Temporary? Insanity

We made the long arduous journey into town today (ten minute drive), for a multitude of reasons. To buy aluminum foil. To check our post office box in that ho-hum pretending to be bored fashion of those who are keenly, even desperately, anticipating the arrival of a piece of mail. And to visit the local library. I made reference before to my trepidatious attitude with respect to the local library, and it took no small amount of courage to enter therein (who uses that word? I am such a geek).

The building is small, old, and has a funny smell to it. But it is lined from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with books. There’s a computer or two and a help desk just for the look of the thing, but the main form of decor is books. Yes, it could have been worse.

Still, you could fill a football field sized building full of books and still have nothing worth reading. The library required further inspection. Maeve Binchy? Yes. Shakespeare? Austen? Tolstoy? Three times yes. Pratchett? A pause. Pratchett? Why is he always on the bottom shelf? Yes! A triumphant, resounding yes! And his newest released book, no less.

One last question though. One final determinant of my literary fate. Inter-library loan? I tentatively inquired of the timid librarian at the counter – a sweet, but ghoulish looking woman whom I am certain will inspire a post here one day.

“Why…yes,” she said, responding in some puzzlement, as if the question were bizarre in some way. As if there could have been any doubt. “We can order in from anywhere in the province.”

Although I hate to pander to Hollywood style dramatics, I have to confess that the Hallelujah! chorus played in the background. Excitement coursed through me like an electric current. It’s possible that I may have twitched or trembled. Sources cannot be found to confirm or deny this.

And so, it can be said, at this particular moment, reflecting on that delicious experience, I am happy.