He won’t put books back!

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We have bookcases, but the books from them are on the floor, on tables, on footstools, in flurries and drifts. So I asked him. Why won’t you put the books back? I will do, he snapped back. He is the one who puts them there, often opened and left unread.

When I change the bedsheets his side of the bed is six inches deep in books. I have to force my way through a tidal wave of them…

I plot now. I think about what to do. I want one of those camouflaged book cases, where you tilt a book back and a door opens. I would like that.

Open the door, fill it with books, or push him in and throw away the key. Oh don’t get me wrong, food would be delivered three times a day. There would be a laundry chute and a bathroom. A comfy chair and a bed. A secret trap door would be there to pass in things, or hook things out when he’s asleep. He would be happy, I would be able to tidy up….

Life goes on in lockdown. Ideas spring to mind. They are not serious.

A patch of sunshine

The Sun is shining in through the side window now the trees on the East side of the garden have lost their leaves. The Sun rises further South East in the autumn and winter. Its shining on the ‘great stack’ of knitted toys. They are usually on the setee but I moved them so people can sit on it. Behind is one if our numerous book cases. I would love it if it was neatly stacked, colour coordinated like they are on design shows. But that’s not what a working bookcase looks like! The top shelves are rarely touched and I sometimes find cobwebs up there. I’m sure the ornaments on the top shelf up near the ceiling will be covered in dust. But there is too much art supplies in boxes in front of it…

Disorganised, chaotic, too much stuff. Magpie, collector of ornaments, canvases, paints, visual memorabilia. I’m an artist, I can’t help myself.