Eldest Cousin gave me a bag of books back in June. Or rather, she tried to. I was already on my knees with a suitcase full of books, so at first I looked through the proffered books and picked one. Then I switched on my very small brain, and said that since Son and the Resident IT Consultant were actually going to drive past a couple of weeks later, they could pick up the whole bag. And with that I put the lonely book back.
I think the books came from some neighbour or other of Eldest Cousin. The neighbour was either American or had lived in America, and the books are all in English, which was deemed suitable for me.
It’s an interesting collection of books, really. Not bad. Not good, but not bad. And the one I almost volunteered to carry myself is a reference book on the Birds of North America. Now, the birds we get here are the birds of Sweden, but their American cousins looked quite nice. Birds do. Generally. (Except when they are pigeons in my other garden eating my fruit. Then all I can think of is pigeon pie, despite being veggie.)
Have now had the Resident IT Consultant look them over to see if we should prune some. I suspect the silly man thought we might as well prune them all, including the foreign birds.
Pah, they’re not that bad.
But I confess to some doubts re the weekend crash course in learning to play tennis. I don’t think it’s possible.
And somehow we seem to have two crime novels in Swedish here, and I don’t know where they came from.
The Resident IT Consultant has been busy. The deck has been oiled. The chairs are being oiled. They are very thirsty, which may be because they have been somewhat ignored. Except when we sit down in them, obviously.
But he’s not building anything. Yet. I have hinted, but deep down I know it’s not really his thing. We have a garage full of driftwood should the urge make itself known. Though what I’m really after – besides a new and much larger deck – are some homemade Adirondack chairs. My house magazine suggests they are dead easy to build at home.
That magazine also makes out a lot of other things are dead easy to build yourself. Multistorey sandboxes. That kind of thing. Luckily we have nobody that size at the present time, so may defer.
We have plenty of trees, but not necessarily ones suitable to wrap in a bench. Or could it be they are mostly for grannies reading to the grandchildren?
And then there is crime. Plenty of it on these shelves. And in English, too. The String shelf – obvious name – was very popular when the bookwitch was a child. The neighbours had one, but we never did. I suspect it’s because we had too many books, even at that time. Then they were hopelessly out of fashion until they inevitably became the thing to have. Now you can get them in almost any colour or wood type. I want very much, but still have too many books. I was intrigued by how many crime novels in English they used for this advertisement picture. Very blue.
I will attempt to refrain from photographing more pages in magazines in the near future.