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U p F r o n t
By Karl Keating
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This Rock
Volume 4, Number 8
 September 1993 
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OUR house is in escrow--we're moving all
of five miles--and yesterday the buyers came by for the traditional
inspection. One of them walked into the study and scanned the bookcases.
"Shoot," he said, "I don't have enough books to fill
one of these." "One bookcase?" "No, one shelf."
"Oh."
My mind fled to the stacked boxes in the garage: books
that have been in storage for the six years we've lived in this house
because there hasn't been room for another bookcase. The new house,
nearly as old as the old house, but larger, will give the garaged
books their own shelf space. No more bibliophilic discrimination.
Some people are "hooked on books," and some
aren't. This is not a worrisome malady until you stumble across a
field of study that especially interests you--say, apologetics.
You discover yourself being transformed from a dabbler into a collector
and then into a fanatic.
After your spouse begins to wonder why the checking
account balance is always so low, you learn to pay cash for your buckram
purchases. Cash is harder to trace. You squeeze the extra books onto
the shelves; yes, there's always room for an extra Newman between
two Sheeds.
Soon the shelves are crammed so tightly you can't remove
anything unless you prop your feet against the case and tug hard--and
then you give up, put the least-used books in boxes, lug the boxes
to the garage, and start scouring the "homes for sale" listings
to see where you're moving next.
Isn't apologetics fun?
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