Sunday Musings: Back to the Library
I did it. I finally did it. I went to the library and renewed my library card after months of delinquency. I’m ashamed really. How could I let my library card expire? For shame indeed. Not that I haven’t visited lately. Our local library has many great programs for kids and my seven-year-old has been participating in the science activities that teach her about things like clouds and magnets. She doesn’t need me during these sessions, so I usually hang out reading a book–but not one I’ve actually borrowed from the library. I also moved recently and purged several books with a donation to the library’s box.
But I haven’t been to the library to borrow any books for a long time. This makes me sad because libraries and the whole process of borrowing books is such a sacred ritual. My daughters have library cards and they take out books, but it’s been so long since I have participated in this ritual. I missed it. So when I went to the library to renew my card, I took the time to walk the aisles. To slowly peruse the shelves and check out what was new and what the librarians were promoting as their favourite reads. To smell that wonderful scent of paper with words and images and hearts and souls burned into each page.
I have a large collection of digital and audiobooks, but there will always be something special about real books. Which is why my own bookshelf is such a personal treasure.
We recently moved into a new house and my pride and joy is my new library office. My bookshelf is loaded with books, magazines, and my obsessive Funko Pop! collection. There’s not enough room for it all, so the next step is the design and building of another set of shelves that will go behind my desk. It’s not exactly my dream library, because obviously, in my dream library, I’d be able to do this:
But it’s pretty damn close.
As for the public library, I’ve dived back into the borrowing process, though I’d focused mostly on audiobooks for the moment. I have a few books on hold though and I eagerly await that email or phone call to let me know I can come in and pick them up. I’ll hop into the car and rush over and smile at the librarian as she hands over my prize. I might rush back to the house to read it, or I might just hang out at the library a little longer, cozying up beside that creepy statue of an elderly man sitting in a chair, reading a book of his own.