Because I know you're stressed from the ordeal of moving, I forgive you for your blasphemous doubts about owning books. But for your penance, please repeat Erasmus' dictum "When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes," and go read Christopher Morley's Parnassus on Wheels and The Haunted Bookshop.
Be proud of those books, and love them dearly.
And watch out for falling couches... usually signaled by your partner-in-moving's barely audible utterance of an explative, the falling couch can quite easily pin the heartiest of us against the wall to struggle like an ant under the weight of a far too large hunk of leftover picnic.
Good luck with your move!
I recently moved as well, and I certainly understand your lamentations about "stuff." Even when I think I am not being excessively materialistic, the amount of stuff I seem to accumulate is mind-boggling. Something interesting there about society and personal weakness no doubt, but, anyway, on to cheerier things!
A stunning percentage of my boxes were filled with books as well. But what fun it was to unpack them! I saved them all as one of the last things to unpack, so I could take my time. I love pawing through all the books, finding ones I forgot I owned, increasing my reading list by several times over as I find books I havae not yet read in addition to favorites I want to re-read. Also, when I get to those philosophy books, I always find it awe-inspiring just how much knowledge is in those books, just waiting to be read! I'm waxing poetic (in an unpoetic sort of way), but I think it is justified. Moving is a hell of a chore, but the books are the bright spot!
I totally empathize with the moving of that many books. Last summer I moved my collection of 1200+ books...I don't look forward to the day when I have to pack them and move again.
Funny moving story: I helped a friend move a few months ago...the whole move was sort of a comedy of errors, starting with the fact that the truck rental place gave her a full size van instead of an actual truck! And we were moving things like beds, couches, and washer and dryer...you get the idea. We managed all that stuff (in several trips -- thank heavens she was just going a couple of miles), but then we got to the 8 foot tall potted ficus plant. There was no easy way to carry it (required multiple people because it weighed A LOT), so we finally got it on a handtruck and out of the house. Then we realized that it was too tall to fit in the van or the SUV that we were using. So we wound up sitting it inside the trunk of my friend's car, and driving very slowly across town with the trunk open and the poor tree sticking out the back. It made it in one piece, although we did lose a couple of the large stones that were in the pot with the tree.
Funny moving stories... ah, we have a few, because the gf and I have lived in more than 12 places in 16 years.
1. When we were young, we were very ardent feminists and didn't let men help move us. I have a VERY HEAVY piece of DR furniture--an antique, and after my gf, her sister, and the sister's partner moved it up 2 flights to our new apt, the sister said, "Fuck that feminist shit. That is why we have men... to change our oil and move heavy shit like this." We have never moved without men again.
2. We were moving out of that apartment and forgot about the sex game a friend had bought us as a joke. We had put it under the bed. So, when the (male)movers we had hired picked up the bed, they found the game. No one mentioned it to us, but as we were doing the final walkthrough, we went in the bedroom and found the game sitting in the middle of the floor. Ugh.
Once, when I was helping a friend move, we had to get this furniture up a teeny, tiny farmhouse staircase. I said we'd never make it fit, but my friend was far more hopeful and optimistic than I was with my defeatist ways....
oh, but you know that one.
Isn't that the first time you threw your back out?
I guess this isn't funny anymore, huh?
P.S. I think this post demands a link to George Carlin's "a place for my stuff":
http://youtube.com/watch?v=JLoge6QzcGY
My e-book is a godsend. I just have all the classics in it, that I can download for free from Gutenberg. No more carting "Ulysses" or "War and Peace" around. They are right there in my trim little black book.
My mother was a true book lover. She loved them. I love what's in them!
Wow. I have been out of touch, I can't believe this is happening already. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I moved a year ago (across town) and it took me literally 20 pickup truck loads just to move the subset of my stuff that was in my tiny apartment. Now, a year later, I still have stuff in Gettysburg and I have filled up my house and even have a bunch of stuff in the attic. Where the hell did all this stuff come from? I think I have boxes I haven't opened since the time I moved before that, 3 years ago. Obviously, the contents of those boxes are essential to my life.
Ah well. I feel your pain and best of luck with it. Soon you'll be on the much more fun unpacking part.
Dear God do I HATE moving. I am in the "I am going to free myself from my material trappings" phase right now. HELLO SALVATION ARMY, my old friend -- here is my life, in boxes. Do with it what you will. I'll probably pay you $3 to get it back in a couple months.
Here's a funny one for you. So my roommates and I were moving.. luckily across the street. Sadly, we still had to take my bed apart.
My roommate's new love interest decided that he would help do this part. After about 45 minutes on one bolt, he gave up on the old fashioned way and "borrowed" a power-tool that someone had left behind in our new place. Freakishly - the power-tool did no good. I think he broke it. There might have been smoke. Awesome.
The funniest part about this story would be that my teddy bear of a father (okay fine - he looks like one of the Hells Angels) put the bed together by hand, without breaking a sweat and this poor guy, who was just trying to be helpful, nearly lost his mind over it.
Later that evening, said love interest came up to me and in an overwhelmed tone asked, " What does your Dad eat for dinner?! Dead Animals!?"
I bit my tongue and did my best not to reply.
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