The Secret Lives of Librarians

Fat, frigid drops of rain are falling this unseasonably warm November day, aggrivating my already slightly cantankerous mood. Lacking a solution to any of my life’s current predicaments, I decided to seek some inspiration at the local library.

For some reason, libraries provide me with a sense of calmed anticipation. Wandering through the stacks in search of literary surprises, concentrating on authors, titles and subjects eases my heart rate and lowers my blood pressure. I suspect on the darkest, most tumultuous times in my life, if I could’ve holed myself up in a library, I would’ve had no need for therapy.

So I choose two biographies: Susan Jane Gilman to delight my Gen X, feminist side, and Anthony Keidis to stimulate my inner rocker. I approach the desk and inquire about Pamela DesBarres’ memoirs, “I’m with the Band: Tales of a Groupie”, re-released in hard cover with additional photos. After adding my name to a waiting list (the book is on order), this mild-mannered librarian says, “I was one of the original Deadheads.” then wistfully adds, “That was a great year, living out there.”

I smiled, really smiled, for the first time since I crawled out of bed.

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