EXCUSE ME, I'M CURATING

A few months ago, I read an article about the popularity of curating book shelves.  It is no longer enough to dust, and--if we happen to be feeling especially creative--rearrange  our shelves.  No.  We must curate.  It sounds rather professional though, don't you think?  "I'm so sorry, I won't be able to attend next week's meeting.  I'm curating the book shelves in our den library."

I think curating sounds like something right up my alley.  And, from the look of the shelves as shown above, curating is way past due at our house.  There is nothing like taking a picture of something in your home to realize either: A--That isn't so bad after all, or B--How could I have let that happen!  In this case, it's B.

Now, I'm assuming the first step in curating is removing everything from said shelves and doing a quick analysis of each item.  What is it?  How does it fit in the general scheme of things?  Which sorting area does it belong in?  What fun!  Look, here's an interesting book:  Veterinary Obstetrics and Genital Diseases.  Sometimes I forget that BC spent the better part of his life as a small town veterinarian, doing thousands of obstetrics cases over that time.  I just had never thought of dogs, cats, cattle and horses worrying about genital diseases.  Every day we learn!  Out of curiosity, I opened another of his textbooks right to the page titled, "Amputating a Teat."  We'll just put that pile over in the corner.

I love the old books I grew up with and forget about from one dusting to the next.  Dorothy Parker's Enough Rope  always makes me plop right down on the divan and flip through its pages.  I love her!  This particular copy, on it's seventh printing in 1927, is inscribed:  "Not because I want her to Hang herself do I give Catherine Enough Rope, but more because I want to Rope her in...Dick"  Catherine is, of course, my mother, and Dick?  Perhaps he's the attorney from Kansas City who she briefly dated during her college years.  But, back to Dorothy Parker.  Whereas, she can be a bit dark and frequents the subject of death (a metaphor for a broken heart, perhaps...take that Mr. Adamany), here's one of her more light-hearted efforts:

By the time you swear you're his,

Shivering and sighing,

And he vows his passion is

Infinite, undying--

Lady, make a note of this:

One of you is lying.

Or another, titled "Indian Summer":

In youth, it was a way I had

To do my best to please,

And change, with every passing lad,

To suit his theories.

 

But now I know the things I know,

And do the things I do;

And if you do not like me so,

To hell, my love, with you!

That may be a good note on which to close, as my pace is slowing with each treasure I'm bringing down from the shelves.  Now I'm quite taken with my Grandmother's textbook from 1896, my father's German prayer book, and BC's Behavior Problems with Dogs, many of which seem to resolve rather easily with a regimen of dextroamphetamine and behavioral training.

Curating may take a bit longer than I thought.