I started collecting children's books again. I gave away forty or fifty to a dad here in Ithaca who later sent me a sweet photo of his two daughters enjoying them, all spread out like some great ripe crop of goodness to feast on. These ones have a bit of a darker side to them, and some of them are by authors whose adult fiction writing I've enjoyed, like Aldous Huxley and Sylvia Plath. One is by Mark Twain. I've never (I don't recall) read anything by him yet. It's probably not wise to be collecting books to move, but I've never accused myself of being wise, and Ethan and I are enjoying them, so...what's another box?!
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