January 11, 2006

Overdue book reopens past chapters

By
Herald Editor

      There are certain words in life that should avoid the adjective overdue: milk, baby and library books.
      While chunky two percent is hard to swallow, it's plenty palatable compared to the bitter realization that "Fun and Fancy Free" is three days overdue. After all, besmirching your upright library patron status is neither fun or fancy free.
      This week our three year old received a phone call from the district library. It seems that other pint-sized patrons were clamoring to check out the same 59 year old Walt Disney movie. Speaking through her family attorney - otherwise known as Grandma - the polite reminder was duly noted. The next day I gleefully shoved Jiminy Cricket and his DVD cartoon cohorts into the book return slot.
      Admittedly, I was relieved that the library police only wanted our daughter. For a second I thought Mrs. Duncan had finally tracked down her 33 year old "Wrinkle in Time."
      Up until last year, I was blissfully unaware of my lending library transgression. While sorting through a box of old books, however, I discovered something wedged between Chaucer and back issues of CRACKED magazine. It was a 256 page paperback that suddenly weighed heavy on my conscious. Apparently my sixth grade self absconded Mrs. Duncan's copy of "A Wrinkle in Time" - more likely it languished at the bottom of my locker until the final day of grade school.
      I'm not sure why this tale of IT and tesseracts went unreturned. Perhaps I feared being labeled a Dewey Decimal System delinquent.
      Suddenly life felt like a Seinfeld episode again. In Jerry's case it was a wayward copy of "Tropic of Cancer" that brought the library investigator to his door. I half expected Mr. Bookman to show up at the doorstep demanding my overdue juvenile fiction and a cup of instant coffee.
      Despite my wanted status, I love to frequent libraries. Every week I subject Ella to my second childhood with Curious George and Corduroy. While the local library is wonderful, it lacks that pungent, musty tinge of dry rot hardcovers. In other words, the cinder block libraries of my youth.
      Philosopher William Godwin noted that a well-chosen library has innumerable dishes, and all of admirable flavor. I grew up on meat-and-potatoes libraries. The public library wasn't quite a feast for the senses - more like a Methodist church potluck, heavy on the green bean casseroles topped with potato chips. In fact, the library was so small it could only house one copy of "War and Peace."
      It did, however, whet my appetite for the written word.
      My grade school library also made a favorable impression. As did Mrs. Bigelow, a librarian who could dispense book knowledge and "SHHH's" with the best of them. I still recall hiding tears behind the last pages of "Jim the Wonder Dog" and giggling at certain National Geographics while behind the magazine rack.
      However, it was the books that truly needed dust covers that I enjoyed most. Not the words necessarily, but that yellowed, dogeared page smell. To this day I'll search the stacks for just the right musty tome.
      Perhaps enough time has passed that I should make a confessional call to Mrs. Duncan. Although I do wonder about the fine for a book two and half decades late? Regardless, it is a gesture way overdue.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or email gleiva@gtherald.com