Bookshelves in the spare bedroom

My wife is gone this weekend, so this is my chance. I see her absence as a golden opportunity to assert myself, to get my manhood back, to demonstrate how I am still ruler of the roost.

She left for Denver on Thursday, so while she's gone I will install white, tasteful, unobtrusive book shelves in our guest bedroom and rescue almost 100 books from our garage.

Their exile to the outbuilding on our compound (that sounds so much better than our detached garage) came three years ago when the missus decided that our spare bedroom should be just that; a bedroom for visiting grandchildren. That meant my office and its books had to go.

I admit her argument was a strong one (that I had had that room to myself for 20 years). And since I am a reasonable man, I agreed to sacrifice some of my books.

I became a minor book collector many years ago. The event that pushed me into the mega-collector category was the closing of Holy Child High School, just east of Victory Memorial Hospital (now Vista East) on Sheridan Road in Waukegan. The nuns sold off or gave away most of their books, and when I heard about it, I was there.

Not only did I come away with dozens of books, I also got a gargantuan bookcase, fully assembled. I don't remember how I got that monster home, but I did.

When we forced some of our man-boys out of the chaos they called a bedroom in our basement and then out of our house, it gave me room for more books. Unfortunately, books suffer mildew in a basement, so after a few more of the horde got out, I moved my books into that bedroom.

Before that time and before my major acquisition, most of my books were on shelves in our dining room.

For about three years now, our outbuilding has been home for about 250 volumes. Mildew is not a problem out there, but it is inconvenient, especially in the winter months, to get a book I want to look into.

I'm either going to buy the shelving already cut and painted at Home Depot, or buy raw lumber and paint and assemble it. In my mind, I should have the whole project finished when my queen lands at O'Hare on Sunday.

That phrase "in my mind" is what always gets me in trouble. My projects always go quickly in my mind, but in reality they don't.

I always have to make more than one trip in my little Toyota Camry, which is not ideal for hauling lumber. I have to put the back seat down, load the lumber through the trunk and rest it on the passenger side of the dashboard.

Such exertion usually induces a nap, which takes time away from any project.

Yesterday my brother, an expert who knows how women feel, think and react, cautioned me against doing this project while my wife is away.

Maybe I'll just wash the dishes.