The Library

I love the library.  No, love is too vague.  (That’s from The Giver.) 

I believe in the library.  That still isn’t exactly the right phrasing. 

Would it be blasphemous to say, “I have a testimony of the library”? 

Maybe I can’t come up with the exact words to explain how I feel about the importance of a library, but my weekly—if not more often—habit of going to that lovely building on 400 West surely lets you know how I feel about it.

About three weeks ago I was going for my regular morning walk.  Because I had some books that I needed to return, I thought that I would add some weight training to my regimen and carry a grocery sack full of books.  (Just for the record, if you return your books the morning after they are due and put them in the drive-up book return, they count as being returned the day before.  I rarely return books late—well after the grace period—but this is a good thing to know.)  So, I am carrying my sack of books at the bottom of the street when I meet Clark Christian and Rick Bangerter.

“Hey, Elizabeth,” says Clark, “What are you carrying in your bag.  It looks like books.”

“It is books.  I’m taking them back to the library,” I reply as I continue to walk.

“Really?” he says befuddled.  “I took my books back about 50 years ago.”  He laughs giving me the feeling that he had grown up and that I hadn’t.  He and Rick keep walking.

“Seriously?” I ask as I stop and turn around, trying to turn the tables.  “You don’t go to the library every week?”

“You do?” he asks.

“Not only do I go to the library,” I say as I begin to walk away.  “I have my library card number memorized.” 

I am almost out of earshot when I think I hear him say, “She probably does.”

Yes, I do have my library card number memorized.  I can probably say it in my sleep, and if my brain forgets, my right hand fingers can type it onto the keypad.  And why do I have it memorized?  Because I use it often.  Because, remember, I have a testimony of the library.

I’m not kidding when I say that the librarians are ready for me when I come. Most of the librarians know me by name.  Some retrieve my books from the “hold” shelf before I even get to the check-out desk.  Since the library employs students that come and go with regularity, I can always tell a new helper because he or she will offer to replace my old card “for free.”  When I explain that I’m fine with this decades-old gray card, they assure me that it won’t cost anything.  “But I would have to get a new number,” I explain, “and I have this one memorized.”  I suppose it is an odd thing for a young whippersnapper to find someone who has her library card number memorized.  “Really?  Your 18-digit number memorized?” 

I was not born using or loving the library; in fact, I rarely went when I was a child.  The library was a last resort when all of the bookstores in town didn’t stock a certain book.  My parents would rather drive first to Deseret Book at the Cottonwood Mall and then downtown to Sam Weller’s before they would go five blocks to the Evergreen branch of the library.  I believe my mother and father owned every book they ever read.  What makes that worse is that my mother’s favorite place to read was the bathtub.  (In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing that she owned the books she ruined.)  Many of her books had water stains; some had even been completely immersed when she had fallen asleep and dropped them into the water.  My mom was happy to lend me her books when I was first married, but I hated returning the favor because when a book came back from her house, it was noticeably worn.  Not to harp on my mother, but she didn’t really believe in bookmarks either.  Her way of keeping her place was to turn the book cover-side up and push down.  But at least she didn’t dog-ear the pages.  (Although I don’t, I could easily read a book and return it to a bookstore as unread.  You would never know I have read it.) 

I attribute my love of the library to two things, but would love for you family members to add to my list.  After all, this is Library Week.  If I were to do a “How Do I Love the Library List,” mine would have just two reasons.

Reason #1:  I cannot possibly allow my wallet to limit my reading.  If I could only read the books that I purchase with Lyndon’s hard-eared money, I would be one Sad Elizabeth.  I once heard a fellow Piano Mom say that she didn’t think decisions should ever be based on money.  She has a good point, but I’m not sure I agree with it in every instance.  But I do agree with it in that your choice of books should not be dependent on your ability to buy them.  Since I don’t want to bankrupt our family nor give up eating at El Matador way more often than we should, I use the completely free public library, which is always willing to get the exact book I want from near or far.

In my book group, two of us always use the library and the rest of them always purchase the books.  Because Sherri and I depend on the lent books, sometimes we have to change our group selections because the waitlist at the library is too long.  (Yes, I have been on a waitlist over 300 people long.)  This might be frustrating to some of the members of the group.  One of them once asked, “Why don’t you buy the books, Elizabeth?”  What she left unsaid was, “Your husband’s an attorney after all.”  Another said, “Don’t you like owning books?  I just love the feeling of owning a lot of books.”  I do like owning books.  But I don’t want to own every book I read.  Some aren’t worth it.  They are a good read, but they aren’t worth putting on my bookshelf.  Which brings me to Reason #2.

Reason #2:  I don’t want to store books.  Do any of you remember when we cleaned out both of your grandparents’ houses?  They had shelf after shelf of books.  Grandma and Grandpa Ricks had mainly church books.  It wasn’t so bad cleaning out their shelves because there were so many other relatives who had looted the shelves before we got there that there weren’t many left.  But your Gardner grandparents?  Honestly, how many Agatha Christie mysteries should a person have in her personal library?  The entire south side of the den was lined with books.  Then in what we called the “amusement room” there were tables full of books.  And boxes of books under the tables.  And books on and in nightstands.  And another stack on the back of the toilet.

It may seem that I am making fun of my parents.  They loved to read and they passed it on to their daughter, for which I am eternally grateful.  Thanks Mom and Dad.  I’m not making fun of them, but I am learning from their example.  We do have our share of books around the White House, to be sure.  But can you imagine if Lyndon and I owned and stored every book that we read?  Would there be room for pianos?  For couches?  For beds?  For the swimming pool?  A wealthy acquaintance of mine believes in supporting the authors, so she always buys books.  She even buys books that she doesn’t read just to support the writers.  I’m not kidding when I say that she actually has a large storage barn on her property just to store them.  (She also employs a personal assistant to keep track of all of the stuff she has.) 

Your brain wheels are turning and you are thinking about how wonderful the Kindle is.  It is—no doubt about it.  I use it frequently.  The thing is, though, I use it to read … wait for it … library books.  They are so easily checked out and returned—and there is never a late fee.  They won’t even let you pay a late fee if you don’t return it, even if you would willingly pay that fee for a few extra days.  Nope.  It’s just gone.  WHHOOOOOSH. 

I just don’t see much of a reason to buy a book that I can borrow from a library that my tax money supports.

OK folks.  I know that I have raised five library lovers, and there are more who have joined our book-loving brigade.  I’m ready for you to chime in with the reasons that you love/believe in/have a testimony of the library.

And start posting those pictures.