Approaching tsundoku recovery

There’s an old saying, I don’t remember where or when I first encountered it, “If you have to and you don’t want to, what do you do? Give one away!” At the moment, that fits my life about as well as the phrase about the river that was miles wide and inches deep. I lack the time and energy to attend well to all that I’m interested in. I need to “give one [or more] away.” But then I remember John Muir’s wonderful quotation: “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” - My First Summer in the Sierra  , 1911, page 110. 

Another way to look at some of this is to consider that I’ve come down with a severe case of tsundoku, although  the phrase “never reading them” seems unduly harsh in my case because, if I live long enough and stop buying more books, I might get to the ones I have. Part of my difficulty here is I’m developing a habit of rereading some of the better books on my shelves and in my stacks. Obviously, that doesn’t help move volumes from the unread to the read collection.

these shelves are now overflowing

Photo by J. Harrington

Then there’s my recently acquired tendency to produce sourdough dough that’s much looser (less gluten?) and stickier than normal despite using essentially the same recipe and starter I’ve used for years. Have I resurrected the starter once too often? Have the cooler autumn temperatures inhibited the little beasties from growing as they formerly did? [We use the upstairs bath with the door closed as a warming room in the winter.] To try to resolve the question(s), I ordered a book, of course, titled Sourdough by Science, which will temporarily increase my tsundoku score.

Yesterday’s posting about whether and how much leaves should be mulched or piled in windrows is another example of life getting more, rather than less, complicated while I’m trying to mind my own business and  read (part of) a book. I have no doubt I’lll soon be doing more research into permaculture and leaf management.

I recently deleted a handful of CDs from my smart phone. The Better Half and I kept hitting the skip button in the Jeep each time several of the songs came up to play. That would be considered a simplification win were it not for the fact that I’m already looking through existing stacks of CDs, and contemplating new acquisitions, to take up the space I freed. I may well consider the “solution” to my book addiction to be buying more book cases.

None of the preceding gets me out of the house and out of my easy chair and into the outdoors for some forest bathing or equivalent. Richard Louv has written several books about that kind of thing, you know.

All of the above, I know only too well, is a first world, privileged, constellation of “problems.” Even though, years ago, I successfully  made a New Year’s resolution to forego New Year’s resolutions, this may be the year I need to break it and resolve to reduce my interests and lengthen my attention span and reduce the book stacks by those I’ve neither read nor reached for for 20 years or more. Maybe there’s a book on how to simplify my life?

There is no Frigate like a Book (1286)

By Emily Dickinson

There is no Frigate like a Book

To take us Lands away

Nor any Coursers like a Page

Of prancing Poetry –

This Traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of Toll –

How frugal is the Chariot

That bears the Human Soul –

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.