How I ♥ public libraries,
especially the big, downtown ones like Columbia ’s largely glass structure on Assembly Street .
There are trees growing inside it, planted at the
lower level where the kids’ stuff is and growing
up through the main level. Very cool. The
kids’ section is called “The Wild Place for Children;” huge reproductions of the
characters from beloved Maurice Sendak’s beloved book adorn the
walls.
And oh, the
people you see! Grand diversity of cultures and personalities. Cheerful,
competent staff eager to help. Parents conscientiously and gladly guiding the ir
children into literature and the arts.
And, for several decades now, lots
of people in transition, living on the street,
needing a place to be through heat, hail, and cold. They use resources to
search for jobs and houses, etc. Uniformed security guards have become standard
along with that socioeconomic development. I wonder at the
change in the mission of libraries to include
this population, many of whom are living on sharp edges of mental illness,
poverty, and who-knows-what. Quite the
challenge, but I appreciate what seems to be an effective effort to accommodate
those in need and consider my taxes well-spent in that regard.
I stopped by to get materials for
summer learning with a student I tutor, and was, once again, pulled forward by
techno-progress. Expecting to check out compact disks of educational games and
programs, the staff provided instead a list of websites on the ir website. Of course. So much
easier. kahnacademy.com and coolmath.com, here we come!
Once upon a time circa 1983, I had
a techno-progress moment in my public library in Lionville PA that nearly sent
me under. The card catalog had been replaced with an online catalog. From one
week to the next that had happened! I was
incredulous, disoriented. That was during my full-time mothe ring
stint, and I’d never done anything with a computer. I stood in line waiting for
a terminal, blinking back tears and thinking that if I could just pull out a
drawer from the card catalog I’d be checking
out my book by now. Wow. That was lots of history ago, wasn’t it?
My library in Albany
GA loaned out artwork. There was a gallery
of beautifully framed paintings in the
basement, over a hundred of them, and my 4-year-old would select one and enjoy it hanging in her room for the
three weeks until it was due back. Degas’s ballerinas I particularly remember.
I only censored her choice once—a vivid, large, close-up oil of one boxer punching
anothe r in the
head. Don’t you think I was right? There was blood, for goodness sake.
One of the
best aspects of visiting the library now—I
just have to say this—is that the three books
I have written are on the shelves. All three
were checked out this time, and that’s the way
I like it. But the re’s also great pleasure in
seeing the m in the
collection, waiting for a reader. They’re next to Karin Fossum. She’s a Norwegian mystery writer,
pretty good, I think—and it’s very possible that we’re related.
Do you still go to
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