Clearing Webs

Library

Tuesdays are library day for the Perkins boys. Today there was no story time as there usually is so we went a little later than usual, around 1:00 instead of 11:00. Gideon was sad he didn't get to sit on the little rug and sing, do hand-rhymes and listen to Mrs.Rogers read, but the library is always a happy time for him anyway. He loves to gently run his hands across the books on the shelf as he walks down the aisle and he gets downright giddy (please ignore the inescapable pun) when we get to the thick-paged board books he's allowed to look at by himself. After we've found a book or two for me, we finally go to the boxes that hold his special books and he usually squeals and runs to find a book on trains, trucks or some other two-year-old-captivating vehicle book. After ten to thirty minutes, depending on how hungry Isaac is, we try to make our way to the librarian's desk, me keeping Gid within eyeshot while juggling a pile of twenty to thirty books, an Isaac-inlaid carseat and a diaper bag. I then dig out my library card and Gideon's, convince the librarian to put the kids' books on Gideon's card and the rest on mine, dig out the plastic bags and persuade the librarian she does indeed want to place the books therein after she's scanned them. I take up my loads, stamp my own parking ticket on the way out the door and manage to hold Gideon's hand, give the parking ticket to the attendant outside the door and get all loaded in the car with only an occasional drop or noggin' knock. Yes, by the time I get into the driver's seat I'm exhausted. Is it worth it? Then Gideon begins to beg for one of the books he picked out or repeating the rhyme Mrs.Rogers taught him that day and I smile.

I lean back and think about what the smell of old books does to me, the crinkling sound of a protective cover, the feel of pages dirty and worn thin by years of shared use, the magical feeling that still overwhelms me when I walk down the quietly-carpeted aisle. I think about trying to fry worms; Bilbo; Frodo; Pinkerton; the Skin Horse; Little Bear; Alice; Mowgli; Chincoteague; the Elephant's Child; Rikki Tikki Tavi; Mrs. Almany; the great grey-green greasy Limpopo river all covered about with fever trees; having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day; a pig's head on a stake; the horror and grace of humanity; and the bittersweet ache of discovering I am not alone in experiences distinctly mine. I see illustrations from my childhood books and I still feel the torture of growing up, knowing I must betray and burn my Velveteen Rabbit, but also knowing it was my love that made him Real.