Today I walked to the library and got my first library card. My first library card as an adult, that is. I’ve had a library card for the library in my home town since I was old enough to write my own name, but this is the first time I’ve walked into a library by myself and filled out the paperwork required for a card.
I’d almost forgotten how magical a library is, and how addictive. As soon as I walked in the door, I saw DVDs for several movies I wanted to see this summer, but hadn’t gotten around to while they were still in theaters. I saw a new Agatha Cristie story I’d never read. I saw an acclaimed biography of Lucrezia Borgia. And I knew then that if I didn’t get my library card and check them out immediately, I would find more to read than I had time for.
When I was a kid, my mother took us to the library regularly during the summer. (We didn’t go as often during the school year, because she claimed we’d never get our school work done if we had an entire library of books to distract us. She may have been right.) We checked out stacks and stacks of books and read them voraciously.
I loved the library, even though it wasn’t in the greatest part of town and didn’t have the budget for shelves of new books. I read old science fiction and all of the little-known sequels to “The Wizard of Oz” that I could get my hands on (there’s 20+ of them, if you can believe it). There were some books that I must have checked out four or five times when all was said and done. I’ve always been fond of re-reading.
Since I’m no longer a kid with a seemingly endless summer vacation, I exhibited remarkable self control today and only left with three items. I was tempted to call one of my friends and gush about my new library card and the books I’d found (I know, I’m such a nerd) but I restrained myself. I’m writing a blog post instead 😛