The No. 11 Metro bus has determined my world. Where it went, I would go; where it didn’t go, I didn’t go. This was due to an aversion I have had to transferring from bus to bus with my walker.
The Central Library, for instance, is reachable via the No. 11 bus, so I go to the Central Library.
However, starting yesterday, I have decided enough of such timid thinking — my newfound freedom is all due to the library.
Someplace new
Yesterday, my granddaughter/major-domo asked if I’d like to go with her to the library in her search of a book. I immediately replied “yes,” grabbed my coat and headed for the lobby to meet her.
I hadn’t asked where we were going; I just assumed we were going down to the Central Library, but Ali had quite a different destination in mind.
When I asked her what route she was taking downtown, she said, “Oh, we’re not going to the main library — I’ve seen it. We’re going to the Capitol Hill branch.”
I’d never thought about going there; I didn’t even know where it was. I was silenced.
When we reached the library of choice, we pulled into an underground garage, rode the elevator up a floor and, lo and behold, the library.
We walked in, agreed to meet eventually and went our separate ways. That is, Ali went her separate way. I just stood there, taking the whole scene in.
Taking in the view
There was a table with books celebrating Black History Month in front of me, and beyond that, shelves packed with discs and CDs, books, movies and lectures and travels to exotic places and how to do or be just about whatever your mind desired.
As fast as the librarian was shelving the tapes, two or three patrons were reaching for CDs they’d always wanted to hear.
I looked around the room. One area was devoted to laptop computers, about 15 of them, with an eager computer person glued in front of each one.
It was a broad cross-section of generations, from teenagers to elders — all of them computing like mad, and none of them tearing their hair out as some of us are frequently ready to do in a similar situation.
There were books, real books, fiction and nonfiction in stacks throughout the room. Even the walls were lined with stacks of books.
I was in seventh heaven, except that I couldn’t decide which of about a dozen books I wanted to try to find.
I felt such a decision was too much for my overloaded brain, and I gave up on the project to turn my attention to the children’s department in the corner across from where I was standing.
It was protected from adults by a wide, bright-yellow rope, and on the floor were large pillows for readers to stretch out and begin their book.
Oh, to be young again….
A new adventure
I was just heading upstairs to explore the rest of the library when Ali found me, and off we went, now loaded down with several books.
And I had found a new endeavor: Wheelchair or no wheelchair, I intend to visit the libraries near my home to get my books and to admire the libraries that have been redone over the last few years.
ROBERTA COLE writes about seniors’ issues.[[In-content Ad]]
