I grew up in the tiniest of tiny towns you can imagine. And we had the tiniest of public libraries in existence. Really, it wasn’t actually a library but just a corner of the town hall building. And the secretary who answered the phones there (and what the hell else she did I have no idea) just took out the cards and stamped your book and sent you on your way.
I remember feeling like it was Christmas morning every time I got back in the car with a stack of books. That feeling of Newness and Yet to be Discovered. I would always finish them way earlier than my momdriver planned on returning me to the library for more. Which was a letdown. But I’m sure she was spacing out the trips so that I wouldn’t read through the entire city collection in 4 months. Which I could have done.
I went to the library this morning and once again had to choose which items to put back on the shelf because I was already maxed out at my limit. I go about once every 5 days. Thank God it’s only 5 minutes from my house. I so wish I could walk to it. My next house will be within walking distance of a public library.
I am pretty sure I’ve no idea where they keep the adult books at this library. Isn’t that funny? Granted, I do read a lot of kiddy lit. But also, the adult books I read are always waiting for me on the hold shelf, because I worked some internet magic and made it so. What little browsing I do at the library is in the children’s section.
I used to fantasize about getting snowed in at a library. Like stuck there for a week with food and water, of course. But no company. Just books.
Makes me giddy just thinking about it.