JRL and I aren't doing much reading this week. In fact, we're doing the opposite: we're removing books from our house on orders from our real estate agents -- they take up space that prospective buyers might wish to imagine a dining room table in. Our library currently stops at "I."
Strangely, this activity seems to have shrunk the bookish part of my brain. Can it be that the physical presence of books makes a person think about them, read them, have ideas about them? If so, that would be a good argument against the eBook.
Or maybe I'm just pooped from all the cleaning.
In any event, this is temporary. If our lucks holds, soon someone will agree to buy this place and we can haul our books back from the storage space at the edge of town, where they are being guarded by a man with a limp and a tiny earring and a Weird-Al-Yankovich-style hairdo.
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