That horse skirt and a book fetish

I am in the middle of packing my bedroom up so I can move four hours away at the end of next month.
August. August will be a month of changes.
I have been pulling out my boxes of books and deciding what lovelies are coming, and which are staying. It's heart-wrenching. I mean, I have stacks of regency-era romance novels that should probably stay here. And I can only take so many full copies of Keats' poetry. And I have a lot Spanish children's books that I can't even read. The thing is, I love them. I love them all. But if I attempt to weigh my minivan down with every slim little Shakespeare I own, that four hour drive might turn into eight.
But I did just buy a blue Samsonite that I can probably shove six novels into.

This weekend I am taking off for Shiloh Bible Camp up in Washington. I'm packing my backpack full of Beatrix Potter, Ludwig Bemelmans, and P. L. Travers, and I am going to read them all to my little sister.