Libraries. I love ‘em.
There’s just so much in there, and almost all of it appeals to me. While I’m not intrigued by, say, Home and Family Management in the 640s, or French and Related Literatures in the 840s, I’m definitely interested in Drawing and Decorative Arts in the 740s right between the other two.
That doesn’t mean, though, that I won’t wander through those other two areas as I pace the stacks.
I’ll browse. I’ll meander. I’ll get a crick in my neck because I’ve been walking with my right ear toward the ground through all those shelves. I’ll impulsively move from a section in the main library to the corresponding section in the “youth” area. I’ll stand for a few minutes, trying desperately to remember what it was I just had to look up.
Music. There’s plenty of it, even though nearly all of it is available through a few clicks on my phone.
Don’t forget video.
And the children’s books, standing upright, ready to be flipped through in their wooden bins.
I love all of it, and I miss it dearly.
I was working out of a school library today (an elementary school, so walking through the French and Related Literatures (840) section doesn’t take long), and as I set my book bag down I heard the librarian ask one of the teachers not to touch the books on the shelves because she didn’t have time to wipe them down again after the teacher left.
I don’t fault the librarian; I worked in the same room with her for most of the day and she rarely stopped moving. I don’t fault anyone, really.
That little booger, the Covid-19 virus, is only 60 nanometers in diameter, and it’s messing some stuff up.
Someday, hopefully sooner rather than later, I hope the only place it’s found is Medical and Health (640). You can bet I’ll walk right past it.