Book-Wrapt

Yule and the Moon of the Winter Solstice

Where is Webb? At this moment it is 157000 miles from Earth, 742,000 miles to its orbit, and cruising at a stately 1084 miles per second.

Sunday gratefuls: The Webb. 17% of the way to L2. Our white Christmas. The Power of the Dog. Whoa. Jane Campion. Microwave. Sink, working. Dishwasher, working. Heart, working. Kate, always Kate. Travel. Jon’s prints. Kep’s bounteous fur. Rigel’s pique. Termination Shock, Neil Stephenson. Finished. Barrow spread. Finished. New life. Begun.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Barrow Spread

Tarot: Winter Solstice spread. The Barrow. My question: How can I replenish my fire? A second post, today or tomorrow.

 

Book-wrapt. A new term invented by a neighbor of Toni Morrison’s, a computer scientist who wrote a book on private libraries. Reid Byers: The Private Library. As those of you who’ve seen my loft know, this topic has a personal interest to me. If you clicked through, you’ll know this is a pricey volume. Uncharacteristically, I didn’t buy it. Yet.

“Entering our library should feel like easing into a hot tub, strolling into a magic store, emerging into the orchestra pit, or entering a chamber of curiosities, the club, the circus, our cabin on an outbound yacht, the house of an old friend,” he writes. “It is a setting forth, and it is a coming back to center.”

Mr. Byers coined a term — “book-wrapt” — to describe the exhilarating comfort of a well-stocked library.” NYT, Dec. 24, 2021.

The loft is such a place. It’s not an architect designed space. It doesn’t have the coherence that a purpose built private library might, but it is book-wrapt. Book-full. Book-stacked. A book place. When I come up here, the world shrinks away and I’m in book world, thought world, the Other World of my lived existence. The house is This World where food gets cooked, sleep happens, dogs lounge. A sick wife got cared for.

I have often commented on the strength of Rigel and Kep’s support during my grieving. And, it’s so true. Something I’ve forgotten, or perhaps not recognized until this article, is the support of my library.

Libraries are my happy place. While in Seminary, I had a favorite carrel on the third floor of the library. It overlooked the Seminary grounds, Highway 694, and the forested land across the freeway to the north. My heartbeat slows down, my mind concentrates. I find flow in libraries.

Perhaps that’s the key to my version of a hermitage. In addition to housing the hermit on a mountain top, it also holds books and art, a place to create art, a place to sustain the body. A place to write. A place to read. The library, the loft, is on the grounds, but not of the house. It is its own place, space.

I sit with my back to this when I write

When the living room area gets finished, an Arts and Crafts feel should permeate the house.Without knowing why, that era of design gives me a feeling similar to being book-wrapt. Something about its rich colors, floral patterns, sharp-edged furniture, stained glass. Maybe it’s the Victorian evocation? The Bloomsbury group? Not sure, but I am trying for some level of integration between my book-wrapt space and the This World focus of the house.

 

 

 

 

This entry was posted in Art and Culture, Fourth Phase, Humanities, Letters, Literature, Memories, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain. Bookmark the permalink.

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