Getting the House in Order
Ecclesiastes 12:12
And further, my son, be admonished by these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is wearisome to the flesh. (NKJV)
The word "making" in the Hebrew is asah, (aw-saw') a primitive root; to do or make, in the broadest sense and widest application (as follows):--accomplish, advance, appoint, apt, be at, become, bear, bestow, bring forth. The word for study is lahag (lah'-hag) is from a root meaning to be eager; intense mental application:--study.
The pervasive theme in Ecclesiastes is that in doing there is much weariness because all is meaningless. Power, sex, possessions, study...all are meaningless according to the Preacher. Tradition holds that Solomon wrote the Book of Ecclesiastes; this makes sense because only Solomon really had it all of the above, plus wisdom from God, and an errant heart throughout most of his adult life. In short, he would know about the end of these things, due to the fact that he had come to an end of these things through personal experience. None of us can say that we had it all and then concluded that all wasn't all it cracked up to be. This makes Solomon insight particularly hard to dismiss. A poor man may say wealth is futile to assess one's life by...it is another thing entirely when a man of great wealth says so. Solomon has street cred.
Recently, after over two years of dormancy, I pulled all of my books out of the moving boxes in the basement and put them on cinder-blocks and planks of wood bookshelves. Kind of retro college. Factoring how much the equivalent amount of shelving that would be required if I was to purchase shelving at IKEA, I decided that the rudimentary shelving--all for about $ 100 total--plus a much easier time of construction and travel (as IKEA is about 1.5 hours away), was a wiser option. College students do things like this because they are poor. I do stuff like this because I am cheap.
A few months ago our water heater had sprung a leak creating a mini-deluge in the basement, endangering the books by turning them into very expensive, one use only, sponges. This, plus the fact that we have apparently defective PVC plumbing in our basement--and throughout the house (which is prone to spring leaks) motivated me to get the books out of the boxes and onto higher ground--away from the piping. I felt I had been warned.
So, two Saturdays ago, while my doctoral work is on hold until the powers tell me to slog on, I decided to do the task. Lina was out of town and I revved myself up to do the deed that I dreaded. I have close to a 1,000 books downstairs, so this was not a job for a blue haired 71 year old lady librarian. This was more like building a cabin in the woods--actually a literary man cave with the requisite old furniture and other somewhat discarded other items. Relegated to the basement is the final frontier before the dump. 8 hours of hard back-breaking work.
The basement was a wreck with everything that didn't fit elsewhere finding a home. So, the books were the central task, but there was plenty of other things that had to find a place on the shelves, crawl-space, under the stairs, behind the vertical blinds (previous owner had installed these kind of bizarre vertical blinds) or the trash can. Judgement cometh and it did.
Pulling the books out of the boxes kind of reminded me of finding old friends of Facebook. I was like, "Oh yeah, I really liked this book." It was a two year reunion with all of my old book friends. I had decided at some point--about five years ago--to slow the acquisition of book rate so that I could actually read the books I had bought. It was starting to look like an addiction to purchasing books without actually reading them....hmmm...a disorder. Another thing that I thought of at the time was that moving books were like moving bricks...heavy and hard.
Well, the shelving is done and it looks awesome. I am naming the library the Craney Memorial Library after a high school English teacher who taught me that I could be cool and be literary-inclined. Mr. Craney, a WW II vet, spoke of drinking Jack Daniels and smoking cigars, interspersed with personifications of King Lear in class--frothing and all. There were times that I thought Mr. Craney was crazy, he'd go off on some subject that ticked him off like abortion, and rant and rave. I admired the fact that he had strong opinions and didn't obscure them. There were moments that I felt that we might need to call the Principal on the intercom because Craney seemed to be coming unhinged. Then, he'd smile a sly grin, showing us that it was theatrics to some degree. Strong convictions with a touch of madness. I can still see his eyes twinkle and his hands shake holding a book (he had some disorder). He was an inspiration.
I wanted Lina to be surprised and shocked and awed by my work. SO, I didn't say anything to her about the shelves. The problem was is that she has been home only a couple of days in the last three weeks, and when she came home as a layover of sorts, she wasn't in need of going down to the basement. She had brought some wine back from California and I tried to play it off as if I didn't know what shelf on the wine rack it belonged (we have an inverted wine caste system of sorts where the really good stuff is Untouchable). She didn't take the bait and thought I was just being a slacker, so she gave me the look of "you go down to the basement."
So, I waited an waited, and she finally saw my work on Friday. She was impressed by the engineering prowess. My dad (the engineer) would be proud...I had sketched out the project, and saw it to completion. A Hoover Dam of sorts for me (I am hardly a construction type). I got lucky that the lumber place did not have 12 foot planks. Needing to cut them in half, would have resulted in the pieces being a foot too long to fit in the back of my Honda Civic. Five foot planks just fit. That would have been a major mistake. Grace of God, dumb luck. Whatever.
Now that all of the books are up on the shelves, I feel that God is challenging me to give them away (or at least lend them out which often turns into a permanent state of borrowed). I am fighting this as I love my books; I have a perverse attachment to them even though I have read most of them. I have parted with two, plus a CD. I am in mourning. Let it go man, let it go. If they can help another, cast your books upon the metaphorical waters.
This kind of made me think of Imelda Marcos with all of her shoes. Being poor as a child, she desired shoes. Lots of them. Rather than redeeming her experiences by giving her shoes away to poor women who were much like her in her youth, she hoarded them. I am not saying that she couldn't have held onto 50 pairs or so (why do women love shoes so much??? There is a little Imelda in most women).
Reading these books actually sustained me rather wearying me. They were my unconditional friends offering me priceless wisdom for $ 14.99. Better than shoes I'd say.
And further, my son, be admonished by these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is wearisome to the flesh. (NKJV)
The word "making" in the Hebrew is asah, (aw-saw') a primitive root; to do or make, in the broadest sense and widest application (as follows):--accomplish, advance, appoint, apt, be at, become, bear, bestow, bring forth. The word for study is lahag (lah'-hag) is from a root meaning to be eager; intense mental application:--study.
The pervasive theme in Ecclesiastes is that in doing there is much weariness because all is meaningless. Power, sex, possessions, study...all are meaningless according to the Preacher. Tradition holds that Solomon wrote the Book of Ecclesiastes; this makes sense because only Solomon really had it all of the above, plus wisdom from God, and an errant heart throughout most of his adult life. In short, he would know about the end of these things, due to the fact that he had come to an end of these things through personal experience. None of us can say that we had it all and then concluded that all wasn't all it cracked up to be. This makes Solomon insight particularly hard to dismiss. A poor man may say wealth is futile to assess one's life by...it is another thing entirely when a man of great wealth says so. Solomon has street cred.
Recently, after over two years of dormancy, I pulled all of my books out of the moving boxes in the basement and put them on cinder-blocks and planks of wood bookshelves. Kind of retro college. Factoring how much the equivalent amount of shelving that would be required if I was to purchase shelving at IKEA, I decided that the rudimentary shelving--all for about $ 100 total--plus a much easier time of construction and travel (as IKEA is about 1.5 hours away), was a wiser option. College students do things like this because they are poor. I do stuff like this because I am cheap.
A few months ago our water heater had sprung a leak creating a mini-deluge in the basement, endangering the books by turning them into very expensive, one use only, sponges. This, plus the fact that we have apparently defective PVC plumbing in our basement--and throughout the house (which is prone to spring leaks) motivated me to get the books out of the boxes and onto higher ground--away from the piping. I felt I had been warned.
So, two Saturdays ago, while my doctoral work is on hold until the powers tell me to slog on, I decided to do the task. Lina was out of town and I revved myself up to do the deed that I dreaded. I have close to a 1,000 books downstairs, so this was not a job for a blue haired 71 year old lady librarian. This was more like building a cabin in the woods--actually a literary man cave with the requisite old furniture and other somewhat discarded other items. Relegated to the basement is the final frontier before the dump. 8 hours of hard back-breaking work.
The basement was a wreck with everything that didn't fit elsewhere finding a home. So, the books were the central task, but there was plenty of other things that had to find a place on the shelves, crawl-space, under the stairs, behind the vertical blinds (previous owner had installed these kind of bizarre vertical blinds) or the trash can. Judgement cometh and it did.
Pulling the books out of the boxes kind of reminded me of finding old friends of Facebook. I was like, "Oh yeah, I really liked this book." It was a two year reunion with all of my old book friends. I had decided at some point--about five years ago--to slow the acquisition of book rate so that I could actually read the books I had bought. It was starting to look like an addiction to purchasing books without actually reading them....hmmm...a disorder. Another thing that I thought of at the time was that moving books were like moving bricks...heavy and hard.
Well, the shelving is done and it looks awesome. I am naming the library the Craney Memorial Library after a high school English teacher who taught me that I could be cool and be literary-inclined. Mr. Craney, a WW II vet, spoke of drinking Jack Daniels and smoking cigars, interspersed with personifications of King Lear in class--frothing and all. There were times that I thought Mr. Craney was crazy, he'd go off on some subject that ticked him off like abortion, and rant and rave. I admired the fact that he had strong opinions and didn't obscure them. There were moments that I felt that we might need to call the Principal on the intercom because Craney seemed to be coming unhinged. Then, he'd smile a sly grin, showing us that it was theatrics to some degree. Strong convictions with a touch of madness. I can still see his eyes twinkle and his hands shake holding a book (he had some disorder). He was an inspiration.
I wanted Lina to be surprised and shocked and awed by my work. SO, I didn't say anything to her about the shelves. The problem was is that she has been home only a couple of days in the last three weeks, and when she came home as a layover of sorts, she wasn't in need of going down to the basement. She had brought some wine back from California and I tried to play it off as if I didn't know what shelf on the wine rack it belonged (we have an inverted wine caste system of sorts where the really good stuff is Untouchable). She didn't take the bait and thought I was just being a slacker, so she gave me the look of "you go down to the basement."
So, I waited an waited, and she finally saw my work on Friday. She was impressed by the engineering prowess. My dad (the engineer) would be proud...I had sketched out the project, and saw it to completion. A Hoover Dam of sorts for me (I am hardly a construction type). I got lucky that the lumber place did not have 12 foot planks. Needing to cut them in half, would have resulted in the pieces being a foot too long to fit in the back of my Honda Civic. Five foot planks just fit. That would have been a major mistake. Grace of God, dumb luck. Whatever.
Now that all of the books are up on the shelves, I feel that God is challenging me to give them away (or at least lend them out which often turns into a permanent state of borrowed). I am fighting this as I love my books; I have a perverse attachment to them even though I have read most of them. I have parted with two, plus a CD. I am in mourning. Let it go man, let it go. If they can help another, cast your books upon the metaphorical waters.
This kind of made me think of Imelda Marcos with all of her shoes. Being poor as a child, she desired shoes. Lots of them. Rather than redeeming her experiences by giving her shoes away to poor women who were much like her in her youth, she hoarded them. I am not saying that she couldn't have held onto 50 pairs or so (why do women love shoes so much??? There is a little Imelda in most women).
Reading these books actually sustained me rather wearying me. They were my unconditional friends offering me priceless wisdom for $ 14.99. Better than shoes I'd say.
Comments