Tag: library

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

When Blackouts: A Novel by Justin Torres won the National Book Award for Fiction in 2023, I read a summary of the book and thought, oh, I want to read that. I went online to my library, put a hold on it, and learned that I was number sixteen. My wife then told me that she’d put a hold on it and was number seventeen.

Yesterday, I received a notice that the book was available for me. My wife, being nice, offered to pick it up when she was downtown. When I came home from my writing session, I asked her where it was.

“I’m reading it,” she replied. “But they told me that my copy is available, so you can go pick that up.”

Duped again.

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Once in a Lifetime

Day 2. He rode in silence. Forty miles an hour. The open car drove itself, allowing him to gape at the scenery.

So gorgeous. He knew now what breathtaking meant.

Although he’d eaten breakfast after an overnight stop, he snacked as he went. Nervousness.

Other people weren’t encountered. Only bots. They didn’t interact. Once this had been cities. New York. Pittsburgh. Philadelphia. As climate changed and space travel advanced, people departed the planet. Pockets of humanity remained. Some worked for the place he visited, the Great Earth Library. Built in the twenty-third century, trillions of books lined the high, massive shelves. Paperbacks and hardcover books were still being published on less advanced planets.

That’s where he came in.

The car slowed. He could have teleported to the location. Where’s the fun in that?

Turning right, the small vehicle approached a librarian station. The car hummed to a halt. A bot came out.

Stiffly he climbed from the car. Stretched. Picked up the packet from the other seat.

The bot said, “Merr Liu-Gardner?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been expecting you. Would you like to sign our guest book? It can be done digitally with your bios or cursive on paper. Many guests prefer the latter.”

“I’ll do cursive.” He picked up the pen. Bic. Blue ink.

A fresh page awaited. He flipped to the previous page. One entry, six years before. Ngato from Mars Station Five.

Smiling, he signed his name, dated it, and added his home, Cixin Outpost, Trisolaria. Despite that name, only one sun warmed his world. Three moons, though. One red. Two white. All beautiful.

His great-grandfather named the planet and led the colonizing expedition. He’d taught his grandson cursive writing, feeling it important to know. “Let’s not let the old knowledge die.”

Poul Liu-Gardner II handed the box to the robot. “My great-grandfather wrote and published these books. The Library was established after he died but Dad always thought the books deserved to be here. Two are non-fiction, a history of our world and another about our city. The other six are fiction.” He smiled. “Three murder mysteries and three thrillers.”

“I understand. Thank you for the gift. These are the first from your world. We will shelve and honor them.”

“I know. There are more books from my world in the car. I just wanted to personally deliver these.”

“Of course. We’ll unload them.”

“Thanks.”

“Feel free to walk the shelves and enjoy the books. You can remove them from the shelves and read them here, but they can’t be removed.”

“Thank you.”

Poul II watched the bot take the books away. Lost and empty-handed, he gazed up at books.

Deep breath. Sigh.

He’d smelled books before. Grandpa Poul had established a library. Of course. Today’s smell dizzied him. Maybe it was the sheer number of books. Perhaps it was the thoughts behind them, or the readers’ thoughts.

Probably all those things. Strolling among the shelves, he thought that he might write a book. He’d always thought about writing one. The desire now was an urgent weight.

Sitting on a bench, he drew out his pad. Opened it.

A blank screen waited.

He could type. Or use voice. Grandpa Poul always printed his first rough draft.

He didn’t have paper.

His fingers tapped.

Once in a Lifetime

Chapter One

The stranger from Trisolaria was a formidable presence.

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A Bookish Dream

A new position for me had been offered and accepted, and this was my first day. I continued writing around my work schedule. I asked for and gained permission to use work facilities for my writing.

My work location was a towering and modern white edifice, churchy in its serenity, very peaceful. The position was as a research assistant. Basically, I was staff to several teachers. I would go to the modern library and go through the ancient information which was stored there. Docents, librarians, and other assistants were in the library to help me find and understand my research and take it back to the requesting teacher.

For my writing, I used the facilities to create a gigantic digital white board. I found that I could speak to the computer and rearrange things on that white board. Two to three stories tall, it was a dozen feet wide. One of the women I worked for was a previous college professor who taught a creative writing class that I attended in RL. When she saw my writing board, she was immensely curious and complimentary, asking if I could make something like that available to others. Of course I could. I would get right on it.

Not so fast. She fast had a project for me researching a woman named Alice Fingersmith. I knew the last name. I’d read a book by that name and saw a television series based on the movie. I wondered if I’d heard right.

After going to the library, I asked the staff where to go to best start my research. Seeing that I was drinking kombucha, the male staff member, a tall and young fellow, offered to make me orange flavored kombucha because he thought I would like it. The female, who looked and acted just like Poppy from Mystic Quest (the RL Apple TV series), showed me where to find information on Alice Fingersmith.

Fingersmith’s information should be in a low, wooden filing cabinet. The cabinet was so low I needed to get on my knees to open the drawers and look in them. Finding the right one, based on last names, I pulled the drawer open and rifled through the files until I came to a place holder for Alice Fingersmith’s files. There were only small scraps of paper within. I drew a few out and then read them.

Poppy and the male staff member came to me. As he gave me my orange drink, she asked how I was doing. I told them about the files, showing them, and drank the orange drink, finding it very tasty. They were puzzled about why the file was empty as it was and decided they would request a search to see if others in the system had Fingersmith info or knew why information was missing from the file.

I’d been looking at the scraps of paper in the file. I realized the requesting teacher and Fingersmith may have been lovers. I thought the teacher would prefer discretion so I told the two to hold off. Then I took the papers I’d found and went to find the instructor.

Dream end.

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A Day Like Others

They went to the library

because three new books were on hold,

ready for pick up

and they’d finished six books

so they needed to be returned.

Then they walked around town,

enjoying the mild spring day,

before deciding to go to the Co-op.

Because it’d been so long.

While they were there,

they picked up sandwiches,

chips,

and locally baked pastries.

Then walked back up to the car

and got a library book each,

and walked through the breeze in the park’s sun and shade

until they found a picnic table.

Whereupon they sat,

eating and reading in silence

until two hours later,

when she said,

“I’m cold. Let’s go home.”

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Technology, Again

Our county library has changed its system.

Again.

I was happy with the old system. They didn’t ask me. Running the library was outsourced to a private, for-profit firm several years ago. They asked me. I voted against it. I was outvoted. As a result of that move, the library hours were immediately cut, and people were let go.

Then came the coronarivus…

They’ve been doing a pretty good job during the pandemic. Kinda hard to screw up. Put a book on hold. When it’s available, present self at door. Provide name and card number. Librarian checks book out and gives it to you. You return the book to a drop box when you’re done with it.

That all worked well but changes were required. Technology sprints ahead. We must catch up. ‘They said’ in their notice that it would be easier to search online content and find my books. I was having no problem with those things. They can’t be easier than that, can they?

‘They’ also told me that the first time I logged in, my PIN would be the last four digits of my telephone number. I logged in today and entered the last four digits of my telephone number. ‘That information is incorrect’, the system told me. Okay, reset password.

I went through that, receiving the link to do this in my email account. After I reset my PIN, I went to my account to see what telephone number was in my account.

It was a number that I didn’t know.

Naturally. Technology, right. GIGO. Garbage in, etc.

I changed the number. The system told me a librarian would review the information before updating my account.

Whatever.

I logged out.

A few hours passed. My wife wanted to know what books were on the hold list. She uses my account because she didn’t want to go through the bother of getting a new library card the last time that the system changed, a few years ago.

I logged in.

‘That information is incorrect’, the system told me.

WTF? No, it isn’t.

Well, the system disagreed. Everyone knows that the system wins in these instances.

I reset my password again via an email link. For extra points, I used the PIN that I’d previously created.

Yeah, it took.

I remained logged in afterward. But then again, I decided, log out, because if it doesn’t recognize me and I need to reset my PIN, well, three times is a charm, right?

Does technology know that?

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Next Year

Picked up some library books the other say. The library set up is working for this lockdown era: go online, put a book on hold on my account. They send an email when it’s ready. I have a window before it’ll be put back on the shelf, giving me time to plan when I’ll go down there to pick it up.

I go several times a month. There’s a table set up outside, under a canopy, Saturday through Thursday, noon to four. Tape is used as markers to indicate the traffic flow and safe distances. Patrons line up six feet apart. The librarian comes out. We’re all masked. You give your name; the librarian goes inside and return with your books. Your account number is verified verbally via the last three numbers. They give you your books and you go on your way.

As part of the process, a slip of paper with the book’s title and its return date is printed. On that little slip are also two little financial gems. One states how much money you’ve saved yourself by borrowing from the library. The other tells how much you’ve saved this year.

The first is $26 on my slip of paper today. That was for two books. Both are hardcovers. Neither were published this year. I suspect I could get them for less than twenty-six dollars used.

The second number is $660. That’s how much I saved this year, they said.

Well, I don’t know about that. I pay a little in taxes each year for this. It was a bond issue for the county library system, and it’s part of my annual property taxes. I don’t think they take those taxes into account when they tell me how much I’ve saved.

But I like the system. I’m a writer. I’d like people to buy and read my books. It’s great that the library system pays books to fulfill that for writers. I hope my books end up in the library some day. It’s also an excellentway to save on trees, innit? Buy a book and let multitudes read it.

All that led to ebooks. These books were available to be borrowed as ebooks. ebooks do even more to save trees, although we then get into the sticky situation of electronic waste.

I don’t do much ebooking; I like the personal heft of the thick books in hand as I carry them around and read in various postures. I know I’m silly and sentimental that way. I could use ebooks and save more trees. Yet, I resist.

I blame blue light for some of that resistance. I watch television (so cut down, you reply) while I’m running in place (oh, you answer, that’s a little different) or using the Stairmaster as part of my exercise. I’m not good at reading while walking (though I’m trying). I also spend a lot of time on the ‘puter reading news (so cut down, you suggest) (I probably should, I answer, as not much of the damn news is good for my spirit), writing, and editing. I don’t want to add the strain of reading ebooks to the strain I already thrust on my eyes.

Nothing is as clear cut as it first appears any longer, whether it’s environmental impact, saving money, or selling books. Our lives are choices, decisions, and compromises. I could, instead of running in place or exercising while watching television just curl up with a book. I could, instead of using a hefty volume, make it an ebook and reduce other strain on my eyes. Or I can go to audio books —

Yeah, don’t even go there. I am a fan of audio books; I’ve used them when driving long distances, and I’ve used them while exercising. I’ve found, though, I prefer the inner voice that I create when I’m reading something.

So, I’ve thought about these things. I recognize some of my habits are comfort ruts. Comfort ruts can be pretty useful in periods of stress, such as, say, a global pandemic. Then again, it may be that I’m just too lazy to change, modifying that ‘too lazy’ to ‘too old and set’.

This is just one facet of existence. These same sort of exercises go on with other things as we live, from medicines to using plastics to cars to public transportation to fossil fuels to recycling to GMOs to organic food to nutrition to healthcare to eating healthy to money to politics to welfare to taxes to social security to war to equality to fashion to music to film to being healthy to relaxing to having fun to —

Well, that point is hammered in. Life is a busy process of constantly re-balancing all these choices. I wonder what’ll it be like in another hundred years.

Strike that: let’s just see what it’s like next year.

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The Library Dream

Randy and I were going to the library. Randy is a friend who died of colon cancer five years ago. He was a few months older than me.

In the dream, he was the Randy I always knew, although he was driving a black Mustang GT, which is unlike Randy. When, in the dream, we got out of the car, I said, “I like that car. I’ve rented one three times now, although they were the next generation. All of them were white. One was a convertible.”

Randy said, “I know, you told me.”

We went into the library. It was a modern brick and glass building. They’d called me to fix something there. Randy was just giving me a ride. Then he and I were going off to have a beer.

In the library, I sought the head librarian. She gave me blueprints. They were highlighted by supports that I needed to fix. She went off immediately. As I studied the blueprints, Randy asked, “Why are they having you do this?”

I replied, “I’ve done it before, and they know that, I guess.”

Studying the prints and the building, I found where the supports were to be fixed. But as I studied the situation, I decided that what they intended wouldn’t work.

Off I went to find the head librarian.

She was in another section with a man, working on fixing something else. Seeing me, the man said, “Oh, just fix it.”

Showing them the blueprints, I explained to them what I thought was wanted and why I didn’t think they’d work.

The head librarian said, “Well, you’ll have to take it up with him. He’s the one that sent the plans down. I’m just a messenger.”

I’m like, “Who is him? How do I get old of him?”

But the librarian was ignoring me.

I went off again to reconsider the supports and the fix. I remained convinced that they wouldn’t work.

People started entering the library. Some event was going on. Randy and I found books and then sat down to read, along with dozens of others. Most were men.

A woman introduced a man. The man, small and dark, began speaking. I stopped reading to listen to him but he was speaking so softly, I couldn’t hear and understand him.

Randy kept reading. Seeing that, the man walked over and handed Randy a card, and then walked away. He was still talking but I couldn’t hear him.

Holding up the card, Randy said, “What’s this? Let me take my glasses off.” He couldn’t do that because he had a book in his hand. He handed me the card. I read, “See what you’re missing when you don’t listen?” on it. Randy took his glasses off, handed them to me, and took the card. As he read the card and I held his glasses, I realized that my palms were sweating and his glass lenses were getting wet and smudged.

I apologized to Randy as I handed his glasses back. That’s where the dream ended.

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Floofbrary

Floofbrary (floofinition) – A place in which animals, particularly pets, (such as cats, dogs, birds, fish, hamsters, and guinea pigs) are kept but are not for sale, adoption, or public viewing.

In use: “Entering the Wilkinson floofbrary immediately caused a raising of heads or opening of eyes as the animals took in the new break in their day. After a moment, many yawned and stood, stretching, before cantering over to greet the visitor.”

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