I guess, as a bookish sort I should love libraries. My love of books came from time alone. Having no siblings, my mother decided at an early age that she was not my primary plaything. It left me with time to fill.
My parents read. We didn’t have a TV until 1972 so the long hours in the evenings were filled with classical music from the radio and books. To do my homework, I had to go to the local library which opened between 9.00 a.m. and midday on Saturday mornings.
A short walk through an overgrown median strip led me there. Thinking back, I can still smell the gums and the fragrant tropical grasses. It set me at ease. I looked forward to finding the answers.
A wall of paper and print burped out with each opening of the door and I walked straight to the reference section, the encyclopedias. Initially World Book provided enough detail but I progressed to the Encyclopedia Britannica quite quickly.
The heavy books rested happily on the table in front of me.
Unable to borrow reference material I spent three hours taking hand written notes, later to be paraphrased to the liking of my teachers. The photocopier came a bit late for my secondary education, but I loved it popping the coins in and taking home the copied pages.
I could do it later.
Although I loved reading, the high school English class texts, often bored me; probably rebellion more than impartial appraisal. My interest in magazines began but as a fast reader they only kept me enthralled for a short time.
Lying on the beach baking in the hot sun, books re-emerged, faithful, patient and interesting. At the time, I never imagined I too would write that my book, Schicksal and voice would join so many others. Some time after mid life, I began to write.
I still love to read but now read for the story as an author, examining how the tale was crafted. I love the boundless creativity of my fellow writers who can take a humble evening and turn it into and adventure not previously conceived just by their use of words.
Books with unusual structure and character development captivate me. I admire the authors who make this work producing powerfully written, passionate prose. The library is the home for such a range of tales, real, fantasy, beautiful and ugly.
The recently returned rack, one of my favourites often contains an array of books I would never find on my own. Someone before me may have taken boundless time to unearth a gem, one awaiting my discovery.