I mentioned Donald Fagen yesterday, which made me go back in time.
Do you remember the library? I mean, when we had card catalogs and dusty books with moth-eaten pages and a section just for kids and storybook time and the library lady who wore her glasses on a chain and shushed everyone?
The library where I grew up was my haven. it was a home away from home, where I gained an immunity to the smell of paper, the feel of decayed pages, and learned to dance to the sound of the machine they used to imprint a library card information on the card that went in the back pocket of a book.
I saved my meager allowance and bought old copies of ‘Car and Driver’ magazine, among others, from the sale table in the front at the top of the stairs.
And I checked out albums along with books.
I think I listened to everything available from Steely Dan by borrowing them, one by one, from the library.
The memories I have of putting on headphones to give various albums a trial listen. The smell of the card catalog and all … the … books. They continue to bring a smile to my face, even after all this time.