I’m a book collector.  Every room in my house has a bookcase with no more room on the shelves.

Book collector sounds serious.  It’s not like that.  I’m not talking first editions, just areas of interest.  The books I’m reading are stacked on end tables, night stands and desks.  The ones I love after reading go on a shelf.  The ones I don’t go to the Salvation Army or Amazon for resale.

I can look at my books and recreate my life.  When my kids were babies, I was into parenting and health books, cake decorating and gingerbread house making.  Cookbooks are a huge section.  They include my idols:  Paul Bocuse, Julia Child, Wolfgang Puck, Michael Pollan, and Jacques Pepin.

The art and quilting section, the religion and alchemy section and the novel section have all become a reference library.  They’ve passed their active studying phase and are now waiting for the occasional use.  Then, there are the “how tos”.  How to make wine, cheese, kefir, yogurt, sour dough and canning are subjects everyone is passionate about.  Right?

In the past,  if I had a question, I went to the shelves.  Today, I google.  It’s so immediate.  So the question:  why keep all the books?  The last time we moved, I got rid of stacks of books including two sets of encyclopedias.  It’s not like I’m not trying to thin the herd.

The thing is that I use them.  I love holding them in my hands, turning the pages, even smelling them.  I love paper.  I love ink.  I love the fact that like anything you’re passionate about, you can lose yourself in a book.  Your imagination is sparked by reading a book.   Your life is enriched just by reading a book.

“Books can be dangerous.  The best ones should be labeled “This could change your life.”–Helen Exley