Sunday, November 16, 2008

Tourist books from travel 

I'm at home. Kind of. I'm in A home. No, that's not right. The conjures images of nightgowns and ill containers filled with all the colors of the rainbow.

I grew up moving from house to house. The house I'm in now is the house I lived in for 2 years before it caught fire. A year later, all was fixed, but I was already in college. I saw the (renovated) house only on the holidays. And after college, I got my own apartment.

I'm in what was (is?) the kids' study. There is a long white panel desk that stretches 15 feet, maybe 2/3 the length of this (basement) room. The desk has two chairs and places for two computers, a private set of drawers on each end, and a common set in the middle (for printer paper, etc.). I never studied down here. I studied in my room. But this room also functioned as the family library.

My parents have two houses now, and many books have traveled to the other house. I've long since taken "my" books from here. But my mom said that no one looks at these anymore. So I'm thinking of taking more.

Mostly I want the tourist photo books we bought when traveling. Partly for the memories, partly because I really want to have a record of what Japan looked like in 1987 and so forth.

I haven't seen many of these SINCE my family bought them - which means 1987 and thereabouts.

You can never step in the same river twice, because you aren't the same person and it isn't the same river. Cities change. My reading ability changes. And my perspective on

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