The library is my home away from home. It’s the cozy place I visited so often with my mom when I was a young girl. Holding my hand, she led me to the magical world of make-believe and set me free in it. I still recall the wonder I felt as I beheld the walls of books in the basement of the old Bala Cynwyd Library. So many choices, such endless possibilities--I was transported and still am today. The second I enter a library, a peaceful feeling comes over me. The noise and pressures of the world recede. My breathing relaxes; I’m calmed.
Wandering in alleys of books, I’m excited to spot dear old friends and favorites: Hemingway, Alcott, Austen, Flaubert, among others. Towering over me in 822 is the one I still bow down to--Shakespeare. The sight of past loves, enduring loves awakens in me other happy childhood memories--of sitting in the living room on winter Sundays with my family, a fire burning in the fireplace, classical music playing on the stereo, all of us reading silently to ourselves, contented.
So today when I enter a library, I am welcomed back, the prodigal daughter returned. The smiling, helpful librarians, the worlds of knowledge and adventure bound between covers, the easily navigable web catalogue, are all waiting for me. Like my childhood bedroom, everything is waiting for me, just as I left it. I’m home.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
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