Bookshelf. Flickr/Jep I stare at the overstuffed, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the bedroom. This used to be my mother’s bedroom. One wall is lined with a custom-built shelf she specifically requested when we were constructing this house all those years ago. Now, some of the shelves bow slightly under the weight of two tightly packed rows of books. I’ve been contemplating what to do with them. Perhaps I’ll donate them someday, but first, I feel compelled to catalog the collection. It’s a daunting task, not just because of the sheer volume, but because t…