nerd knits

On 1/3/06, Julie wrote:

Imbrium –

Get thee to a library!!

Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.

See…I told you I’d go right after work and get myself a library card!

All throughout my childhood, I nearly lived at the library. I come from a long, long line of book lovers. My parents own enough books to open a used bookstore without needing to take in any stock for years (as long as people didn’t mind that all they would carry would be sci-fi, mystery, fantasy and horror). In the 80s, when my father laid off in the recession and remained jobless for three years, we didn’t exactly have the discretionary income to spend on books. Instead, my father and I would walk to the library at least once a week. I’d pour over the huge children’s selection while my father would scour the sci-fi section for something he hadn’t read yet.

When Dad got a new job we moved to Anaheim, CA. My new school was a block away from the library, and I’d walk there every day after school so my mother didn’t have to fight the crowds to pick me up. I remember that library vividly – the layout, the smell, the huge clock on the wall in the children’s section. I completed my transition from children’s books to adult books in that library, getting hooked on the sci-fi and fantasy that my father loved. I also indulged my obsession with animals at that library, checking out pet care books on such a regular basis that the librarians began asking what kinds of pets I had (sadly, none).

But as time passed and my parents’ financial situation improved, we began skipping the library for the bookstore. I am, shamefully, a bit preoccupied with possession…I’m much more comfortable with something (cars, clothes, books, computers, whatever) if it’s mine and mine alone. Call it spoiled if you like, but it’s more than that. It’s security and safety and perhaps a function of my difficulties with really trusting people.

So the book borrowing was replaced with the book buying. My parents have always tried to curtail my sometimes excessive spending, but they’ve never, ever been able to deny me books (or art, but that’s a different post). There were always school libraries (My college library kind of creeped me out, though I couldn’t tell you why. They’ve completely remodeled it since I graduated, complete with a cafe, so maybe it’s better now.) but somehow they don’t really count. I can’t enjoy a place where I’m forced to do involuntary research.

Now, however, I’m out on my own, without my parents’ credit cards for financial support. When Julie mentioned getting a knitting book from her library the other day, a little light bulb went off. Library! What a great idea! All those pattern books! Ooooooh….

And so I got me to the library, and Bradon and I got library cards. And it was good.

As an aside…after we got our cards, I dragged Bradon off to look at the knitting books. The crafts section was right next to some sort of conference room…a conference room with a vent connecting it and the library proper. A vent which seems to amplify sound. And the conference room was being used (as near as we can tell) by a man, a woman, and a lawyer/mediator who seemed to be discussing custody arrangements.

I will admit, fully and without much shame…I am terribly, terribly nosy. I’m not a gossip – I don’t spread rumors (or truths, for that matter) – but I have an overwhelming urge to know. It’s at least partially the writer in me – I find people and their motives so fascinating that I can’t help but watch and absorb. People who have arguments in public? It makes me uncomfortable, but I have to watch. People who make a scene? Fascinating, as long as I’m only an observer. A couple arguing in a conference room over the custody of their children, with allegations of child abuse, drug use, and molestation? Like watching a train wreck. It’s horrifying and sickening and very, very saddening…but I can’t stop. It’s so interesting. I didn’t mean to snoop, I swear, but the vent practically acted as a microphone, and it just happened to be next to the knitting books. I have no idea who was behind those walls, and I don’t want to. But I couldn’t. Stop. Listening.

Bradon eventually dragged me away, scolding me all the while. I hate to have him disappointed in me, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize with any sincerity. Is my nosiness and eavesdropping immoral? Maybe…but I swear to you, it’s not nefarious. It’s just who I am. It’s my love for people and motives and psychology and secrets made manifest. It’s my desperate desire to understand why we – me, you, Bradon, everybody – do what we do. The explanations we give and the motives beneath the explanations. It’s fascinating.

It also reminds me that if I ever want to have a private conversation, I should check out the ventilation system in the room I’m in first. I’m just saying.