Where I learn to never underestimate my local library, small as it may seem.

It has taken me some time to warm up to my local Suffolk library.  The first time I visited it was back in July, some days after The Husband and I moved into town.  I was disappointed with how small both the non-fiction and fiction section seemed, and upon my initial walk-through (done in haste because The Husband was with me and he just sat in the corner, looking progressively bored by the minute) I couldn’t find any of the books off the top of my To-Read list.

Fast-forward to two months later:  I unearth my still brand-spankin’ new and unused library card from my wallet.  It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about going back, but after spending some time using the Suffolk Libraries online book search and not finding what I want at the local branch, I just didn’t feel motivated to go there without a reason.  But it had been awhile, so why not pop in and look around for a bit?  I left The Husband at home this time.  For me, the act of browsing is best done without a spouse or significant other tagging after you and asking every 10-15 minutes, “Are you ready to go?”.

My second visit to the library turned out more fruitful than the first.  My leisurely perusal of the fiction section yielded a surprising number of titles that I’ve been wanting to read.  I also found a decent amount of NYRB Classics on hand.  There’s even a paperback copy of Picnic at Hanging Rock with the original cover, the one I thought I was going get when I order my copy of the book a year ago, but ended up with an entirely different version.

That afternoon, I came away with two great books:  Julia Margaret Cameron’s Women by Sylvia Wolf, and A Winter Book by Tove Jansson.


I could have borrowed a few more books, but I remembered that I’m in the middle of Stephen King’s IT, which is one insane mother trucker of a read, and I’m not talking about its 1300+ pages.  Tove Jansson’s writing is like a soothing balm for the night terrors inflicted by freakish killer clowns.

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