I came home from a trip to Richmond with a new bookshelf. It’s one of the hazards of having a happy, quiet(ish) life. When I head back from a Power Trip, I usually cut over on the Blue Ridge Parkway, one of those glorious yet underused scenic highways that dots America. It diagonals the two worst sections of the Interstate-cum-parking lots I would otherwise have to take, and it’s just good for the soul to slow down and watch layer on layer of blue mountains unfold in front of you. Restores balance and perspective, y’know? Plus, when you get back off the Parkway at Buena Vista, there’s a really cool Habitat for Humanity Resale Store right there by the gas station.
Hey, peace comes in many forms. Don’t judge me.
At the store they had a few bookshelves. There are never very many, and most are flat pack pressed sawdust made into wood, but they had kind of a cool one, cheap stuff, yet made in squares rather than shelves, three cubbies high and four cubbies long.
My mind flew to our under-organized children’s area, and how adorable this 3×4 stack of connected boxes would look filled with board books and Little Golden Books….
Spatial orientation has never been my strong point. I liberated the shelf, then discovered it would have to be taken back to its flat pack state to travel on with me. No problem; those nice guys doing community service took it apart, but broke it in the process.
Instant discount, and I have wood glue: no problem.
Unloading it on the bookstore front porch in 12 pieces: no problem.
Explaining to husband that it was too good a deal to pass up and the fact that we truly no longer have a place in the bookstore to put it was negated by how cheap it was: slight problem. He kinda seemed stuck on that spacing issue. Guys.
All morning from the mystery room I’ve heard hammering and things falling and an electric drill whirring, plus the occasional curse word. Once our staff cats Nike and Hadley raced from that door with looks of pure terror on their faces. The children’s room is off the mystery room, plus there’s a closet in there where I store yarn sometimes. I look forward to seeing where my genius husband puts my brilliant bargain purchase, but I’m not going in there until he comes out without the drill.
Ain’t life grand? :]