It's been a trying time around here, in our household. We have three kids,
all currently trying to get in to institutes of higher learning.
The waiting for acceptance letters--and the worrying that maybe there won't be any--is grinding us all down.
Usually, when I'm down or frustrated or worried, I look around for something to fix up. A garage to clean, a closet to reorganize, a junk drawer to purge: it helps, somehow.
So this past week my eyes landed on our overstuffed living room bookshelves:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yKrmfHEy4kJyhiyN5ynM_aDTvL-L5QUJzZJ999Ukh4AfjVj70Y7M4C3U6BhMxueuQaEZAbaQ-TOwN3W4Dq0fR86p8ZudCOSdi1nslMd_bzeyw4CMjmWfPdr8Bk336WnBkvoBVXROSsR0/s400/P1130143.JPG)
Now, we like books. We've got a lot of 'em. We like to keep them out where we can look at them and riffle through them. But lately the bookshelves have spiraled out of control.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGD1r3RUi8Bw2rhC0SLMNj64cSCp-y5zDHSOl_i-sX3VUyM0C915WMRTyih7PuujZpnqawzl9QwWuZAxyoWm6cwzReIXGPFiHoXOLqTD78TdZwuC6OxytQEdPnEzJikNUcWzwKvIdqRaF/s400/P1130146.JPG)
Books piled in front of more books. Books piled willy-nilly. And no particular rhyme or reason to why they're on one shelf versus another.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdb6_B53ic3HaLDjVsS6M9onZBYxHY-uaimJVs5AUQ_mlSys57m4ttoAeieY4QoYbP2hPjNijco-qnVsvvhPfU3UOFllJKQHhCO1KKKKM_SV-h2699BbV36-e5hZ-iiLhq5cgMsYj0rx7/s400/P1130147.JPG)
Clearly a purge was in order.
I began by asking every book to explain itself. "Why are you on our shelves?," I demanded. "What is the chance you're ever going to be re-read?" "Who would miss you if you left?"
More than 80 books couldn't answer the questions well, so off they go to charity.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8QgKvC84Awwvhe2ZvYm_xtz6m74X9Q4hy2iq30xh8s_VKVcqSZQAVgEv50mMdldHfNMj6ftTlHsxoe78dN7L7g_M3fBV21dPJUZiD3GM1qyhBv7rkibV_35A7aYgKLcvDT2rKOnbfqh0/s400/P1130161.JPG)
With the shelves somewhat lightened from their overload, I began to play and fiddle. First, I gathered up all my oldest books--the ones with leather binding, gold stamping, and other lovely touches.
Then I grouped some of these vintage volumes together by color:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnujjkj1_xwjUyx0T4Q8tVTGpj4m0b26dNw3iMt0F7RBifEpQlZ0LwTm8GCy7ZgPixsUIkykYQ3rcpNHRZyEx1mh7s52oiv-BE4K7kwk8vZ9vzKtekvvPl5k0iUQEpJa0nWu2s6f1QDIU/s400/P1130164.JPG)
I sprinkled in some cherished art amongst the old books:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQRaTqY5lGFZDsbm35EkEZKzfjNaLbyfcbUVdL81gVVHe-BhjbVuw99mvNau2kiQvMPyba2AHUEfqUpyvsuWhV_Lxad9eDhyz7YowV3LbllnQf9B8BN8mZCjBVNKrd1HAUu1UrxTUgEPM/s400/P1130169.JPG)
I tried to treat each shelf like a little tabletop and make pleasing vignettes, as designer
Nate Berkus suggests:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZh-XoauREyLL5N-IOx0niYuoVDiLmygIIXsaHuN3DCZ5aMbbxN4DiNcEz_x6Mx4tjEvA7TklV3K6AgZrcQxRAbYczL-a9gcfFIljZbwB_33rFAX6t5GcaIlzsdW4ZUrLIpJ5P-3VNQOc/s400/P1130170.JPG)
And then I realized that I don't love it.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9tXRyULUJZq7u62ixujB3EqKMzHTTcoxkXtZGZSRJDEUyZDybAgP4xX4XUbWrNO3HtsGBq6eQAIILRRhAy6USadstq78stGgFVc71rs56FY0mFcunkqK2AjRlbPwgZ52oYNavg9-jlWn/s400/P1130171.JPG)
All that vintage stuff clumped together looks...OLD. Fuddy duddy. Grandmotherly.
Dangit. So I must figure out a new plan of attack for the living room shelves.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FZrzUMszQEScdmw8zTBHr2chT72Ekwf9hNh9Q-HmHItWcmOBw2y_HUaO_tL40CecsfyqJ6soGJR8BwIsPEHlh8jap496Ixq15_RTkmoEghivfBlKU_z0aJhmAZ4E_T8dkTxGoS22mQ8N/s400/P1130161.JPG)
In the meantime, I've got some great stuff for the charity pile.
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