As the years passed, there came a time when my grandfather died and then my
grandmother and all that was in their house went to their two grown children. 
I was an adult living some ways from my parents by then but one day I dropped
by to find those old beloved bookshelves there in my mother's large modern
home full of mid-century furniture and d+¬cor.  And there the antique
bookshelves stayed, a mismatch hidden away in a small bedroom.  But eventually
my father died and my mother moved to the Georgia mountains, taking with her
all that was in her old house including the antique bookshelves.

And so from that day in 1964 till a day in the summer of 2007, the bookshelves
had been part of my life and times, still there in my memories of my
grandparents' house as shadow shapes about to be discovered in a dark living
room.

What changed on a warm Georgia summer day in 2007? I had just finished
building my own home and had taken a break to drive up to the mountains and
visit my mother who - on a whim - said, take whatever you like for your new
house and gestured around her.

Well, there you go. My little story ends with a drive back home from the
mountains with those two bookshelves safely padded and tied down in the bed of
my truck.  Then at last they were carried lovingly by me, shelf by shelf, and
stacked in their new home where to this day they remain, my old dear friends. 
...  Leslie

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