I haven’t wandered among the stacks at the library for years. I used to love browsing through the titles, reading the book jackets, looking at covers. I might even take a book off the shelf and start reading a chapter. When I moved to a new town, I never did find a new church (much to my mother’s dismay), but I got my new library card in the first week. There was a beautiful adult fiction section, small but comfortable. Large French door windows looked out into a courtyard, creating a light, airy room for reading.
I still go to the library. (And I now go to church, in case you were wondering.) I spend most of my library time in the short stacks with Clifford the Big Red Dog. When I do make it up to the fiction section, I rush to grab a book with my impatient children in tow. It seems like my days of gazing leisurely looking at book spines are over. Until our last visit.
After Lily and Emmy had picked out their books, we went up to find a book that’s been on my “to-read” list for a while. Lily and Emmy sat down on a comfy couch, and I headed to the tall shelves looking for my book.
For the first time in years, I didn’t hear a peep from Lily and Emmy. When I peered around the corner of the bookshelf, they were engrossed in their own books.
In this age of e-books and Amazon, iTouches and laptops, I’m glad they love the library as much as I do.