A Modest Proposal

I love libraries. I think I’ve made that clear in previous posts. I love libraries in general and I love, specifically, those libraries that feel like home to me. I love the East Lansing Public Library, and I love the people who work there: a fantastic staff of children’s librarians who are kind, patient, generous, and funny; several friendly, approachable reference librarians who are smart and curious and helpful; and all of the people who greet me with smiles when I walk in, who help me check-out my selections when I am ready to leave, and who accept my payments for overdue books with grace and diplomacy and never make me feel embarrassed for my irresponsibility.

I don’t, generally, feel too bad about giving money to the library. It goes to a good cause! I’m still getting a tremendous value! (I have, on several occasions, checked out my maximum of 30 books; and librarians have, on several occasions, purchased books they did not have when I requested them.) But sometimes I discover a New Release Book, which can only, legally, be checked out for two weeks. And sometimes two weeks is not long enough with something you love. And sometimes I keep things longer than I am supposed to, and then it becomes rather more like renting books than borrowing books. So it is, or so it will soon be, with John McPhee’s Silk Parachute. I’m a huge McPhee fan. I own at least one copy of most of his books, and in some cases I have duplicates so I can loan them out without fear. When I saw Silk Parachute on the New Release Shelf I had to have it, which is to say I had to borrow it, which is to say I am now renting it. It is overdue, and I really need to get it turned in and settle up my account. But this time I’m battling a new sort of agitation and guilt. By borrowing (renting) this book from the library, I’ve had a chance to read it and am now less inclined to purchase it. When I pay my fines, I will be paying, in part, for the pleasure of reading the book, and I feel as though some of that should go to the author. I know: the library purchased his book. They can collect the overdue fines. BUT… shouldn’t authors of Books Too Good to Return on Time get a cut too? What a fantastic poster that would make: 20 Percent Of All Overdue Fines Go Directly To The Author! It could add up…

Gardens of America

We are getting snow, and will get more. It's lovely and I'm glad it's here and glad more is coming, and yet the allure of humidity is strong. I checked this book out of the library and have spent cold afternoons staring intently at the pictures, trying to enter a verdant world. Now it's time to return the book and I'm having a hard time parting company. It's full of quiet pools and terraced gardens and crushed gravel paths and flagged walks and brick walls and fountains and courtyards and clipped ivy and lilacs and camellias and Japanese pavilions and wrought iron gates and statues and secrets. Oh thank you, East Lansing Public Library.

Aha!

I buy old copies of the The New Yorker at the library for 25 cents. This brings me great pleasure -- more satisfaction, in fact, than finding an old beer can (10 cents here in Michigan) on a walk in the woods. Some of the pleasure comes from the irregularity of it. I don't always know if I'll find a copy in the stack. Last week, I found the July 28 (2008!) issue, which included an article by Jonah Lehrer about what happens inside the brain when people have an insight, and why good ideas come to us when they do. What he learned from two cognitive neuroscientists, Mark Jung-Beeman at Northwestern University and John Kounios at Drexel University, is consistent with what many writers know: if you're waiting for an epiphany, you need to let your mind wander.

Here is a summary from the article: "The insight process, as sketched by Jung-Beeman and Kounios, is a delicate mental balancing act. At first, the brain lavishes the scarce resource of attention on a single problem. But, once the brain is sufficiently focussed, the cortex needs to relax in order to seek out the more remote assocation in the right hemisphere, which will provide the insight....As Jung-Beeman and Kounios see it, the insight process is an act of cognitive deliberation -- the brain must be focused on the task at hand -- transformed by accidental, serendipitous connections. We must concentrate on letting the mind wander."

Here is the article.

The Mackinac Island Public Library

Library Crimes

I am upstairs listening to squirrels scuttle across the roof. I prefer the click of a dog's nails on the floor inside the house. We had a good rain last night, though I can only be vague about these things. I've always wanted a rain gauge. I weeded my little garden plot yesterday, which really only makes it more hospitable for more weeds. I will come back to chaos. But I will look out the window as I pack and admire what is tidy. I did get up to the library yesterday and decided I'd try to check out four items since I had returned four. (I had been two over my limit.) I set my four books down with an appropriate blend of nonchalance and authority. The librarian pulled my information up on the computer like a good secret agent and said, "Have you returned any today?" "Yes, I just put four in the bin." "Oh, o.k." Wow. That was easy. I ought to move on to more dangerous things.

I'll be away from internet access for week and will post when I return. Be Well...

Books

Some will sort socks before a trip, and stuff them into shoes to save space. Some will think about which shoes to pack. I have the sock/shoe sorting down and will spend my time thinking about which books to take. Some spend up to their limit on their credit cards. I check out the maximum number of books allowed on my library card. This week, the librarian said, "Oh dear, you are going to be two over, but we'll let it slide." So I am off to the library to return 4 books, renew three books, and check out two more, bringing me back to my limit. One of my favorite sounds in this world is the crinkle of a clear jacket cover on a library book.