Books. I hate them and love them at the same time. I have way too many of them. So many that I have to give up furniture and tchotchkes (don't you just love that word?) to make room for the books. Books and big dogs rule my life. I am constantly walking over a big dog or knocking over a big pile of books.

I wouldn't mind the books so much if I could ever find one I wanted when I wanted it. Some of my most often sought after books are now in boxes because of house renovations last year...do I dare unpack them when they are all nice and neat in new Staples packing boxes? Or do I continue to wish I could find my Italian dictionary, my mother's journals, my pastel painting books, my Modern English Dictionary?