PUBLIC LIBRARIES: THEY DON'T CALL THEM "PUBLIC" FOR NOTHING

When I have extra time on my hands, I find myself in public libraries.  Occasionally, the library is new to me, but most of the time we become fast friends very quickly.  When I walk into a library, there is a feeling of welcoming me home.  Familiar scents, sights and sounds greet me, even before I make it to the first book shelf.  Libraries have unique qualities that I could recognize with my eyes closed. 

There's the smell of printed paper,  whether it's the daily newspapers, the crisp magazines in their plastic protective cases or the books waiting to be explored.  No matter what brand, e-readers will never be able to replicate that "new book" smell. 

Running my finger over a page and experiencing the texture of the paper brings the book to life for me.  Some books have pages made of such rough paper that the words almost cut into the surface; while on the other end there are the books with the glossy pages and print to match.  Silky pages bring to mind the water and all that it hides beneath the surface.  My daughter used to only like the "soft" books, as she called them.  Her little fingers would kiss the pages as I read to her.  I got that love of texture.

People who have joined the biblio-lover club bring their own unique qualities to the library experience.  Some people groom themselves daily and come to the library with the freshly-washed scent of clean clothes and bodies; while on the other hand there are people who have already put in a full day's labor and come to the library before finding their showers.  Each person, whether dressed in business casual, beach wear, tube tops and tiaras is welcomed.  Everyone is greeted with a smile and helpful attitude by the people who work in the library.

Excited toddlers and their adult partners find their way to the glass-enclosed activity center and music starts for "mommy and me" time.  Strains of "Hot Potato" seep into the rest of the library which makes me watch the precious little ones following the librarian, who is leading the activity.  In our busy world, it is sweet to see the magic in the simple actions of following the leader in a learning activity. 

Electronic sounds serve as a background to all the workings of the library.  There are books being checked out; anti-theft electronic signals are deactivated with a muted thump; computer keyboards are clicking out hidden messages; printers are spitting out the requested pages nearby; conversations are kept low so as not to disturb other people; phone ringers are cancelled quickly; and overflows from earphones sometimes seep out to the neighbor. 

By the late afternoon, the patrons have changed.  In come the after-schoolers.  Older elementary students scramble to find the perfect book, the computer site with all the fun games or a quiet spot to challenge a friend to a board game.  Some high school students find a corner to help each other with class assignments; while at the same time sitting closer than school personnel would allow.

In the library, there is a feeling of ease; no one is in a hurry; life slows down and people can catch their breath.  It's as if when I enter the library there is a promise of more appreciation for all that is good in the world.  Words are powerful and when I immerse myself in an environment which celebrates them I feel hopeful, relaxed and energized.

WARNING: MIXING GENRES MAY CAUSE CONFUSION

There is a strangeness going on within my mind at this point and some of the blame lies with my illness and the medicine to treat it. However, I believe that part of ricocheting thoughts have been caused by immersing myself in three completely different types of books at the same time. For example, when I finally turned off the bedside light last night, my mind continued to think in the Southern twang of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Scenes from that book danced across my closed eyelids and revived my memories and those stories my mom had shared of her life during the Great Depression. Reading about that time and the views held by people reminded me of some snippets of stories told by my sweet mom.

When she was a young girl (in the "roaring twenties") her large family lived in a huge house that had once been grand, but at this point was in need of more repair than was possible with her Pa's meager pay as a steam shovel operator. Her mother was from the old country (Germany) and kept her large family fed and clothed with whatever money Pa shared. Gardens were cultivated for vegetables, fruit trees were harvested, and chickens were raised for eggs and meat. Nothing was wasted, but everything was shared with whomever was more in need. Hard to imagine anyone more in need than a family with eleven children, but they somehow found their way to the doorstep of the large farm house.

Every spring for many years, traveling gypsies would come to ask permission to set up their wagons and camp in the apple orchard. In the evenings my mom and her sisters would go down there and sometimes sit up in the apple tree to sing songs in German. I can see these little white-headed girls sitting on the branch, with their saggy stockings, hand-me-down clean little dresses, and sparkling eyes sweetly singing with their pure voices. Below would be the rag-tag group of dark, swarthy families and their own children who accepted this welcome by a family who didn't know they were poor. If this would even be suggested in these times, oh, my would there be protests of "DANGER" "THEY CAN'T BE TRUSTED" or "THEY DON'T LOOK LIKE US, SO MAKE THEM GO AWAY." Luckily for my mom and her sisters, their outlook was one of adventure, acceptance and friendship.

There are other stories of my mom her relationships with people who looked different than her and at some other time, in another blog, I will share them. These stories speak volumes about the time in which my mother learned to be the person she was.

When my attention shifts to another book that I am exploring, then I am taken to a Southern college and the experiences of a naive girl who has made a few life changing mistakes. Tom Wolfe is the writer and he has a very colorful way of looking at the world. His language is not for the delicate, as he using the language of today's average college "jock". He does devout an entire section to the explanation of all the ways that the f-bomb can be and will be used. I know that I have diagrammed many a sentence in my day, and this section made for some interesting thought. More thought than the people who use this word actually give it, though.

This Tom Wolfe book reminds me of how truly unprepared I was to be in college and all the experiences which took over my being. I began college as a sweet, innocent, hopeful seventeen year old and finished as a wiser, tarnished, sadder, young adult. Would I change anything that happened to me at college? Probably not, for those experiences made me who I am today. On the other hand, if I had been treated kinder, gentler and nicer by the ones who tarnished me, one can only wonder who I would now. We will never know, since that part of my past is over and I have forgiven those who were so unkind to me. Forgiven, but not forgotten.

Since I am ready to return the murder mystery series to the library, I will drop them off outside and not be tempted to pick up another string of novels. Trimming down my diverse reading selections at this point is necessary, as I have found myself thinking in Bayou French (Ya-Ya) and trying to diagram the uses of the F-bomb. While I try to keep from coughing up a lung and push the fluids the distractions of too much input is slowing my recovery. Well, maybe not entirely, but my mind is really on overload at this point, so sleep is not coming as quickly as it should.

I must get back to the YA-YA's story, so until next time.

YA-YA SISTERHOOD AND MURDER MYSTERIES

Being the reader that I am, I sometimes read faster than my favorite authors can write, which leads me on a quest to find another author who can provide my daily requirement of reading pleasure.

Some years back, I enjoyed a movie so when I spotted the book at a book sale, I decided that I might want to read the original story. Rather than starting with the first book in the series, however, I began my journey with the last one. After all, I already knew how it all ended, so I wanted to see the beginning. Sound confusing? Well, you'd have to read the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood to understand. In the third book, the reader is taken on a journey back to the time before there was even a Ya-Ya; even before there was a wonderful friendship of these four women. Now, I am in the middle of the first book and my understanding of the characters is much deeper and richer thanks to my unorthodox reading method.

So far, I have had my personal memories tingled, my laughter jiggled, and my curiosity teased. Most nights my drooping eyelids betray my need to read more of the adventures captured by this wonderful author. Honestly, I don't know if men would understood the friendship aspects described in this book; they probably would go to a place that would soil the intention of the author. You would enjoy these books, if you have experienced friendships that have seen your "dark" sides and still hold you close to their hearts. True friends don't just love you when your makeup is perfect, your words sing, and your smile is flawless; they love you with warts and all. That's what is so magical about true friends; they support you, they celebrate you and yet they keep you true to yourself. Rebecca Wells is the conductor of the stories that have charmed my heart and soothed my fevered brow.

Not too long ago I came across a cute looking book that had two basset dogs on the front and the catchy title was Roll Over and Play Dead. What the heck, I plopped down my fifty cents and took the book home. It was a fun read and made me want to explore the writings of this author even more. I have just finished her last book, "Mummy Dearest" and highly recommend her writings if you like murder mysteries with humor, not too much gore and characters who are developed throughout the years. Joan Hess is the author and you can easily find her books at your local library.

As I take my medication and continue on my path of healing, I have my two new friends (see above authors) to accompany me on my journey to better health. They are new to me, but I wanted to share their words with you all and hope that you might find some pleasure in their work.

Books: A Sensual Experience

I've written about this long-lasting love affair I've had with the written word, before, but as is often the case I've remembered other things I thought I'd share.

When I was growing up, public library visits were frequent and I was left to indulge any flavor of books my hunger desired. For awhile I read every Dr. Seuss book that I could find. My mom was always practical and she did try to persuade me to read more mature books, but once I showed her that beyond the silly pictures were words whose meanings I had to decipher, she backed off. I was only in the third grade and I did stumble over the words, but when I sat cross-legged on my bed reading aloud, my room filled with palatable flavors of wonder.

Biographies intrigued me, as I wondered how someone would live a life worthy of being recording in such detail. Again, my mother brought me back down and explained that even when there was dialogue, it sometimes was embellished by the writer. That helped me relax, because I sure didn't want to remember every conversation I had to give to the author of my biography. Helen Keller was my favorite biography. That should have been a clue to how my life would take a dramatic turn later on.

Books were honored in our house. No dog eared pages, allowed. Sign your name neatly on the card for the librarian. Return the books on time. Read every day, even if just a little bit.

Now, people are giving up on the feel of the paper as it caresses the fingers turning the pages. Smelling the aroma of a freshly bought book or the musty aroma of the second-hand book that had escaped from your house years earlier. Those reminders of how precious books are, quickly are fading like yesterday's cut flowers. In spite of technology, we must contain to enjoy the experience of paper, thoughts, and ink. Books are treasures for young and old; for rich and poor alike; for city folks to country bumpkins.

Books are the great equalizer. Sit down with someone who loves books and all barriers disappear.

We need books.

We desire books.