“It was June, and the
world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold
over the grassy
hillside.”
—Maud Hart
Lovelace
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| Photo courtesy swimswim |
Introduction by Ted Kooser: Here's a touching father-son poem by Jennifer Gray, who lives in Nebraska. If you're not big enough to push a real mower, well, you make a mower of your own.
Summer Mowing
He has transformed
his Tonka dump truck
into a push mower, using
lumber scraps and duct tape
to construct a handle
on the front end of the dump box.
One brave screw
holds the makeshift
contraption together.
All summer they outline
the edges of these acres,
first Daddy, and then,
behind him
this small echo, each
dodging the same stumps,
pausing to slap a mosquito,
or rest in the shade,
before once again pacing
out into the light,
where first one,
and then the other,
leans forward to guide the mowers
along the bright edges
of this familiar world.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry
Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also
supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln.
Poem copyright ©2015 by Jennifer Gray, “Summer Mowing,” from Plainsongs,
(Vol. XXXV, no. 3, 2015). Poem reprinted by permission of Jennifer Gray and the
publisher. Introduction copyright ©2016 by The Poetry Foundation. The
introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate
Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not
accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Happy Father’s Day to my husband, my dad, my father-in-law, and all the other dads out there!
Happy Father’s Day to my husband, my dad, my father-in-law, and all the other dads out there!
I complain a lot about the heat and humidity
here in central Florida, but if I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have my horse.
I think it’s worth it. I board him at a small, family-run barn just a few
minutes from my house. One of my simple pleasures is being around all the
horses at the barn, enjoying the personalities that emerge. For such large, powerful, and beautiful animals,
they can be remarkably silly. Here are some photos of a few of Tank’s friends
and neighbors.
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| Elsa (loves peppermints) |
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| Bella (more than a pretty face) |
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| Sensitive Leo |
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| Remy, playing with the broom |
In summer, I ride less and hang out more, and just watching the horses is entertaining. For instance, Tank (right) approaching the geldings’ paddock. Asia pretending he doesn't notice him:
 |
Tank: “Nothing much, just grazing. Out here. And you’re not.”
Tank: “LOL!”
Asia: [Squeals and stomps his foot]
See what I mean? Silly.
What simple pleasure has this summer brought you?
 |
| Photo courtesy Pedro Melo |
“Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.”
—Sam
Keen
 |
| Photo courtesy Maurice Muller |
Introduction by Ted Kooser: We hope that you will
visit, from time to time, our archived columns at www.americanlifeinpoetry.org,
where you may find other poems by the poets we feature. Today's is the third
we've published by Sharon Chmielarz. a Minnesota poet with several fine books
in print, including The Widow's House, just released by Brighthorse
books.
Fisher’s Club
A roadside inn. Lakeside dive. Spiffed up.
End of a summer day. And I suppose
I should be smiling beneficently
at the families playing near the shore,
their plastic balls and splashes and chatter.
But my eye pivots left to a couple;
he is carrying her into the water.
He's strong enough, and she is light
enough to be carried. I see
how she holds her own, hugging
his neck, his chest steady as his arms.
I have never seen such a careful dunk,
half-dunk, as he gives her. That beautiful
play he makes lifting her from the water.
And I suppose I should be admiring
the sunset, all purple and orange and rose now.
Nice porch here, too. Yeah, great view.
But I have never seen such a loving
carrying as he gives her. Imagine
being so light as to float
above water in love.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry
Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also
supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln.
Poem copyright ©2015 by Sharon Chmielarz, “Fisher's Club,” from The Widow's
House (Brighthorse Books, 2015). Poem reprinted by permission of Sharon
Chmielarz and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2016 by The Poetry
Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet
Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do
not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Tell me something. When was the last time you made a list of
fun things to do…and actually did them? Don’t look now, but it’s already
June (how?!)—the Friday night of summer, as Laura Vanderkam says. Now’s
your chance. Time to plan some simple pleasures and everyday adventures to make
the hot, sweaty months pass more happily. I did this last year (click here to
read 2015’s list), with mixed success. Take Tank to the beach? Check. Go to a Rays
game? Yup. Make frozen pops, spend a day by the pool, or watch the sunset at
the beach?
Nope.
Lucky for me, I get a do-over. Summer has already barged its
way into central Florida (complete with a tropical storm, thank you very much),
so I’m trying again. Here’s my list for the summer of 2016:
- Have a pedicure (thanks to my friend Mary for the gift certificate to a local salon).
- Add some new tunes to my music library.
- Go to the movies with my Broadway season ticket buddies (we don’t have another show until October).
- Make homemade ice cream.
- Practice
riding Tank bridleless, while it’s hot and he’s
mellowlazy.
- Go on at least one field trip with Laure Ferlita. Maybe here or here. Hmm...I see a food theme developing...
- Create a new summer reading list—and start reading from it.
- Finish filling at least one sketchbook. I have two that are nearly full.
- Plan a trip to visit my family in California.
- Buy meals from Dinner Done so I don’t have to cook so much.
Sure, I’ll be working on my writing business, painting my
bathroom, cleaning out the fridge…but I’m also planning some serious fun. I
hope you will, too.
What’s on your bucket list this summer?
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| Photo courtesy Aaron Burden |
“We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer’s
wreckage. We will welcome summer’s ghost.”
—Henry Rollins
I’m done with summer. I want to cry every time I go outside.
It’s been hot and humid for a long, long time and I’M TIRED OF SWEATING EVEN
WHEN ALL I’VE DONE IS GET THE NEWSPAPER FROM THE DRIVEWAY. Sorry about
that—just my little rant for the day. Instead of putting my antiperspirant to
the test, I think I’ll stay indoors and surf the ’net. Want to join me?
Does happiness scare you? Check out this post for ways to
allow yourself to feel joy.
Solo travel—for women, it's one contributing factor for happiness.
Zenpencils.com turns quotes and concepts into
cartoons. I discovered the site through this one. Here are two more of my favorites: http://zenpencils.com/comic/94-the-two-wolves/ and
The Yet Mindset. It’s more empowering than simply saying “I can’t.”
Can reading make you happier? I think so. And so does Ceridwen Dovey in
“Can Reading Make You Happier?”
It might seem odd to include this link in Link Love, but “Is It Time for a Digital Break?” As summer winds down, wouldn’t it be nice to take
a day, a few days, a week, away from the digital world, clear your mind, and
get ready for the season to come?
Happy Friday!
“Rest is not
idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day,
listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the
sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
—John Lubbock, The
Use of Life
Nuthin’ to say this morning, that is. It’s summer. It’s hot.
And it’s time to relax. For the next few weeks, I’ll be posting a little
less, and Summer Reruns will reappear later this month. I have been working on
freelance writing projects, and finished up an essay for a travel writing
contest over the weekend (link to come).
Summertime in Florida, with its draining temperatures and
wild thunderstorms, is the perfect time for me to let go of my strict schedule,
refill the well, and reevaluate where I want to be in a few months’ time. I’m
giving myself permission to take time to do all those things.
A few months ago, Laura Vanderkam used a term in a blog post
that intrigued me: the remembering self. Vanderkam described riding the train
to New York (from her home in Pennsylvania) on a Saturday night to hear a
Christmas concert, even though she was pregnant, the weather was bad, she’d
endured a difficult week, and so on. She wrote, “The remembering self deserves
consideration in decisions too, not just the present self.”
This term resonated with me so much that I commented: “I
love the phrase ‘the remembering self.’ It reminds me that often it’s the
things we don’t do that we regret later in life.” She responded: “I think it’s as much that the remembering self
and the experiencing self [or the present self] value different things. The
experiencing self is never 100% happy, because it occupies a corporal body that
experiences little annoyances like an itchy nose, needing a bathroom before the
concert starts, etc. The remembering self looks back on the wash of the
experience and doesn’t see all of these details. It’s easy to over-value the
experiencing self because it’s what we’re currently occupying, but the
remembering self deserves some consideration in all this too.” (Read the entire
post here.)
Sometimes I let my experiencing self run the show too much.
If it’s hard, scary, or uncomfortable, my experiencing self doesn’t want any
part of it. (She’s kind of a wimp.) If I let her dictate what I do, my poor
remembering self has nothing of interest to reflect on! Remembering self is not
impressed by excuses.
All this is on my mind because last week I checked off an
item on my summer bucket list: I took Tank to the beach.
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| All photos taken by Gayle Bryan |
I confess that though I wanted (in theory) to take my horse
to the beach, I was anxious about actually doing it. I knew it would be very,
very hot, I knew I’d be riding with a bareback pad and halter instead of a
saddle and bridle, and I knew that my horse can get excited and strong (i.e.,
hard to control) when he goes to a new place. I knew the trip would take most
of a day, and that I’d be good for almost nothing after spending so much time
in the sun, thereby throwing off my weekly schedule. I knew I’d have to wake up
earlier than normal and to come up with the money to pay for the trip. My
“experiencing self” was full of worries and complaints. But I managed to shut
her up for a little while so I could give my remembering self this gift.
And while my experiencing self did endure some uncomfortable
moments, they’re becoming hazier by the day. My remembering self is already
delighted to look back on the adventure and proud of herself for stepping out
of her comfort zone. I know Tank enjoyed the change of scenery, but he was less
than enamored with actually going in the water, even though all three of the
other horses marched right in, and a couple of them went in deep enough to
swim. Some of his expressed thoughts:
“This stuff moves. Is it really safe to walk in it?”
“There’s too much slimy green stuff along the edge, it looks
like it might grab me.”
“WHAT IS THAT BLACK
THING ON THE SAND?!” (It was a discarded t-shirt.)
Despite his skepticism, he eventually relaxed and splashed
through the water with everyone else, and when we were on the beach itself, I
gave him his head so he could explore, which he loved. And he especially loved
snacking on the patches of grass we found. Instead of merely walking on the
beach, we trotted and cantered on the sand and it was totally awesome. Even
experiencing self had to agree.
When you feel overwhelmed at the thought of something you
really want to do, how can you help the experiencing self to relax so you can
give your remembering self this gift? It helps me to learn all I can about the
upcoming event/experience, to look for support from friends or family, and to ease
into what I want to do in a way that feels comfortable to me. And even if it’s
still scary, I know my memory of it will likely smooth over the fear and
remember the joy. Some things will just be more fun to have done than to do.
What are some memories your remembering self especially
enjoys?
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| Photo courtesy Filip Kruchlik |
“Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just
going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.”
—A.A. Milne
“June is the Friday night of summer, and all is full of
possibility.”
—Laura Vanderkam
Each new season brings its own delights. Though summer is not my favorite season here in Florida, each year I grit my teeth and make the
best of it. I was inspired by Laura Vanderkam’s words (see above, and read the
full post here) to start thinking about things I can accomplish and enjoy
during these hot and sweaty months. Maybe working on the list will distract me from the heat and humidity?
In keeping with my word of the year (delight), this summer
will be long on delights/adventures/pleasures, but that doesn’t mean I’m only
going to play. I want to experiment with different writing venues (#2) and try
some new exercise classes (#7). I always take a little more time for reading (a future post
about my summer reading list is in the works), but this year, my summer bucket
list includes:
- Take Tank to the beach. Yes, really.
- Go to the library to write (the only downside is I can’t take my coffee with me).
- Take a week’s “staycation” (or maybe several long weekends?).
- Go to a Tampa Bay Rays game with my mom when she visits in August.
- Sketch in my sketchbook. Maybe even finish—i.e., fill all the pages of—a sketchbook!
- Make homemade frozen pops. I never got around to doing it last summer.
- Try a month of unlimited classes at Karma.
- Spend a day by the pool.
- Go to the beach at sunset with my husband.
- Rewatch The Princess Bride and Support Your Local Sheriff (my cat is named after the female lead in this movie).
- Try the new gelato place in town.
- Make pesto with the basil from my garden. (Done!)
When I was a child visiting my grandparents for the summer,
my grandmother often insisted that I take an afternoon nap. I detested this
practice because I didn’t need a nap: I was far too busy running through
the cow pasture or swimming in the irrigation ditch or lying under a tree
reading to take a nap. Plus I was far to old to be taking naps!
What was wrong with her?! (I realize now she likely needed a break from me and
the nap was her tactful way of corralling me for at least an hour. And yes, much
to my chagrin, I often fell asleep while lying on my bed, staring at the
ceiling.)
Naps are wasted on the young. I don’t know about you, but there are
many days I’d love to have the simple pleasure of an afternoon nap! Occasionally, I do take one, but I live with pets who have no compunction
about sleeping whenever and wherever they want to. Need proof?
Perhaps we should follow their example and indulge ourselves
in an afternoon nap now and then this summer!
Welcome to the summer edition of Link Love. Pour yourself a
cold drink and explore some of the Internet’s bounty.
Twelve rituals happy, successful people practice every day.
As Marc writes, “Am I willing to spend a little time every day like many people
won’t, so I can spend the better part of my life like many people can’t?”
Simplifying life often means getting rid of things. Click
here to read “10 Things to Add to a Simple Life.”
Ever wished you could read more about the good happening in the
world? Check out http://thisgoodworld.com/,
“…a search + discovery platform that
highlights and supports businesses doing good things.”
If you’re like me,
you struggle with feeling driven to do more. I loved this thoughtful post at
Always Well Within that helped me see my “driver” I a new light.
Here’s a list of the
100 greatest non-fiction books, according to The Guardian. How many have
you read? I’m embarrassed to say I’ve only read eight.
What kind of life do
you have? Brendon Burchard briefly examines three types: caged, comfortable and
charged. Click below:
And finally, just for
fun, five minutes of my favorite comedian, Brian Regan:
I feel like I’m the opposite of most people because I dread
summer, and my summer plans mostly involve figuring out how to stay inside as
much as possible. If I could hibernate during summer, I would! But since I
can’t, I’m going to make the best of the new season by finding ways to make
summer fun instead of a time to be endured. I’m going to work less, have
more fun, shake up the routine, and just generally be more relaxed. Here are
some of the things I want to do this summer when Florida’s temperatures and
humidity make hibernating look appealing:
- Institute Friday movie nights—my husband and I plan to pop some popcorn and rewatch some old favorites—like My Cousin Vinny and The Princess Bride. (I’m going to slip in Mama Mia! and My Life in Ruins, but I doubt I’ll get him to watch those with me! He can watch something more manly while I’m reveling in Greek scenery and romance.)
- Spend time with friends. I have two friends coming in from out of town this summer, and I’m going to make the time to be with them, even if I have to—gasp!—let my normal work slide. I’m also going to make more time for getting together with local friends—I’ve been missing our long breakfasts/lunches/coffee dates
- Make root beer float frozen pops. Yum!
- Reinstate “Summer Reruns” on the blog—once a month I’ll rerun a favorite post from a previous year.
- Read at whim, regardless of bookish challenges. I want to read Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave, but that’s about as far as I’ve gotten in making summer reading plans. Fear not, though—I’ll be reading plenty, hopefully while relaxing on a chaise lounge and sipping some cold iced tea. (Note to self: make iced tea.)
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| If you ask nicely, I might move. |
You’ll notice that not one of those things would fit on a
traditional to-do list. I’ve got more than enough of those floating around—in
fact, I should add “discard projects and goals” to the above list so I can
indulge in my summer plans with no guilt feelings. Too often when I find life a
little uncomfortable, I mope around feeling sorry for myself or helpless to
make things better instead of looking for ways to add simple pleasures to my
days. You can see from the above list that it doesn’t take much to make me feel
happier—and you’re probably the same. So this summer I’m going to actively
pursue my favorite simple pleasures—and maybe a few everyday adventures—instead
of letting the hot, humid weather get me down.
What are some of your summer plans?
 |
| Pretty but HOT |
I
used Grammarly to grammar
check this post because it never hurts to have another set of eyes
proofread your work, even if they’re automated!*
The island of Crete
Roqueville, on the Cote
d’Azur , via Spinsters in Jeopardy (Ngaio Marsh).
I actually spent quite a lot of time in the United Kingdom
this year—making stops in Crampton Hodnet (in the book of the same name by
Barbara Pym), Edgecomb St. Mary (Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand), Newbury (see above), London and Cornwall (Jacqueline
Winspear’s Messenger of Truth), among other fictional and real destinations.
So you see, when time and/or finances don’t permit me to
explore the world firsthand, I turn to books to satisfy my craving for travel. And
now, as I finish this post, I’ll be returning to rural Appalachia
with Barbara Kingsolver’s Flight Behavior.
Where has your reading taken you this summer?
*This post sponsored by Grammarly, an online grammar checker
and proofreading system.
Note: I'm taking a more relaxed approach to blogging this summer, so occasionally I'm going to rerun a previous post. I hope you enjoy this one, from 2010.
With days growing longer—and hotter—and the kids about to be out of school, I find myself remembering sweet summers of my childhood, when I ran wild and free at my grandma’s house in Cottonwood, California.
My mom and I spent many vacations at Grandma’s together, but from the time I was about 8, during summer vacation I spent at least two weeks, sometimes a month or more, at her house on my own, without my mom. (Strangely, even when Grandpa was living, I always thought of the Cottonwood place as “Grandma’s house.”)
To get to Grandma’s house, we drove for at least eight hours, winding through flat farmland from our home in Southern California, to Cottonwood, population 3000-plus. I opened my car window to smell the alfalfa fields and watched the road signs eagerly, counting down the miles until our exit. Once I saw the Bowman Road sign, I could barely contain my anticipation. It would only be a matter of minutes until we reached Grandma’s house.
The tires crunched on the gravel driveway where we parked to unload. I would jump out of the car eagerly, running through a gate in the white picket fence. The little white house, trimmed in barn red, nestled there, like a hen sitting on her nest.
At home, I had only a tiny yard to play in. At Grandma’s house, I had 22 acres in which to roam freely. For a city girl, the cows, chickens, dog and cats held deep fascination. Accompanied by my grandparents’ dog, Taffy, I explored nearly every inch of the property, from the straw-yellow hills behind the house to the sweet-smelling cow barn, to the irrigated cow pasture where I tried to make friends with my grandparents’ beef cattle. Though I could never convince Grandma to get me a horse, I pretended to ride one—or pretended to be one—while exploring.
When I tired of galloping through the pasture, I swam in the irrigation ditch that ran behind Grandma’s house like my own personal river, caught frogs for frog swimming races, or stretched out on a beach towel on the wooden bridge that crossed the ditch, baking myself in the summer sun. Or I would read in a lawn chair under the huge oak in the front yard, listening to the soothing sound of chickens softly clucking while they searched a flower bed for tasty bugs. Occasionally, the rooster’s crow broke the quiet of the afternoon.
Grandma was a great cook and I ate slabs of her homemade bread covered in fresh butter or homemade jam all day long. I reveled in peaches and watermelon purchased from local produce stands, or plums picked right off the tree. For a special treat, sometimes Grandma would make boysenberry cobbler, the purple berries oozing juices through the crumbly top crust.
Grandma’s mother, Great Gram, lived across the street in a tiny, pink house and many evenings I’d go play Rummy with her. (One of my first lessons in sportsmanship came at the card table: You can’t play cards with the grown ups if you cry when you lose.) I loved to play cards with her, but I admit to an ulterior motive as well. She made the best milkshakes I’ve ever had. She’d pour canned Hershey’s syrup over several scoops of chocolate chip ice cream and icy milk, then mush up the whole concoction with an old-fashioned egg beater. It was so thick, I had to eat it with a spoon.
My mom and step dad live in the house with the red trim now. Sadly, we don’t get to visit very often, since we live 2500 miles away. But when we do make the trip to Cottonwood, I’m reminded that I was once a girl with no cares, running wild through a cow pasture and slurping up milkshakes without a thought of their calorie count.
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| Photo courtesy Kerem Yucel |
One of the privileges of being U.S. Poet Laureate was to
choose two poets each year to receive a $10,000 fellowship, funded by the
Witter Bynner Foundation. Joseph Stroud, who lives in California ,
was one of my choices. This poem is representative of his clear-eyed,
imaginative poetry. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]
Night in Day
Night in Day
The night never wants to end, to give itself
over
to light. So it traps itself in things: obsidian,
crows.
Even on summer solstice, the day of light’s
great
triumph, where fields of sunflowers guzzle in the
sun—
we break open the watermelon and spit out
black seeds, bits of night glistening on the grass.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry
Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine.
It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of
Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2009 by Joseph Stroud, and reprinted from his
recent book of poems, “Of This World: New and Selected Poems 1966-2006,” Copper
Canyon Press, 2009, by permission of the author and publisher. Introduction
copyright © 2013 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted
Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the
Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Remember those summer reading lists we used to get when we were in school—books that were either required or “recommended” for us to read before school started the next year? Even though I’ve always loved reading, I used to hate those lists. Rarely did they contain something I wanted to read, and somehow it took some of the fun out of reading when it was assigned. Even now, I’m an extremely random reader—drifting from book to book as suits my mood. I don’t often plan out a course of reading, though I admire those who do, and I love to see other people’s reading lists (like Danielle’s at A Work in Progress) and summer reading recommendations (click here for some fun ones).
This summer, to make the most of what I hope will be extra reading
time (when most people are preparing to get outdoors more in summer, here in central Florida, I’m planning ways to stay indoors as much as I can—it’s just
too dang hot and humid), I thought I’d try making up my own reading list in an effort to read more widely and carefully instead of just reading more.
I started my list with books from the pattern that has
emerged the past couple of years. For instance, every summer, I read a biography or autobiography of a writer. In past years, I’ve read
about Edna St. Vincent Millay, Louisa May Alcott and Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. This summer, I’ve picked up a volume of L.M. Montgomery’s journals (she’s the
author of the Anne of Green Gables series, see below), and I think I might also tackle Mark Twain’s autobiography.
Interestingly, for the past two summers I’ve read a book by Wilkie Collins (The Moonstone and The Woman in White).
This year, it’s No Name, the story of Magdalen and Norah Vanstone, who
find themselves orphaned and penniless when their inheritance goes to their uncle.
I also like to pick up a classic. I’m already working on The Three Musketeers (which I started months ago—not a reflection on the story,
but on the fact that I’m reading it on my tablet, which I dislike for reading).
I’m also considering Eudora Welty’s Delta Wedding, which is described on Amazon as “A vivid and charming
portrait of a large southern family, the Fairchilds, who live on a plantation
in the Mississippi
I’ll continue with my vintage mystery challenge—with Ngaio Marsh’s Spinsters in Jeopardy—what a great title!—up next. I’ll probably also sneak in another Georgette
Heyer mystery. I’m working my way through the Sourcebooks Landmark editions
with their terrific vintage covers.
What would summer be like without a comfort reread (or two…or more!)? I’m thinking of revisiting Mary Stewart’s The Moon-Spinners (especially for the Cretan setting),
and Anne’s House of Dreams, the fifth
book in Anne of Green Gables series. And I think it’s about time I reread an
Agatha Christie mystery.
And lest you think I’m eternally stuck in the past, I also
want to read Barbara Kingsolver’s newest novel Flight Behavior, I’m working on the fourth Maisie Dobbs mystery, Messenger of Truth and I’m already more
than halfway through Jenny Lawson’s Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. (Jenny is better known as The Bloggess.)
My summer list also includes Dave Barry’s I’ll Mature When I’m Dead and Val
Frankel’s memoir, It’s Hard Not to Hate You, as well as Debbie Macomber’s Between Friends and Patricia Wentworth’s The Catherine Wheel, another vintage mystery.
Whew. That should more than take me through the summer! And if
it doesn’t, I still have quite a mountain of choices on my shelves, despite my
efforts to whittle them down. (Tip: in order to effectively reduce one’s total
“mountain” of books, one must quit buying
books. So much easier said than done.)
