Tuesday, December 15, 2009

#12 and #13

Was that the summer that I wore a light cotton print dress that I had sewn myself? So pretty, & I felt utterly feminine and lovely in it. (I remember G, with his broom.)

The Ferguson Library was housed in a lovely, labyrinthine building. I particularly liked the upstairs in the adult section - nonfiction, I think, the 800's - with a wrought-iron-gated gallery from which I could observe the portals of the adult reference room, the twin desks of the reference librarians that faced each other like sentries. I liked the librarians, especially Mrs. P., who was tan as a nut, walked with a limp, and was thin and attractive and very chic and had black hair cut in a chin-length bob and an open easygoing manner and she lived in Westport, and I quite wanted to be like her - or at least look like her and be as un-neurotic as her.

I remember the narrow metal staircase that led up to the mezzanine level. The stairs wobbled a bit, and there were slats in the treads, and the stairs had a metallic resonant sound as I went up or down. There was only enough width for one person, so sometimes there'd be a person at the top, waiting to come down, or at the bottom of the stairs, to go up. Friendly accommodation & patient waiting, either way.

I believe the elevator stopped at that floor too and I recall shelving books from a wood cart, lovely, peaceful evenings there. From up there I could see Mr. Bannister, the security guard, at his desk in the side lobby of the library. Old black man, half-blind I think - some infirmity. His eyes didn't focus. But he was sweet, a benevolent presence.

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