Libraries

Every Thursday night my mother took me to the local library.  It was never stated but intrinsically understood that I could check out as many books as I liked.  Most times, the stack was so tall I could barely see over the top while carrying to the car.  I wasn’t greedy or flippant about selecting that many books I simply loved books, the smell of them, the weight of them, the thrill of reading the first few pages as they grabbed your attention.

In winter it was dark by the time we left the library - as we stopped at each red light on the way home I would try and read by the overhead street lights - our house was no more than 7 minutes from the library but even then it seemed an eternity. Once home I immediately took my treasures up to my room, spread them on my bed and began my journeys - to King Arthur's time, to the 1940's, to present day adventures.

My mother was the first librarian at the Catholic grade school I attended. I loved helping her decorate the wall displays for the change of the seasons and holidays. Or create a special display highlighting a series of books.

When I was fourteen I made the difficult decision to live with my Dad and stepmother for a year away from my mom and three brothers. The school I attended was next to a historic building which housed the library. This squat, red-brick colonial building with mahogany wood floors and deep-set wide white alcove windows running from the floor to the ceiling was my refuge. Although we were not allowed to leave school during school hours I walked out the back door every day - lunch bag in one hand (cheese sandwich, Fritos, Little Debbie chocolate roll) and a book in the other. 

My reading space was on the 2^nd floor, the furthest corner from prying eyes. I sat on the floor by the window, my back propped up against the wall to eat and read. For a painfully shy girl this library was my respite, an hour each day where I could escape to another world.

That was also the year, I chose to work in the school library as my extra credit activity, thriving on the sense of order when filing stacks of books away. When all was done I could sit out in the courtyard and read. Now-a-days I spend 5 days a week in the quiet of libraries or bookstores, writing or working on conservation projects.

Last weekend I went to New York City, staying at The Library Hotel on 41^st Street and Madison - one block down from the NYC Library. Ahhhh, sheer heaven. At the entrance to the NYC library (in Astor Hall) inscribed on the wall is: "The city of New York has erected this building to be maintained forever as a free library for the use of the people" 

What greater gift could the wealthy have had endowed to any city? None.