McGovern-Stella Link Neighborhood Library, Houston, Texas

The reason adults grumble about sharing library space with kids is well-known and understood: The noise, the Noise, the dagnabin NOISE. I couldn't agree more. So when I entered the McGovern-Stella Link Neighborhood library and saw a sea of little faces all waiting for storytime to begin, I knew what I was in for. And they are little, little faces, just toddlers, so the level of discourse is going to be about locating knees and toes and whether we're happy and we do, in fact, know it. As I set up my desk (our lives are just a twist of wires, cords, and devices now, eh) the reverie began--lots of peppy songs, call and answer, yelling and happy chirping, none of which bothered me a bit. I even had to smile because a gaggle of revved up toddlers is something to hear (they are just around the corner from my desk)--they are wholly and completely alive and unburdened by self consciousness. But I had to put the headphones on because, despite the chorus of otherwise upbeat and engaged kids, the existentially bereft, soul crushing, brain shattering wails of sorrow from the unhappy few were just too much to bear. So now we have Pat Benetar, Salt-n-Pepa, Donna Summer, and so on...

My first thought when hearing these sobs of severe unhappiness is not "Brat" (it used to be) but "God, someone help him." What if he is panicking? What if he doesn't like crowds? Or loud noises? Or chaos? It could just be the desire to be doing something else entirely, but even that evokes a level of sympathy I never had when I was in my twenties or even thirties. When you are an adult for a while you forget just how controlled your life was when you were a child, and when you are a freewheeling, lets-run-into-traffic toddler, your life is tethered, monitored, and directed every minute of every day. The frustration must be unbearable. So, you do the only thing you can: Scream at the top of your tiny little lungs to the Gods of the Universe for this insufferable injustice. Until snack time. 

Anyway, they have storytime here.

As you can see from the photos, the space in this branch is similar to the rest of the libraries I've visited in Houston. I am going to go ahead and say it is Borders-1995-chic, with pine stacks and brightly lit everything. I'm sitting at the back of the library and cannot be happier with my view--the whole wall is windows and it affords me views of greenery, sky, and those gorgeous little grackles. This is a good place for viewing them, too, since grackles love snackles, and they are grubbing all around this area looking for food. LOOK AT THEM.

There are handy outlets at every workstation (I have a wall, otherwise, they are in the floor), the tables are huge and the seats are very comfortable. Also, and this is some sort of unprecedented unlikelihood, the temperature is exactly right. The better you know me, the more pearl-clutching you will do at this statement. I am just your garden variety hot house orchid (or whatever winter-frigid, 50 degrees or less, messed up variety of flower that might be).

Every library I've visited thus far has had helpful staff and clean facilities, something I was not entirely expecting after checking Google reviews. Which goes to show you that people are more likely to sign in to Google to bitch about something than to praise it. I've been trying to leave reviews for restaurants I've visited and enjoyed, though I've held off and reviewing any of the libraries, perhaps for paranoid reasons, but after a little side adventure yesterday, maybe not. 

I decided I had to see that wildly weird Williams Tower up close and personal, so made my way over to the Galleria district to see if I could get a good picture. After circling every which way and finding no easy spot, I pulled up to the building's front drive, parked, and popped out to take a quick picture. Two very nice security guards immediately approached and advised that I not do that. It wasn't about parking for a half second--it was about the picture itself. They were very cool about it--we just have to tell you, the building's management has a window right there, they just don't like it, etc.--and turned to go back to the entryway in a very leisurely fashion, not looking back so I could take a quick snap, anyway. And I get it--living in New York for 15+ years, I've seen the signs forbidding pictures on the bridges and in the tunnels, but as one of the most photographed cities on the planet, there's absolutely nothing you can do about people taking photos of buildings and other "hot spots" of interest, not only by tourists but by terrorists alike. As one of the other most-photographed cities on the planet, London also knows this all too well.

I was hyper aware of why they had to say something, on that day of all days, what with the attack near Parliament in London earlier that morning (US time). Anyone who has visited London as a tourist has been on that bridge--that section of London has to be one of the most photographed areas on earth (I took quite a few myself, back in 2006). While I get the paranoia and wish to stop terrorists from using photographs in their planning, it's just like the airport rules we've all endured since 9-11: Where there is a will there is a way, and terrorists will always find a way. This is a horrible truth to come to terms with--and government must always at least appear to be doing something about it--but as someone who has thrown out numerous lighters (cheap and zippo fancy), water bottles, shampoo, food, and at least one pocket knife at airport security, I will tell you a butter knife or a knitting needle are effective and lethal weapons if you use them correctly, but they are not on the list. As is a pencil or pen, still completely allowed on airplanes (and always have been, even in the earliest days post-911). At the Williams Tower, the guards only said something to me because I was on the property, but feet away other tourists were taking the same pictures...and will it make a difference one way or the other? Well, that's the rub, isn't it? 

When you have panic disorder, the idea of safety becomes porous and unpredictable. You become acutely aware of rules, regulations, and laws created to bring order to a disorderly world, and just how flimsy they are when it really counts. And when things are really bad, the construct (lol Matrix, if you must) gets all the more unreliable and transparent. I know this is part of the reason I am visiting libraries in particular--years ago, an unnerving and perspective shifting event changed something sacred to me into something dangerous. It didn't stop me from engaging with libraries going forward, but always with extreme caution and a degree of fear. I don't want to be afraid in these spaces. And I don't necessarily want indigent patrons to be barred from them, either. I just want to use them for my purposes and be left alone. And I think a majority of the homeless who take refuge here feel the exact same way. They just want to be safe and comfortable, too. 

I suppose this is why so many of these new libraries all have that bright, Borders feel. The libraries of old, with their dark wood, muted light, and harsh rules were not exactly community inclusive. For scholars and serious patrons only, etc. Before the behemoth B&N and Borders rolled into town, most of us only had those squalid little mall installations to count on for our book buying needs (Waldenbooks, B. Dalton)--and independent stores were always hit or miss. Some had a good vibe, some had the charm and cleanliness of your uncle Greg's garage. If you had that option at all, which in car-driven communities (with no or substandard mass transit), could be a nonstarter, anyway. And none of these options felt all that open or inviting (remember the cramped little aisles and cross, less than helpful staff?). To me, the old Barnes & Noble stores were a bit off putting, hearkening to those old libraries with the dark wood and brass fixtures, but the Borders stores were clearly inviting with light color schemes and a laid back atmosphere. It felt welcoming and safe. And the libraries at least in this community embraced this warm, inviting atmosphere and made it permanent. (Sadly, Borders has since passed, though I suppose it should be proud it's left its mark, at least in some fashion?)

So far, this trip had gone very well (knock on piney wood, everywhere around me)--no panics, no overwhelming feeling of doom. And each library has been a safe haven to sit, plan, contemplate, watch grackles snackle, and write to my heart's content. You know how fear is--it wrecks the world and rules the day if you let it. So I am on this trip, stepping outside my comfort zone, testing the boundaries of my moxie, and attempting to go with the flow as much as my controlling, "let's plan everything down to the last minute" mind will allow. And the little storytime agitator has also helped to remind me: I am free to go wherever whenever I choose. Isn't that the greatest?

Cash cow says "Moo."