...or is it just MY nature? Why is it, do you think, that humans have this drive to catalog, to record, to hoard? Why do I not stop at just SEEING the birds and enjoying them, but return home to list them, their locality and the day's weather? Why do I think I should OWN the books I have loved? Why do I feel I need to write out the activities of a vacation, as if that somehow completes them?
I take little comfort in the acorn woodpeckers and squirrels hoarding their nuts, or the shrikes impaling their prey on thorns. It's not the same as creating a record. They're storing the object for future use. I am simply engraving it for public validation.
Huh. No sense in worrying about it, I guess. I've added a couple more books that we've read in the book club:
Little Infamies, by Panos Karnezis- one of my own unfortunate picks. This is the name of #22 in the list.
The Ponder Heart, by Eudora Welty- this past month
The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society
Five Quarters of the Orange
Walk Two Moons
Schuyler's Monster
The Razor's Edge
Brideshead Revisited
The Milagro Beanfield War
I should have 84. I guess I've listed around 50? Some not so memorable, I guess, but my nature is still insisting on completing the catalog.
2 comments:
I don't rememeber reading The Milagro Beanfield War. I would love to see the complete list, I may be able to fill in a few for you. I, too, take comfort in these things.
I love listing. Lately I've taken to making a list of what I've accomplished each day to remind myself of what I HAVE done while being surrounded by all I still need to do.
How did the meeting go regarding Rose?
xxxooo
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