Library Lady

 It’s no surprise my life changed dramatically after my spine surgery 10 years ago.

I am still in mourning for the life I had.  Did I ever think I would miss doing my own 

laundry or vacuuming, but I do.  Now, I realize there was nothing like exhausting myself on a Saturday morning cleaning the house, doing laundry, changing sheets and the grand finale food shopping.  It felt good to exhaust myself.  It was an accomplishment at the time I didn’t appreciate.  

  Ten years later, I’m still adjusting and adapting to life in a wheelchair.  The years have been filled with challenges and disappointments I could never have imagined.   I expected apathetic physical therapists, inconsiderate civil servants, rude store workers, and people who in general don’t see past the wheelchair and talk to me like I’m a child.

 In a quest to keep my world as normal as possible, I searched everywhere for activities that I could participate in from the wheelchair.  There aren’t many.  In 2024 buildings still are not ADA complaint and finding accessible bathrooms are as likely as me winning Power Ball.

So, imagine my delight when I read in the Farmingdale Public Library’s newsletter that they offer a service that brings books to the homebound.  A slice of my independence would be restored. As a voracious reader, I was eager to get my hands on an actual book. Reading from a screen didn’t invoke the same tactile romance.  With this revolutionary service I would no longer need to ask friends and neighbors to pickup or drop off books.  The process of signing up was easy and I was assigned Pat, a retired librarian.  After we spoke briefly, I knew we would enjoy many literary discussions.   We talked briefly about what I liked to read, and what genre I didn’t like.  Like my food pallet, there isn’t much I don’t like,

Except if I don’t like it, I really don’t like it.  For literary consumption, I devour contemporary fiction.  I don’t read science fiction, or out of body experiences or vampire escapades.

Her first drop off she hit a homerun.   She selected a Jodi Piccoult, a Nelson DeMille, and an older Danielle Steele.  My reading appetite would be satisfied.  For a few years Pat and I developed a sweet friendship.  I looked forward to her monthly drop-offs. She radiated kindness, to my friends she became known as Grandma Pat from the Library.  If I hugged her, I know I would smell chocolate chip cookies.

As with anything good, good things come to an end.  Due to life’s ebbs and flows she moved upstate to be closer to her son. As only Grandma Pat from the library could, she reassured me that books would be continued to be delivered to me on a regular basis.  I would miss my new literary friend.

True to her word, about a week later a new librarian, Laura, called.   Just like Pat, Laura and I had a pleasant initial conversation and talked about my likes and dislikes, and she promised to bring me books according to my preferences.  I was impressed by how smoothly the librarian transfer went.   Unfortunately, something got lost in translation.  The first book I took out of the bag Laura dropped off was a book about a family that became reincarnated as crows and rats.  I endured reading it, hoping it would get better or it would reveal a life-changing lesson.  

 The next book was a graphic outer space adventure.  During our next conversation, I again explained the types of books I enjoy and gave examples of different contemporary fiction authors.  After three or four book drop-offs, Laura was getting it. I was cautiously relieved.  I didn’t want to have to ask anyone to become my personal librarians.  Not to be picky, her selections were from the nineties.  The pages were torn and stained.  Most of them smelled of smoke and burnt grease.  I held my breath and read what she brought and only occasionally asked someone else to bring me a book from this century. 

I accepted my limited literary selections, being in a wheelchair I have bigger and more pressing issues to deal with, like not having the County’s Handicap bus kill me or wondering if my Home Health Aide would show up.  After a few weeks I was beginning to believe Laura got her own grove on.  Once every few weeks, no set schedule like Grandma Pat from the Library, Laura would drop off some retro books.  Then I noticed, some of the books were repeats, at first I didn’t think anything of it.  Maybe it was me.  When it kept happening, with all the books in the bag being repeats, I made a mental note for the next time.  As sure as a page turns in a summer breeze, Laura was bringing me the same books she picked up a few weeks before.  My books were touring Farmingdale from the back seat of Laura’s car.  All I can do is laugh.  

What can I do?  Go to her supervisor.  Threaten not to take out any books from the library?

To keep my sanity, I always say ‘you can’t make this shit up.’  Maybe one day, I will use my library lady misadventures and write my own book.

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