I went to the theatre last night.  It was a community theatre production that held a tiny house – about 80 people in total.  And I was in the front row where I was afraid to stretch out my legs for fear of tripping an actor as they worked through the challenging music, lyrics, and choreography that only Sondheim could have subjected an actor to.  And I was transported not only “Into the Woods” but also back to a time when I loved working in the theatre.  I love the artistic flow, the creativity, and the energy that comes from being surrounded by people who love what they are doing. 

In the last week or so I’ve some interactions leading up to this lovely evening where we’ve debated the merits of various Tony winners following the most recent awards. We made wish lists for tickets and Broadway weekends, talked about shows we’ve seen, and turned with green with envy at what tickets others have lined up!  I’ve been listening in my memory to Colm Wilkinson singing “Who am I? Who am I? I’m Jean Valjean.”  To Bernadette Peters’ challenging that “Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better.”  To Audra MacDonald’s thrilling, powerful harmonizing on the “Wheels of a Dream” with Brian Stokes Mitchell.  And to Mitchell sending chills through me with his “Impossible Dream.”  (I’ve also moved from my memory to Spotify, of course.)  And I’m actively seeking people who would like to buy me tickets to see Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen, The Band’s Visit, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Three Tall Women, Come From Away…

Once upon a time I had a dream of standing in the spotlight receiving my awards for outstanding performance.  I saw myself standing there thanking everyone who had encouraged me and thumbing my nose at the naysayers.  I loved working in the theatre.  I loved being on the stage. I loved working backstage. I loved it all.  When I got out of school, I did some community theatre. But then I found a full-time teaching job, I got married, I had a child.  Life rolled on and I lost the theatre. 

I still enjoyed going every chance I got, but I haven’t been on stage or even back stage in many long years.  I lacked the confidence and the courage to give it a real shot.  Once over the years since “real life” took over, I had a perfect chance to perform.  I auditioned and was cast.  I became energized and excited during a particularly low time; it renewed me.  And then the voice of reason and the voice of guilt started speaking.  “You’re a mother.”  “You have responsibilities.”  “How can you devote your whole summer to doing that every weekend?”  (Funny how the voices of reason and guilt often sound like your mother or other well-meaning people.)  The doubts rushed in and I fled.  Not giving it a shot, professionally or then, is one of my regrets.

Last night stirred something in me that I haven’t felt in a long time.  My mind started to sing like Mike in A Chorus Line, “Hell, I can do that, I can do that!”  I’m ready to get back out there.  I still can’t sing and dance, but I’ve had years of performance in front of class after class.  I still have the love of theatre.  And I can still gather props, build sets, change a scene, and be a part of it all!  I need to get up and get out there.  I know it would be a wonderful challenge for me.  Time to explore the possibilities.  So, wish me luc… Oops, I mean tell me to break a leg.

I really like seeing all of the positive affirmations like this that have shown up over the last few days in response to some very public suicides.  There is some proof that when someone rich and famous like Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain commits suicide, often a rise in the number of suicides follows.  It has nothing to do with a personal connection to these people but with the ultimate feeling of worthlessness.  “If someone that _______  (fill in the blank – rich, successful, famous, talented …) can’t find a reason to live, what hope do I have?”   So the instinct to let people know that others are out there who care and who hate to see this happen is a good one.  Sharing the number for the suicide hotline is also a good thing.  If these gestures help even one person, then they were worth it.

However, please know that when someone is in the throes of depression, reading a post on Facebook won’t make a lot of difference.  The care and concern needs to come directly from someone – preferably spoken so they hear your heart, but a message addressed specifically to the one hurting is okay too.  I know that, when I’m at rock-bottom, I would read this and tell myself, “that’s nice and it’s true… for someone else but not for me.”

Depression is an illness.  It is a relentless pit.  It is difficult for the people who suffer directly and also for those around them.  There are some people who need major intervention or who may never heal.   However, for many people, you can help by being there and letting sufferers know that they matter to you.  Start with some of these suggestions and go from there:

• Reach out with an invitation to have coffee, a personal note that you are thinking of them, or a quick phone call just to chat.  The fact that you were thinking of them counters some of the thoughts in their minds.
• Invite them to get out of the house and do something with you.  See a movie, take a walk, go to a museum, take a quick run to Target.  It doesn’t have to be something big and planned out.  It just needs to get them involved and let them know you value their company.
• Encourage them to seek help beyond what you alone can do, but let them know that you will still be there to listen and to care.  Starting with the general physician is often the first and maybe easiest step.  That doctor can certainly start some medication and will be able to offer counselors also.  Offer to go along if the act of seeking help seems too daunting.
• If you have suffered and had treatment, seen a counselor, or are on medication, share your experiences.  Knowing that you recognize what they are going through and that it isn’t something that they can just “make the decision to be happy and snap out of” allows that person to breathe and talk.  It also helps to take away the stigma some feel with sharing this problem.  It lets them know that you truly understand and that they aren’t alone.

Small, continuous actions that let someone know that you care can save a life.  Knowing that you are thought of and cared for is extremely important for all of us, but for those suffering with depression, it can be a lifeline.

If you or someone you know needs help, call (800) 273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also text HOME to 741741 to access free, 24-hour support from the Crisis Text Line.

For information on seeking help through suicide prevention hotlines in a variety of countries across the globe, please go to https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/suicide-prevention-resources_us_5abcf712e4b04a59a3154cbd. 

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos…”    

Okay, so quoting from W. H. Auden’s poem “Funeral Blues” is a bit dramatic!  But that’s the way I am feeling lately.  I just want to scream, “SHUT UP!  JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!  I don’t want to watch, read, or listen to the news.  I don’t want to hear a talk show on the television or radio.  I don’t want to read a newspaper.  I am limiting what web sites I visit and curtailing how often I do.  I’ve blocked a lot of commentary on social media.  I know what your thinking.  And it has nothing to do with anyone’s political beliefs. 

What has me stressed and depressed is the total lack of civility in all aspects of life anymore.  I am reminded of the opening chapter of The Great Gatsby.  Nick Carraway begins his narration by talking about having returned from the east after a summer living among people that he later describes as “very careless and confused” who “smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together…”  But in the very first chapter he explains that, while he tends to reserve judgement on people, he has passed his verdict on the world.  He says, “When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.”  Well that’s the point I have hit.  After getting everyone to shut up, I then want them to stand at a “sort of moral attention.” 

We have reached a place in our society where we feel that we have to label everyone, get offended over everything, and make outlandish, vile, violent and hate-filled statements about everyone and everything that is different from us.  Rivaling political parties label the other party as “flaming liberals,” “white supremacist right wingers,” “snowflakes,” “heartless bigots.”  And they no longer talk about what THEY believe in.  Oh no, they talk about what is wrong with the other side.  And most of the time they are not talking about issues and policy.  They are name-calling based on a competitor’s weight, physical attractiveness, or even penis size!  But to blame this on politicians is to miss the point.  If the American public abhorred this kind of rhetoric and there was a unified outcry, it would stop.

The reason there is no outcry?  Because “your” side (whichever side that happens to be) is the one doing it.  “Our” side is just stating truths… “our” side is just retuning the nastiness that was started by the other side.  We defend the crassness.  Not only that, we join in with it. 

You can see the hypocrisy in every single thing that gets people outraged.  On the one side you have, “How dare Trump refer to women the way he does!” but then the same people will attack Ivanka using misogynistic epithets.  If you espouse treating women with the dignity and respect they deserve, then both are wrong.  Period.  One side wants people investigated for things that may have put our national security at risk.  The other side yells that it’s a partisan witch hunt.  They yell, “you know who should be investigated for the same thing?  Your guy who has done the same kind of things, and he should go to jail.” But, of course, that isn’t partisan at all.

The hosts of The View say many things which I find repugnant.  So I don’t watch it.  I expressed my views to the network and changed the channel.  What Roseanne Barr said recently was against my values, but I’ve disliked her comments or behavior in the past.  I don’t watch her.  There is no need for me to go on Facebook and denegrate any of the women involved, to degrade them, call them names, or to wish them ill.  If I do, I’ve become what I object to and am guilty of the same offense as they are.

Today a Christian singer posted a meme online.  It was something that shouldn’t have created any controversy.  I’ve shared the meme here.  A positive message.  Nothing negative in it.  Nothing particularly religious about it.  Just a word of encouragement.  And people jumped on board with negative comments.  Why?  I mean, if you didn’t like it or didn’t need that word of encouragement right then, keep scrolling.  But no, people have to spew hatred and rudeness.  They have to tear down and criticize.  Some of the comments took an accusatory tone with Toby Mac but more often with each other.  They proceeded to judge people and their intent without even knowing them! 

The rudeness and incivility in this country is out of hand at the same time that people are offended by every little thing they disagree with!  We have allowed a discourse to permeate our society that cheapens and befouls us all!  We see it from the people who are supposed to be our leaders.  We see it from the sports and arts heroes our society worships.  We see it from parents on the sidelines at a little league game.  We see it in road rage.  In the line at the store.  In the way parents speak to their children. In the way neighbors treat each other.  Teachers see it from parents and from the children those parents are raising to have no respect.  I have to say that the second most discouraging place I see it is in how Christians treat the world outside the church building, and the first is in how they treat each other. 

Jesus said that the rules for living can be boiled down to two things:  love God and love each other.  That’s it.  Look at what 1 Peter 4:8-11 says.  “Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything. Be quick to give a meal to the hungry, a bed to the homeless—cheerfully. Be generous with the different things God gave you, passing them around so all get in on it: if words, let it be God’s words; if help, let it be God’s hearty help. That way, God’s bright presence will be evident in everything through Jesus…”  (The Message)  I could fill pages with passages on the importance of loving one another.  

So how do we practice just a little civility?

Turn off those who are rude and mean spirited.  Change the channel.  Don’t follow them on social media.  Stop listening or reading their ideas.  Walk away.  If it isn’t acceptable, it will become taboo.

Don’t feel that you have to comment on everything you see on social media, especially if all you are going to do is name-call, nitpick, or offer up sweeping generalizations about the other side.  I got way too involved in voicing my opinion online and have had some very hateful things said to me or about me.  I don’t believe I ever reduced myself to the kind of incivility I am talking about. I certainly hope I didn’t.  I hope I kept my discussion to the topic at hand without demeaning those who disagreed.    It’s sad but people can’t read or hear an idea without others twisting and distorting it and then getting all up in arms and offended by some very minor things.  So I have stopped commenting on most things that are more controversial than how beautiful and brilliant your child is, a funny joke that hurts no one, an inspirational quote, or the loss of a loved one or pet.  It is hard because there are many things I would like to discuss.  There are important ideas I would like to express.  It’s a shame that I don’t feel that I can say, “I disagree because…” without being personally attacked.  But that is where we are right now.

Have a discussion in which you don’t discuss people but only ideas.  Share things that reflect some issue you believe to be important, but try to be very careful about the tone of those posts.  It is good to have public discourse provided it is polite and respectful of the people listening to or reading it. 

If you can’t support what you believe without resorting to incivility, you must not have very good arguments to support what you believe.  I had a college professor who gave us advice on argument.  Dr. Foote told us that, if we could get our opponent to swear, we’d won the fight.  I’d add to that.  If they are reduced to disparaging comments, personal attacks, lies, shouting over you, and judgmental statements that include the words “all” or “never,” you’ve won.

Don’t get so involved in one issue that you become blind to anything else.  “I don’t care if he is a mass murderer, at least he’s against…” Don’t get so rigid in your thinking that you will condemn and vilify anyone who disagrees with you.  Before you open your mouth, put pen to paper, comment on a post, or criticize someone else, think of the Golden Rule.  No matter what religion you practice, it is within your doctrine.  And if you follow no religion, it is just making kindness a priority.

I think it is time to add some reading on the subject to my summer TBR pile.  These look like a good place to start.  Anyone else have ideas?  I have more time for reading given the things I’m making a point to avoid!

“We read to know we’re not alone.”

I’m not sure when I first heard this quote from William Nicholson. I know it was before I knew his film Shadowlands which is where the quote originated.  (I know that I first saw it attributed to C. S. Lewis – the subject of that film.)  I also know that it rings true to me regardless of who said it or where it came from. 

Some have suggested a link between reading and other people.  Holden Caufield, the protagonist in J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, tells readers what he sees as a great book.  “What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.” But isn’t that what friendship is – something that ties us together and lets us know that we aren’t alone?  While Lewis didn’t originate the quote above, he did say, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, ‘What!  You too?  I thought I was the only one.’”

I love when I am reading and I have to reread a passage that is so true and so beautifully says what I would have said had I the talent with words that the author did.  I scribble “YES!” in the margins.  I show it to fellow readers.  “This is what I was trying to explain.  Can you believe how perfectly this writer expresses it?” I copy the quote down to have at my disposal someday to think about, to read to someone, or to write about.  I’ve written about several of these passages in my blog already – passages from Pat Conroy, Katherine Applegate, Trevor Noah, Ray Bradbury, Joanna Gaines, Brené Brown and others.  (This isn’t even the first time that I’ve used the Nicholson quote – but at least I’m not still giving Lewis the credit.)

This past week I had the experience of reading another passage that made me say, “What!  You too?”  I had to look up the author to see if she had experienced it. While I can’t find any evidence that she had, she stepped inside one of my fears and voiced it.  She labeled it as the childishness that it is or can devolve into – and captured the truth that when it comes to fears, you don’t care if it is childish!  I wanted to call Liane Moriarty up on the phone and talk about Madeline from Big Little Lies.  I wanted to write “Yes – been there” in the margin – except that I was listening to the Audible version and that makes it tough. 

There is one difference in this passage and the others I have shared.  I didn’t love reading this part.  I didn’t love reading some of what Madeline had to share from there on.  It was speaking so loudly and accurately to a fear from my life that, at one point, I wasn’t sure I would finish the book no matter how much I was really enjoying it and wanted to know who died and how!  I’ve lived with the fear and the emotion and the reality of what she is experiencing since I first became a single parent.  And even though he’s all grown and gone now…the fear lingers.  The fear of you being replaced by someone new or someone not deserving.  The reality of it.  The fear that you’ve held onto the mantra, “what goes around, comes around” and it won’t prove true.  It dragged up things that I thought I had pushed down enough that they didn’t show.  Except they do.  

Here, see what I mean:

“There’s a difference between heartbroken and damaged,” said Ed.  You were sad and hurt.  Maybe your heart was broken, but you weren’t broken.  Now, be quiet, because I think I’m falling for a red herring here, and I’m not falling for it, Ms. Cornwell, no I’m not.”

“Mmmm,” said Madeline, “Well, Jane might be damaged, but I don’t see what Celeste has got to be damaged about.  She’s beautiful and rich and happily married and she doesn’t have an ex-husband stealing her daughter away from her.”

“He’s not trying to steal her away,” said Ed, his eyes back on his book.  “This is just Abigail being a teenager.  Teenagers are crazy.  You know that.”

Madeline picked up her own book.

She thought of Jane and Ziggy walking off hand in hand down the driveway as they left that afternoon.  Ziggy was telling Jane something, one little hand gesticulating wildly, and Jane had her head tipped to one side, listening, her other hand holding out the car keys to open her car.  Madeline heard her say, “I know!  Let’s go to that place where we got those yummy tacos!”

Watching them brought back a flood of memories from the years when she was a single mother.  For five years it had been just her and Abigail.  They’d lived in a little two-bedroom flat above an Italian restaurant.  They ate a lot of takeout pasta and free garlic bread.  (Madeline had put on seven kilos.)  They were the Mackenzie girls in unit nine.  She’d changed Abigail’s name back to her maiden name (and she refused to change it again when she married Ed.  A woman could only change her surname so many times before it got ridiculous).  She couldn’t stand having Abigail walk around with her father’s surname when Nathan chose to spend his Christmas lying on a beach in Bali with a trashy little hairdresser.  A hairdresser who, by the way, didn’t even have good hair: black roots and split ends.

“I always thought that Nathan’s punishment for walking out on us would be that Abigail wouldn’t love him the way she loved me,” she said to Ed.  “I used to say it to myself all the time. ‘Abigail won’t want Nathan walking her down the aisle.  He’ll pay the price,’ I thought.  But you know what?  He’s not paying for his sins.  Now he’s got Bonnie, who is nicer and younger and prettier than me, he’s got a brand-new daughter who can write out the whole alphabet, and now he’s getting Abigail too!  He got away with it all.  He hasn’t got a single regret.”

She was surprised to hear her voice crack.  She thought she was just angry, but now she knew she was hurt.  Abigail had infuriated her before.  She’d frustrated and annoyed her.  But this was the first time she’d hurt her.

“She’s meant to love me best,” she said childishly, and she tried to laugh, because it was a joke, except that she was deadly serious.  “I thought she loved me best.”

Ed put his book back down and put his arm around her.  “Do you want me to kill the bastard?  Bump him off?  I could frame Bonnie for it.”

“Yes please,” said Madeline into his shoulder.  “That would be lovely.”  (101-103)

I hate when I am reading and I have to reread a passage that is so true and so excruciatingly says what I would have said had I the talent with words that the author did…

It’s is the week before Mother’s Day.  Facebook posts about how much people are missing their mothers who have passed on started days and even weeks ago…seems kind of like the Christmas ads that start earlier and earlier each year.  I get it.  I miss my mom.  Throughout the year I think of her.  I wish I could pick up the phone and call her.  But the arrival of the heart-rending (sometimes sappy) posts, the television ads, and the cards and displays in stores bring the feelings more front and center in my mind. 

I’m not the type to get weepy every time I think about mom.  Never did.  Not even while compiling a slide show of photos for her memorial service.  I don’t remember only that she’s gone.  I don’t remember her only in her later years when she was so changed.  I remember when she was here and was fully alive and engaged.  I don’t remember her as perfect.  That would be disingenuous.  She wasn’t perfect, and to try to create a memory of perfection would be dishonoring her as if she wasn’t enough just as she was.   She could be tough and demanding.  She could compete with anyone in the mommy guilt trip wars.  But she was so much more than any of that.  I’ve been thinking about “mom

   lessons” that I was taught over the years.  Not the brush-your-teeth-wear-clean-underwear-please-and-thank-you lessons.  Nope, not the ones that are from every mom.  I’m thinking about the ones that really remind me of MY mom.

During my first year in college, the girls in my dorm often compared stories about our families.  One of the favorites to get a good giggle from was the advice our mothers gave us before leaving home.  As each girl imitated her mother crying or being so very serious, we heard about all of the warnings about boys and drugs and alcohol.  We heard about how college students need to keep their priorities straight and put their noses to the grindstone.  And then they asked what my mom said.  Her parting words of wisdom and sage advice to me were, “Don’t do anything wrong, your father will kill me.”  Of course that was pure hyperbole, but anyone who knew him could hear him shouting, “Lois, do you know what your daughter did?”

One of the lessons she tried hard to impress on me was never be the leader, president, or chairman of any organization you joined for community and/or social reasons.  She said that as soon as you did that, it was no longer going to be something you enjoy.  You’ll end up frustrated and angry.  You’ll end up really busy with thankless jobs.  And you’ll end up with everyone mad because of what you did or what you didn’t do.  I didn’t always listen to this advice, but I’ve found that she was right.  Perhaps she was right and it came with the territory; conceivably it’s because I don’t have the organizational skills for the task.  Either way, maybe I should have listened to her.

Mom taught me that you are only as old as you act.  I have wonderful pictures of my mother truly enjoying life.  I have one of her racing her grandchildren up the beach in Ocean City.  In another she’s maneuvering bumper boats with abandon trying to hit the competition – her family.  There are pictures from travels, from outrageous and over-the-top Christmas celebrations, cut-throat adult Easter egg hunts, and more.  She never took pictures.  She was living the experience and left the photography to the rest of the world.  She never understood why people would spend their entire vacations looking through the lens of a movie camera when they could experience the real thing live right now.

My mom taught me that you don’t give up on people.  She didn’t give up on people who disappointed her – not her brother and not my brother even when they went through seasons where many thought she should.   Mom made life-long friends.  She kept her friends and made allowances for their idiosyncrasies.   At the end of her life she was still in touch with friends from back in her hometown seventy-five years before or more, friends she made when we moved from there to Baltimore in 1965, and ones from each place she lived – York, Harrisburg, Annapolis, and Naples.   She kept in touch.  She overlooked faults, slights, and even some really bizarre behavior.  A friend borrowed a dress from Mom, had it altered to fit, and then returned it without acknowledging that it would no longer fit Mom.  I found out that story years later, and she still thought of that woman as one of her best friends. 

Not all of the “lessons” I learned from her were ones I have held on to.  I’m sure that there are some I have forgotten.  There are also those I dropped (or work on dropping) because I don’t agree.  My mom cared very much about appearances and other people’s opinions of her and of us.  The first time I heard Miranda Lambert’s “Mama’s Broken Heart” I called my sister because I knew that mama.  I’m trying hard to shed that lesson.  I’m afraid that I have worried about it for so much of my life that I tried to pass it along by example.  Luckily my son didn’t buy into it and is healthier, freer, and more self-confident because of it.

My mom and I were friends.  Dad worked long hours and my siblings were much younger than me so we were company for each other in the evenings.  We sang old hymns while washing the dishes when I was a child.  On cold Baltimore winter nights, Mom and I baked potatoes in the fireplace eagerly anticipating that campfire flavor while we watched our favorite television shows.  We shopped together.  Often.  We made coffee and sat together chatting after dinner.  There were times when she got the giggles and couldn’t stop laughing, especially in her later years.  Those are the things I miss most about her.  When she died after being ill for so many years, it was that mom I mourned.

We all have memories that make our moms unique and give them a place in our hearts no one else occupies – good, bad, or indifferent.  What are your memories of your mom? 

“Oh no.” said Surinder, coming to the door and folding her arms over her rather ample bosom…’You’re not bringing them in here.  Absolutely not.”

“It’s just…I mean, they’re in perfect condition.”

“It’s not that,’ said Surinder.  ‘And don’t give me that look, like I’m turning away orphans.”

“Well, in a way…,” said Nina, trying not to look too pleading.

“The joists of the house won’t take it, Nina!  I’ve told you before.”

…Anyway, Surinder was looking furious, and worst of all, she was right.  When it came to books, there simply wasn’t the space.  There were books everywhere.  Books on the landing, books on the stairs, books filling Nina’s room completely, books carefully filed in the sitting room, books in the loo, just in case.  Nina always liked to feel that Little Women was close by in a crisis.

“But I can’t leave them out in the cold,” she pleaded.

“Nina, it’s a load of DEAD WOOD!  Some of which smells!”

“But….”           

Surinder’s expression didn’t change as she looked severely as Nina.  “Nina, I’m calling it.  This is getting totally out of hand.  You’re packing up the library all week.  It will just get worse and worse.”

She stepped forward and grabbed a huge romance Nina adored from the top of the pile.

“Look at this!  You already have it.”

“Yes, I know, but this is the hardback first edition.  Look!  It’s beautiful!  Never been read!”

“And it won’t be read either, because your reading piles are taller than I am!”   (from The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan pages 6-7)

I once bought a pin that said “I am a bookaholic.  If you are a decent person you will not sell me another book.”  The person who sold me that pin was not a decent person.  I know this because the pin was sitting atop a stack of books that I was purchasing from her.  It will come as no surprise to anyone that this exchange early in the The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan drew me in and assured me that I was going to love Nina.  I identified immediately with her.  I understood her.  I am sure that we are related.  If I had to do what Nina is doing at this point in the book (packing up and closing a library), there would be no spot in my house where you could walk without tripping over a book.  I am a firm believer that there is no such thing as too many books – there are just too few bookshelves.  A month or so ago I bought three new bookshelves, and I immediately had no empty book shelves again.  Will this stop me from buying books?  Is this really a question worthy of an answer?

I was packing to move years ago.  The moving company representative saw my home and the boxes I had packed.  “Lady, those boxes better not be filled with books.  We won’t be able to move them” came the challenge.  To which I responded that none of those boxes were too heavy for me to lift.  Every box I packed started with a layer of books. 

My own mother questioned whether I really needed all these books.  But I pointed out to her that she should be happy that she raised such a daughter.  If I had to have an addiction, shouldn’t she be glad it was books?  I could be addicted to harmful things like drugs or alcohol.  I could spend all of my time doing questionable things, hanging out in bars, running around with a fast crowd, committing the crimes I read about in all those books!  There are many things that would be worse than my book habit. 

Oprah Winfrey said, “Some women have a weakness of shoes.  I can go barefoot if necessary.  I have a weakness for books.”  It isn’t a cheap addiction necessarily, but I’m sure it is cheaper than the drugs or alcohol. There are times, however, that I start considering how much money was spent filling all of those bookshelves and I chastise myself.  But then I’m reminded of how much I love having those around.  My home is comfortable to me because it is filled with books, blankets, coffee & mugs, and places to curl up and read.  It is what creates the sense of hygee for my home.  And I smile contentedly because I have created this space where I belong.