It’s a drab little building on the outside, its low, flat roof littered with air-con units: a place you can imagine as a Telecom call centre before they relocated to the Third World and the company rebranded.
Inside, however, instead of dusty partitions and a clutter of telephones, there’s a riot of colour and a ruckus of schoolkids amid shelves of books, a shimmer of computer screens and vivid community displays. There are quiet spaces, too. This is the Avondale Public Library, and it’s a Tardis. It’s not what you expect, it’s bigger than the exterior suggests, and it will take you travelling through time and space.
Every public library is a Tardis, I suppose. And perhaps I romanticise the Avondale library a little, because it’s my local. But there’s no mistaking the atmosphere. For the most part — though the security guard must have a reason to be there — people are positive, focused, engaged.
The Avondale branch is Library Central, as far as I’m concerned. Sure, I’ve gone to other libraries that had what I wanted when mine didn’t. After a lifetime of using these institutions I’ve not yet learned the patience of the library patron... not to mention the loneliness of the long-distance runner. But Avondale is where my requested books come in and where I pay my overdues. Most of all it’s the place where last year, when I faced a while of taking things quietly after shoulder surgery, I dreamed of hanging out. If ever I thought a new career might be called for, there might (I thought) be a job for me there.
Dream on. Post-op I did walk down to the library, all ten minutes that it took me, on various occasions. But almost all my time there was taken up with one-handed photocopying of ACC forms (as advised by my case worker, in case they got lost). After that I just wanted to go home and sit down.
Link to Claire's blog for her full post.
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