I’ve just overcome the byzantine process of getting my hands on something to read. We’re still unable to actually enter the doors of our public library, but we can order books and have them ferried out to us through the back door like a furtive drug deal. As a retired English teacher once hip-deep in books from studying and teaching and who not long ago also downsized, the absolute last thing I want to do is buy a book. Ironic, I know, as someone who has written three and would die happy tomorrow if my name ever appeared on a best-seller list.
There are benefits to this new system. Instead of going physically into the library itself and wandering unfocussed through the shelves, I’m now looking up authors whose works I had thought I’d exhausted and discovering books I didn’t know existed, usually coming from other libraries in our state.
I’m currently so deep into a Joanna Trollope novel that I have to force myself to put it down for things like food or sleep. Next on my shelf is a Dorothy Sayers that I either haven’t read, or read so long ago that I don’t remember it. My next pick up will include a Donald Westlake, a Lawrence Block, and a Susan Isaacs. Fabulous.
The only thing is this is not a speedy process, but at least I’ve learned to plan well ahead. My next books are on hold, but it could be a full week before they’re available. Then I have to get in the queue for pick up, scheduled for every 15 minutes. Last time that meant another week’s delay. It’s still worth it. I can’t imagine how non-readers are passing the time.