It has been years since I've been a library patron. I had a friend who had a friend who worked in a library, and she said to my friend, "You'd be amazed at how dirty library books are." That did it for me; over the next few weeks, my library visits dwindled to nothing. I didn't want a bunch of filthy, possibly germ-ridden, books in my home, let alone in bed with me. I had options, of course, none of which included paying for my reading material; I could not afford that luxury twenty-some years ago. I thought about wearing gloves and a mask while handling library books, but decided that could be problematic if I were in public or wanted to eat and read in the privacy of my own home. I must have borrowed from friends or gone without and spent my free hours knitting instead. As much as I love to read, when push came to shove, I wanted yarn more than I wanted books.
Years later, married again and with a better-paying job, I bought novels, self-help, and spiritual books. I felt pretty flush when both my husband and I were working, and the first things I wanted were books of my own. I had to make up for lost time, after all. My shelf space expanded, and I kept buying.
There is a negative side to greed, but when you are spending money on something you think you have to have, you aren't thinking about the negatives. The last 5 years, I've given more books away than you can shake a stick at. Books weigh a ton; and when you are moving all over the country and back again, you want to lighten your load considerably, especially when moving rates are based on weight. Besides, as one grows older, one's interests change; certain books are no longer relevant to our lives. In the end, charities benefit; I have less to pack; someone re-buys my books and enjoys a good read; and we're all happy.
Now that we're retired, living on a fixed income, and trying to live a 'less-is-more' lifestyle, it's back to the library. So many books, so little time! Fortunately, the books I've checked out are not that old, so they haven't had a chance to get really grimy. On the other hand, one book was relatively new, yet already had an orange-yellow stain (sweet potato?) on one page and coffee stains on a couple others. The novel is Someone Knows My Name, by Lawrence Hill....a marvelous story that captured my attention the whole time it was in my hands. The moment I turned the page to see colored smears from whatever my fellow reader ate, I felt a kinship with him/her. I was not repulsed, only amused (I was munching on something at the time). I shudder to think what Hill's book will look like after a few of us are done reading while we eat (better than reading a public library book while sitting in the bathroom -- but that's just my opinion).
Being at the library is like wandering inside a cloud-lined cocoon; it's a different world, one that I have missed. Books collected over time speak to a town's history and reading choices of the people in it. The library takes me back to a sweeter period of my life, something a bookstore cannot do. I remember when, as a grade school student, I spent hours in the big old library in Erie. Now, the books reside in a modern building; there is no old-book smell or architectural charm. I went into the new library a couple times after we moved back, only to exit as quickly as I could. I couldn't feel the spirit of the little girl who lived and breathed books, communed with Edgar Allen Poe, and held in her hands the same volumes her ancestors held.
A library is a reader's paradise filled with brilliant writers here and gone, incredible stories classic and new, and knowledge about everything under the sun. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the excitement of entering a library, I don't pay attention to what my body is doing. The other day, I was returning a couple books and picking up one I had requested to be put on hold. While standing at the counter, I had to take off my clip-on sunglasses so I could find my library card inside the dark interior of my very large handbag. When I finished my business with the librarian, I decided to head for the stacks. I usually visit the novels first, and then the craft and cooking sections. But first, I was careful to put my sunglasses in an outside pocket of my purse. I'm always losing them, and lately, have made a concerted effort to tuck them safely away the minute I take them off.
Years later, married again and with a better-paying job, I bought novels, self-help, and spiritual books. I felt pretty flush when both my husband and I were working, and the first things I wanted were books of my own. I had to make up for lost time, after all. My shelf space expanded, and I kept buying.
There is a negative side to greed, but when you are spending money on something you think you have to have, you aren't thinking about the negatives. The last 5 years, I've given more books away than you can shake a stick at. Books weigh a ton; and when you are moving all over the country and back again, you want to lighten your load considerably, especially when moving rates are based on weight. Besides, as one grows older, one's interests change; certain books are no longer relevant to our lives. In the end, charities benefit; I have less to pack; someone re-buys my books and enjoys a good read; and we're all happy.
Now that we're retired, living on a fixed income, and trying to live a 'less-is-more' lifestyle, it's back to the library. So many books, so little time! Fortunately, the books I've checked out are not that old, so they haven't had a chance to get really grimy. On the other hand, one book was relatively new, yet already had an orange-yellow stain (sweet potato?) on one page and coffee stains on a couple others. The novel is Someone Knows My Name, by Lawrence Hill....a marvelous story that captured my attention the whole time it was in my hands. The moment I turned the page to see colored smears from whatever my fellow reader ate, I felt a kinship with him/her. I was not repulsed, only amused (I was munching on something at the time). I shudder to think what Hill's book will look like after a few of us are done reading while we eat (better than reading a public library book while sitting in the bathroom -- but that's just my opinion).
Being at the library is like wandering inside a cloud-lined cocoon; it's a different world, one that I have missed. Books collected over time speak to a town's history and reading choices of the people in it. The library takes me back to a sweeter period of my life, something a bookstore cannot do. I remember when, as a grade school student, I spent hours in the big old library in Erie. Now, the books reside in a modern building; there is no old-book smell or architectural charm. I went into the new library a couple times after we moved back, only to exit as quickly as I could. I couldn't feel the spirit of the little girl who lived and breathed books, communed with Edgar Allen Poe, and held in her hands the same volumes her ancestors held.
A library is a reader's paradise filled with brilliant writers here and gone, incredible stories classic and new, and knowledge about everything under the sun. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the excitement of entering a library, I don't pay attention to what my body is doing. The other day, I was returning a couple books and picking up one I had requested to be put on hold. While standing at the counter, I had to take off my clip-on sunglasses so I could find my library card inside the dark interior of my very large handbag. When I finished my business with the librarian, I decided to head for the stacks. I usually visit the novels first, and then the craft and cooking sections. But first, I was careful to put my sunglasses in an outside pocket of my purse. I'm always losing them, and lately, have made a concerted effort to tuck them safely away the minute I take them off.
When I finished browsing, I headed for the door and reached for my clip-ons. They weren't where I thought I had put them. I dug through my purse and when nothing turned up, I went to my first stop to see if I had only dreamed I put them away. They were not on the counter and the librarian said no one had turned them in. I retraced my steps through the stacks and eventually to a table where I emptied my purse. I handled everything at least twice, to make sure my clip-ons glasses didn't slip between notepads or my checkbook pages. I came up empty-handed.
These are my lucky sunglasses; I've lost them dozens of times in the course of 3 years, only to find them right where I left them. I refused to say they were lost again; still, I decided right then and there to go to Walgreens before heading home, so I could buy another pair. I didn't want to admit to my husband that I had lost them one last time, and he wouldn't know old ones from new ones. In any case, it wouldn't hurt to have a back-up pair.
Once in the car, and still determined, I furiously dumped all the contents out onto the passenger seat; they had to be there because they weren't anywhere else! I couldn't believe it. I stashed all the stuff (big bag, big stash) back into my purse, and with my jaw clenched all the way, went back into the library to start the process over again. One more dump on a table (a different one, just in case that would change my luck) and nothing. How on earth could I lose those things? I'd had them in my hand only 30 minutes ago! I gave the librarian my name and phone number, and she assured me they'd call if my clip-ons showed up. I walked back to the car in gale force winds (I had to hold on to a tree branch at one point to keep from getting swept down the sidewalk), cursing my carelessness and searching my surroundings -- sidewalk, bushes, pavement around the car, floor of the car. I wondered how I could have scoured every inch of where I had been, yet no glasses. They disappeared into thin air.
Picturing Walgreens and their huge wall of concealers, foundations, blushes, mascaras, and eye shadows, (a consolation for having to make a quick detour), I got into the car one last time. As I was getting situated in my seat, I heard a familiar sound. I knew that sound; it was the sound of the tiny coiled spring mechanism that gives stretch to clip-on lenses!
In the process of putting on my seat belt, I lifted my left arm to see if I was correct, and there they were -- my sunglasses hooked on a stitch of my hand-knit sweater and hanging by one clip. They must have been sticking up out of the outside pocket of my bag and got caught when I threw it over my left shoulder on my way to the stacks. They went everywhere I went; they were with me the whole time. If I were into anthropomorphizing inanimate objects, I would think they had a great time watching me look for them, snickering as I searched like a wild woman.
So, what did I learn from all this? I learned several things: (1) Stay focused and slow down; (2) appreciate avid readers who have taken out the garbage just before settling down to read, have cut a finger while trying to read and chop veggies at the same time, have suffered a cold and blown their nose all over a book, or have eaten a 6-course meal while reading the very book I'm about to bring home; (3) donate over-sized handbags to charity; (4) wash my hands now and then when handling library books; and (5) do some research on all the germs that have killed library patrons in the past. It's the least I can do, just in case.
(c) Sally Z McBain