton collection because he couldn't take them all and they would be safe with me. And his Marion Zimmer Bradley collection, though I had never been the fan he was. I took the family collection of signed Ardath Mayhars out of love.

Somehow I managed to incorporate it all into the measly six bookshelves in my office. I double stacked like the organized hoarder I only have tendencies toward being.

In January, when we went to see Ardath, she told me to take books. I mostly took Terry Pratchetts, and handed them to T for his shelves,

Last weekend at Ardath's memorial service, copies of all of her books were there for everyone to take. I couldn't help myself. I took a copy of everything that wasn't familiar to my eye. That was one box. In cleaning Sunday, I couldn't just let her extensive Joe Lansdale collection go. That was two more boxes,

On Tues, the boxes appeared in the floor of my office, tripping me as I tried to go about my work day. I stared at them, then at my stuffed bookshelves. No. I can't do it. There is simply no space. Too. Many. Something had to give.

Tues night I packed up four boxes of books I will never read again to go to Half Price Books. I made a list of the collections. Last night I packed up 5.2 boxes to donate to the A&M Sci-fi collection. The nice lady asked to pass on my contact information about the rest of the books to other collections.

There is no visible change in the bookshelves in my office.