I love this place

So when I couldn’t wait to write, the thing I wanted to write about was how much I love it here.

Tonight Frank and I went to the library—the Monument Branch Library—which is right across the road from where we live. (And I cannot tell you how good it feels to write “road” instead of street.) Walking through the library I noticed things similar to the Mesa Verde library we used to go to. But it was so different at the same time.

I stopped going to the Mesa Verde library because it simply depressed me too much. It was the perfect example of “budget cuts”—and apathy. I took Frank into the childrens’ room, ignored completely by the single librarian who seemed more bothered by our visit than excited to see someone who was teaching her young child about her love of books. And then I noticed how dusty it was. Really dusty. The tops of the shelves were filthy, as though no one had dusted for a year or more. And there were gigantic stuffed animals, also filthy. My heart hurt. My heart hurt because there was no one who cared enough to do anything about it. And my heart hurt because my son would never know the love and excitement of the library that I remembered from my youth.

There were other solutions of course. We tried the downtown library in Costa Mesa. It was better, but still had no heart. We tried the brand new Corona del Mar library that Daddy always went to for any books he needed or wanted to look at. Granted it was beautiful, but again, it wasn’t “our” library. It was a library we had to drive to. And again, I didn’t feel a warmth or welcoming or heart in this library. It seemed more like the library at Cal State Long Beach to me, kind of sterile and official.

The Monument library is in a funky strip mall that has lots of vacancies. It shows the same signs of budget cuts. So what was different? When we walked in there were four people who clamored to greet us. When I explained that we were unable to find Frank’s library card, a lovely (and clearly on her way out) woman with a charming English accent told Frank very seriously that she would be happy to replace his library card, but there would be a fee. It would cost him $1. She showed him his options, Garden of the Gods or General Palmer (there was one other that I cannot recall), and he chose General Palmer without hesitation. She prepared his card, corrected our address, and then gave Frank his card and showed him where to sign it, “with his very, very best penmanship.” He took his time and signed his library card, and then proudly presented it to her for her inspection. She very properly told him “it would do.”

She then asked if she could help us find anything special and he explained we were there to find Civil War on Sunday, his current book club pick. All copies were checked out, but she went back to ask one of the other librarians to find out if Palmer Lake or Briargate had any copies, and bid us a good night.

Frank wanted to double-check himself, so sorted through each and every one of the Tree House books to be certain she hadn’t missed it. Sure enough, all checked out. Another librarian, seemingly a teenager, although far too polite and interested in her job to be a teenager, came and confirmed that Palmer Lake and Briargate were out as well, but she would be happy to put it on hold for him. He and I agreed that it would be a book worth buying, and agreed to take that tack tomorrow. The teenager excitely asked Frank if he was interested in the Civil War because next weekend there would be an event at the library featuring a man who wrote a book about it and would be in an authentic Civil War uniform and would bring other artifacts, weapons, etc. Frank told her that his grandfather was a veteran of World War II, and she responded that he must be very proud of his grandfather.

Walking around the library, it was clean. Spotless. It shows its age no question, but more importantly it showed the signs of respect for books that the library in Mesa Verde didn’t seem to. Rather than disinterest, we were met with enthusiasm for our presence. Another thing, the library was busy. It is Thursday, we were there between 6:30 and 7:00 pm. They have a weekly newsletter, clearly done in-house, and events for every age group, babies to adults. The sign-up sheets for every event were full of signatures. There are workshops to learn about geneology, a book blasters book club for Frank’s age and every weekday at 10:00 and 11:15 there are activities for Beck’s age group among many other activities.

Frank chose another book to check out and we approached the counter. An older man who turned out to have a security guard badge on hurried over to the computer to invite us to check out. He looked at Frank’s card and said, “Congratulations young man, you have a brand new library card.” Frank sheepishly told him that it was merely a replacement for a lost card. The man bent down and said, “my boy, it matters not that this is a replacement, it matters much that you care enough to come and get another card.”

We left the library hand-in-hand, got in the car, drove back across the road and home. On our way Frank said, “Mom, is this why you love living here so much?” Yep. One of many reasons my son. Many, many reasons.