The energy came from somewhere, I don’t know where, but I decided to use it. The bookshelves have needed weeding and rearranging. The altar needed refreshing. So on Friday evening, I plugged in the speaker close to my workspace (tuned to a 1980s new wave deep cuts satellite radio station), turned all the lamps and lights on, and proceeded to empty out the bookcases.

I have three large bookcases, and another case that’s as tall and half the width. Every single book was removed. Every shelf was wiped free of dust and other matter with a rag and a bottle of Florida water. Several new piles—to give away, to sell—were created on the coffee table next to my partner, who was napping on the couch under one of the lamps while I worked. I rearranged my collection and brought a more relevant classification system to the shelves. Every piece of the altars that take up two of the smaller shelves was removed, refreshed. The shelves that are on eye-level next the chair I read and write in, as I’m doing now, are now filled with the exact books that are currently my most important reference points, talismans, and currently reading. My partner eventually woke up and offered to help. She moved piles of the literary journals and books I’ve previously been published in, that had taken up one shelf, out to my office, where I’ll put them in cupboards. She went through some of the small trade paperbacks that are mostly from her college years, and contributed to the many piles on the coffee table.

When we looked at the work that had been done, the new configuration of books, I realized only she and I would know that I had spent three hours on this project. It was my invisible project, finished, and I can sit here and admire it, and no one else would notice the difference.

The next day, my partner did an invisible project of her own. For years, the underside of one of our sofas has been falling apart. The fine black netting that was underneath became, for one of our cats, a delicacy. I’d find it in her vomit later. If you ever tried to pick up the offending netting from the floor, it would disintegrate on your fingers. My partner cleared the room of furniture that might get in the way, upended the two pieces of the sofa, removed all the netting, and thoroughly vacuumed the dust it created. A couple hours later, the room was returned to its original arrangement.

It was like nothing had happened. But we knew.

my books are waiting to be read by you

Thank you for reading Mommy’s El Camino.

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