the Library

16 the Library first edit 3/04 7:30 PM

I went for a walk yesterday. It was a cool fifty-eight degrees, but that's warm for upstate New York in March. I only wore a tee-shirt and quilted flannel shirt. Should be warm enough. I left my camera home because it is heavy, and was going to walk to the library. It's less than a mile, but I also need to walk back, so that would make it a bit less than two miles round trip. That's pushing it for me now.

Pushing it. Ha. When I was a kid, during the summer I'd walk to the town library in the village town hall. A mile each way, carrying the maximum three books. I thought nothing of it back then. All kids walked back then. Or rode our bicycles.

This should be nothing. Our the door, down Division Street by St. Mary's Elementary School, to Third Street. Take a left and walk down to the “new” library. The library in town hall needed more room, and the old D&H building was vacant. The town, with great foresight, bought the building and renovated it, I was told. Something like thirty years ago.

I grabbed my cane and left my apartment. I looked up and down the hall. No one was there. I walked toward the exit. I passed the hallway to the community room just feet from the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Gibson.”

“Good morning Mrs. Schiocetti,” I answered with a sigh.

“Going for a walk, are we.”

“Yes ma'am. We are.”

“Where are you walking too?” asked Mrs. Schiocetti.

“I'm going to try to make it to the library,” I replied. I'm wasting precious walking time.

“Oh my, that's a long walk,” she declared. “Do you know the senior center is behind the library now?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Have a nice walk, Mr. Gibson, and be careful walking. The traffic today is horrible. Just horrible.”

“Horrible. I know,” I answered as I shuffled out the door.

I got as far as St. Mary's Hell and I decided to rest on O'Connor's stone wall. Huh. I never thought about it, but this wall is made out of slate, not rocks. I wonder why? Well, I guess it doesn't matter why. Rocks, stones, what's the difference? Oh sure. Rocks are igneous and slate is sedimentary. When did I learn that? Seventh or eighth grade? I wonder if schools still teach that? Who knows what they teach kids nowadays. A jellybean car pulled up to the car and the passenger window rolled down.

“Are you OK, Mr. Gibson?” asked Richie. “Need a lift?”

“Hi Richie,” I answered. “No, I'm headed to the library.”

“I can take you there.”

“Thanks, but not today,” I replied. “I'm trying to build up my stamina. When I was a kid, I could walk miles. I don't know what in the hell happened.”

“Well, OK,” said Richie. “Are you sure you can make it? 'Cause I don't mind taking you there.”

“Thanks Richie. But this is something I need to do.”

“OK Mr. Gibson. Take care walking. The traffic is horrible.”

And then Richie was gone as quickly as he appeared.

I got up, dusted off my fanny, found my feet, and walked the short distance down the Division Street hill. This isn't so bad going down. Going up might be a challenge. Pay attention. Watch the sidewalk, particularly when trees have pushed up sections of it. Why don't these people fix their damn sidewalks? A person could fall and break a hip, then they'd get sued. I got to the bottom of the hill. Instead of turning right and going to McGreivey's, I kept on going straight. Past the post office. Down to the corner. Huh. The gas station where we used to buy Cokes out of an outside cooler is now a mini-mart. I guess mini-marts are the new ginney stores. Ginney. Stop with that already. Find a new name.

I started down Third Street towards the library. These sidewalks are especially bad. Must be all these old trees just pushing up old sidewalks.

I got to the library after a bit. Wow. This is a nice old building. I walked up the handicap sidewalk to avoid the stairs. I don't like stairs. A person could break a hip on one of those things. Is the library closed? There were no cars in the parking lot. I peered in the window. No, there's a light on inside. With a bit of effort, I pulled the door open and walked in.

“Well, good morning, David,” said the librarian. “We haven't seen you in a long time. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lavender,” I said. Mrs. Lavender? She should have retired long, long ago.

“May I help you find anything?” asked Mrs. Lavender.

“No, thank you. I just want to look around.”

“Well, you go right ahead. Are you returning your three books?” asked Mrs. Lavender.

“Um... no.”

“Well, do you know the fine is two cents a day per book?”

“Um. I'll get them back,” I said. Crap. That would be hundreds of dollars!

Where did I put my cane? I looked around. It was gone. How do you lose a cane? As I looked around, I noticed my shoes. Why am I wearing black Converse high tops? What the hell. Don't say a word. Just be quiet. You'll get Baker Acted again. Just browse, like if you knew what you were doing.

I saw one book that I thought might be interesting. I was short and had a real hard time reaching it, but I finally got it. I don't remember what I thought it was, but what it actually was, was a book about sex.

I stared at it in wonder. What is this? Then I heard a voice behind me.
"May I have that, David?" asked Mrs. Lavender.
I handed her the book and she put it back without saying a word. This is nuts. Why would they have books like that, and then not let anyone read them? Makes no sense. Just leave.

“I'll be back another time,” I said.
“OK, David. Now don't forget those books.”
“I won't,” I said as I went out the back door.
Ah. There's the senior center, What a nice building it is, too. It looks new. Let's go check it out. Let's? That's short for “let us”. Do I have a frog in my pocket? I smiled.
I made it across the library's back parking lot to the street. I stopped and looked both ways. Nobody coming. Good. Damn kids drive too fast.
I crossed the street and stopped. There was a ditch. There was no sidewalk across the ditch. I looked left and right. To the right, down a bit, was a driveway. There was no sidewalk in front of me, just a ditch. Well, it isn't much of a ditch. I wouldn't think twice about it when I was a kid. So, very carefully, balancing with my cane, I made it across the ditch. My cane? Where did that come from? Well, whatever.
I looked around the senior center's parking lot. A few cars parked. No one coming. I crossed the parking lot to the curb. I don't do stairs or curbs. You could fall and break a hip. But by the handicapped parking signs, there was a handicapped access for wheelchairs and scooters and the like. So I shuffled down there, carefully stepping over the one inch lip and up to the sidewalk. The handicapped ramp to the building was not next to the handicapped ramp from the parking lot. Handicapped people don't design these, do they? That would make sense, so off course they don't.
I shuffled down the sidewalk, to the handicapped ramp and held onto the handicapped railing as I shuffled my handicapped butt up to the door.

As I got to the door, a woman who was leaving held it open for me. Huh. Another benefit of being elderly. Where I always held doors for women, now they hold them for me. I'll bet today's kids don't do that.

“Good morning,” said the lady.

“Good morning,” I smiled. Holding the door open for a man. It must be that women's lib thing.

“You're new here,” said the nice lady.

“Yes. How did you know? Does it show?”

“I'm Mike, the director,” she answered. “I know everybody.”

“Oh, I talked to you on the phone earlier about doctor's appointments I have coming up, to arrange for the medical bus.”

“Oh, then you're Mr. Gibson then?” she asked as she stretched out a hand.

“I am,” I answered as I shook her hand.

“Well, I'm about to go to lunch, but I'll give you a quick tour.”

Mike showed me the main lobby where there were all kinds of papers on a table, and notices and such thumb-tacked to the wall. The room to the right had a pool table and a couple of card tables.

“And to the left is another room. They're playing Bingo,” said Mike. “Join in if you like.”

“Oh, no thanks, Mike. I'm not a Bingo player,” I replied.

“Well, take one of these applications, and take an activity flyer,” said Mike. “Dues are twelve dollars a year.”

“OK,” I answered, as I took an application and flyer, folding them and stuffing them into my back pocket. “Thank you for your help. Enjoy your lunch.”

“I will. Nice to meet you,” said Mike as she left.

I looked around. Nice place. Waterford has come a long way. Nice library. Nice senior center. Nice pool table. I'll have to come back to shoot some pool.

I decided I had better get back. My hip was starting to ache from the long walk. It's probably my shoes. I need good walking shoes. I went out the door. There was a jelly bean car. It was Richie.

“I had some time,” Richie shouted. “I thought I'd check on you. Would you like a ride?”

“Thanks, that would be great,” I said as I made my way down the ramp and to the parking lot. At least I won't have to walk up that hill on Division Street.

“Where to?” asked Richie.

“Just home,” I answered.

I would have liked to go up to Swayze Acres, but my hip was bothering me. Cripe, I wonder if I'm going to need a hip replacement. This month, I have an ophthalmologist, a neurologist, and my regular doctor. It's a good thing I'm retired so I have time for all these appointments. When I was a kid, we had one doctor. Dr. Quandt. Good doctor, but his hands shock pretty bad. We didn't like getting our polio and smallpox shots from Dr. Quandt. He might break a needle off in your arm, he shook so bad.

Richie pulled out of the parking lot and I was back at Van Schoonhoven in no time.

“Thanks for the ride, Richie,” I said as I got out of his car.

Richie waited at the curb until I got the door unlocked and got inside. Good kid, Richie.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gibson.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Schiocetti.”

Although she's a busybody, she's our busybody. I suppose it is good to have someone watching the place, what with all of the old people here. Even Mrs. Schiocetti. She's always here.

It's nice when things don't change. Change is bad. Change is always bad.