Memorable Moments at the Circulation Desk

On an unusually quiet evening at the Lynnwood Library, David Wagoner, the acclaimed Northwest poet and University of Washington professor came up to the desk and said he needed to use a PC because his computer was out of order. "Professor Wagoner," I said, soon after recognizing him, "I'm so surprised and pleased to see you." We spoke briefly about Dorothee Bowie, who was assistant to the chairman but actually ran the English Department (I lived with the Bowie family when I was a foreign student), and about his recent nomination for a Pulitzer Prize.
It's rare to have someone whose writing I admire approach me at the Circulation Desk. I almost forgot the simple procedure involved in issuing a temporary computer pass.


At another time, a library patron in Mukilteo handed me a book that she wanted to check out. It was Alan Paton's Cry the Beloved Country, which became popular the minute it became an Oprah book selection. "This is really good," I said to her, "I still remember the opening lines."
Inspired by the moment, I began: "There's a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it."
The woman quickly turned the pages of the book looking for the first paragraph. Satisfied that my quotation was true, she smiled. It was an "Aha!" moment for her. And for me, it was instant validation that I had not yet lapsed into early Alzheimer's.

How Much is Enough?

When you read an instruction book and try to understand what needs to be done - and fail and fail again, maybe you've had enough. If you've spent hours poring over a manual with no visible results except error messages, I think it's time to call it quits. Begin reading The Brothers Karamazov instead and turn to a ten-year old for help.

When I was in Manila recently, a borrowed cell phone died on me. The gardener, who was busy watering plants, came to my rescue. Another time,when I was having difficulty sending a text message, it was the housemaid who completed the task using her nimble fingers on the tiny keyboard. She could have done it blindfolded. What I'm getting at is this: for me, every newfangled device or program that promises to make a contribution to my life also comes with a demanding commitment of hours devoted to reading and understanding the instructions before I can proceed. Frankly, I have better luck reading and interpreting a poem.

Reading and Technology

I never imagined, when I fell under the spell of the written word in grade school, that I would someday have almost instant access to everything I wanted to read. I say almost because to be able to read that book, or specific article I have in mind, sometimes requires more than a pair of eyes. Let me backtrack a little bit. It has to be said: I've graduated from reading books in print (exclusively) to listening to them on tape. That's how I finished the first volume of Proust's In Search of Lost Time -- listening to ten cassettes while beach-watching in Mazatlan. And I took a liking to audio CDs because I could listen to them while driving around in my car. Once, I took the wrong exit because I got carried away by the speaker's voice reading My Antonia.
But there is another level of reading ability that I haven't quite reached. Because my knowledge of electronic devices is limited (even though I own a laptop and an IPod), and I'm unfamiliar with the peculiar language of instruction manuals, I have little or no desire to download written material from my computer to a printed page. For now, at least, I'm quite happy to enjoy the simple pleasure of reading a book that I can hold in my hand.