Multiple times, I have tried to prune the number of books in my house. Each time it is done with reluctance but a clear resolution to at least let them find new homes.
Why is it so difficult? Because many of these books, for various reasons, are my friends. They are resources, reminders, and provide a sense of comfort. They are also extraordinarily good listeners.
What is it that makes a book special enough to be a friend? Sometimes it’s the cover, sometimes the sense of the author as a person, sometimes an appreciation for the style of writing, sometimes information, sometimes it’s the comfort it provides. If you are a book person, you understand this, and have your own sometimes’s.
Now that I have broken free from the constrictions of words readily available to us, maybe because the “real” word escapes me or a “real” word doesn’t cover enough bases on the field of what I want to say, I’m discovering that it’s fun to make up words. Especially if I don’t have to explain their meaning. Like sometimes’s. Words can be friends too.
Friends are people whose company you enjoy. Sometimes you want to visit, and re-visit, with them. Sometimes you want to leave them on the shelf. Sometimes you just want to know they are there.