I do believe my bookcase takes top honors for most cluttered so far. (I'd be curious to see if anybody can beat it for clutter.)
Anyway, this theme has been interesting because in reviewing the images I took of the bookshelf I discovered I have
two copies of Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry, and also discovered I still have "Flight" by Chris Kraft, a book I had long thought lost or lent to some non-returning Philistine.
The bookcase is an old one from Scotland. I bid on it at an auction in Paisley a few years back. Won it--Hooray!
. Then the wee man inside my brain said to me,..."How ye gonnae get it back tae Calafoarnia?"[doh] The thrill of the chase had obscured all reason and the intoxication of my victory was thereupon superseded by an unwelcome sobriety, largely cloaked in a veil of foreboding since I had but two days left in my holiday.
I was blessed with a stroke of luck, however, and also the kindly intervention of an eccentric American woman who, it turned out, had observed me from afar throughout the day and had wrongly assumed that I was a countryman of her's based, she revealed, on the normally quite infallible evidence of the design of my shoes. She was mildly shaken to realize upon hearing the glottal stops punctuating my lowland accent that her shoe theory had been, well,...shall we say, "trampled underfoot?" Suffice to say the bookcase arrived at my front door in Huntington Beach some two months later.
bookcase by
brian-moore, on Flickr
Susan tells me we also have a Nathan Baillie dictionary, from 1741. Never heard of it myself, until you mentioned it. Apparently it contains more rude words than Johnson's more famous dictionary 
