The word library fills me with guilt on one level (which is something I generally try to remain from from), because I was never a good library mom. I did take my kids, but I didn’t take them often enough. And I never returned books on time. And I regret that (which is also something I try to avoid).
But my library is the Provo library. And it didn’t always look like it does now (eventually I may or may not add a photo), which is magnificent. It wasn’t always in the restored BY Academy, which I’m pretty sure my grandfather may have attended. Its current location is full of memories beyond the musty smell of overdue library books.
There are memories of wedding receptions, volunteer hours weeding the flower bed in order to earn my much neglected master gardener’s certificate, and promenades. Along with a couple of memorable guest lectures and visits by authors I love. And being corrected by people I attempted to save from grave misuse of the possessive apostrophe and a book signing at which I volunteered.
In any case, hooray for and long live libraries. And thank goodness my daughter-in-law Emily is a wonderful library mom. There is hope for the future after all.
[Day 152 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]