An Appreciation For Our Libraries

She's been to the library!

Do Bloggers read other blogs? Of course, they do. I was up early this morning, and while waiting for the paper to be delivered, I skimmed through the emails that had come in overnight. One of the blogs I read is Brevity nonfiction. The title of today's post caught my eye, and I took the time to read it. The Library As Home by Victoria Buitron will give any reader/library user a new appreciation for the ability to pop into the library, check out as many books as you like, and head home for a reading fest. 

Ms. Buitron lived in America for the first fifteen years of her life, then moved back to Ecuador, her parents' home country. There were libraries, but books could not be checked out. The essay goes on to detail the library/book/reading situation in Ecuador. You can read it here. I would suggest that you do so. You'll most likely have a deeper appreciation for your local library. 

As I mentioned earlier, the title of the essay made me stop and read it. I had written a personal essay about reading and libraries several years ago which I titled "My Second Home."It was published in an anthology about reading. Libraries have played a big part in my life during my growing-up years and all the ones that came during adulthood. Because of the positive influence and experience I've had with libraries, I feel immediately 'at home' when I walk into my local library or any other. 

If you have not already read mypersonal essay on libraries, you can do so below. The next time you go to your library, you might say thank you silently as you walk through the door.

My Second Home

by Nancy Julien Kopp

In addition to my regular residence, I have a second home. My mother
introduced this special dwelling to me when I was only six years old.  She held my hand, and we walked several blocks in the warm autumn sunshine, stopping only when we approached a square brick building. Graced by trees and shrubs and a patio-like courtyard, it had a certain elegance and air of importance that I recognized, even at so young an age.

We entered the building and stepped into a cool, quiet atmosphere. The first thing to meet the eye was a large, wrap-around desk that extended across the entryway. A stout woman stood behind the desk, gray hair severely drawn back and caught in a small bun. No make-up adorned her face, and there wasn't a smile there either. I moved instinctively closer to my mother, my hand nestled in hers, until I looked up into the woman's eyes. What I saw made me smile at her. Blue eyes, the shade of cornflowers, sparkled with a smile of their own, softening her otherwise stern appearance. Soon, the smile in her eyes spread to her wide mouth.
 
"We've come to get a library card," my mother announced. The woman had the application card ready in a flash and passed it over to me to sign my name. I proudly printed it for her and slid the card back across the desk. Not only could I sign my name, but I could also read, as well. Dick and Jane and their dog, Spot had shown me the way.

"Alright, Nancy," the woman said as she read from the form, "come with me."

She came around the desk and offered her hand, saying, “I am Miss Maze.” I grasped the hand this corseted woman in the black dress offered. My expectations were great, and I was not to be disappointed, for this kind woman led me to the Children's Department and patiently showed me all the books that stood on shelves like soldiers at attention. She spoke with wonder and awe as she explained the kinds of books that rested before us, making me eager to read every one.

It was a land of enchantment, a ticket to exotic places.  My mother and Miss Maze introduced me that day to the fascinating world of books and libraries, and thus began a love affair that continues to this day. I became a voracious reader and still am.

I was the child whose nose was always in a book. When old enough, I walked to the library alone at least weekly, sometimes more than that. I strolled past the conservatory that was home to a tropical rainforest, then on by a city park, across the railroad tracks and down a cinder path that ran behind the train platform. By the time I reached that cinder path, my pace increased, even though I carried a stack of books. I was in a hurry to reach the riches awaiting me at the library.

The grade school I attended had a separate library, which we could use when we reached fourth grade. I visited it regularly but also continued going to the public library. I felt at home in both places and felt much the same when I moved on to the Oak Park High School library, then one on my college campus.  The libraries provided the necessary information for all the papers I wrote during those years, as well as hours and hours of entertainment, as I read book upon book. The building I had frequented near my home during my growing up years was renamed when my old friend, the librarian, died.  The South Branch became the Adele Maze Branch Library, and every time I saw the plaque bearing her name, I thought of those cornflower blue, smiling eyes, and her kindness to me and other children through the years.  How I wish I could thank her for what she gave to so many.

During the years since I left my home community, I have made a habit of making a visit to the library one of the top priorities whenever moving to a new place. Within the first week, I have fled the packing boxes and sought out what has become a second home to me. Over 54 years of marriage, we have lived in five different towns, and, in all of them, the library has been a sanctuary and a haven.

Now, when I open the big glass door to my local library and walk through the atrium to the book-lined shelves, I feel just like I did when Miss Maze took my hand and led me to the children's books. I am happy and contented, as though loving arms have surrounded me with a great big hug. Best of all, I still feel exciting anticipation of the unknown treasure waiting for me amongst the volumes that line the shelves in my second home.
I am so grateful that I had a mother who led me to one of the greatest treasures in my life, the public library. That same gratefulness includes Adele Maze, the librarian who helped form my love of books and the buildings that hold them.