Farenheit 45 too

Recently I've been culling books in my possession. I know , what a confession from a wanna- be- published in print- writer. Unlike in Bradbury's Farenheit 451, I promise, I wasn't burning them;just donating to our local library branch or recycling ones with too many 'jots in the margins' and not fit for a reader's pleasure . No committing to memory on my part however , except perhaps the odd phrase or mantra that's stuck over the years. It did strike me though , looking at books I had trundled with me through at least 6 major moves over many years ---so that the dust jacket really was just that, a dusty jacket :)---- how individual tastes change.

University fine art books, and others collected over time , on review , had lost their luster. For instance, once totally immersed in Greek and Roman Art at that stage ---- 'Praxtiles fecit' --- and even travelling in my youth , making the Grand Tour to those parts to bask in my own knowledge if not the art itself again, the bulging muscles and cold stone remind me now of Mr. Universe i.e. an oiled grotesque Arnold Swartzenegger ---and look how he turned out , a colossus of ego and entitlement.

Still, it was very hard to suppress the nostalgia of several chapters of my life --to willfully consign once precious items to the 'give away ' pile. Some however, still held too much meaning and I weakly put them back in their coffer to keep for another hundred years , until the culling fit comes upon me once again.

Who knew I 'd descend from the Liter-arti to the Cozy Mystery . I didn't :) Well, maybe it is progress , of a kind ....