If my sister was driving, she had to be 16, which made me 11. So let's say I was 11 when she first drove me into Lancaster to the Free Public Library. All I have is a memory kaleidoscope of marble floors, high elegant ceilings, wide staircases, and heaven. I simply could not conceive of having that many books to peruse, let alone check out. We each got a little square cream-colored card with a metal clasp in the middle and a brown fitted envelope to slip it into for protection. Ticket to paradise.
Now, years later, all my library books are shuttled through technological portals - some by-passing paper and binding all together and it's slick, efficient and lightning speed.
But I will always remember the little girl from the country, who stood and gazed upon her first public library with eyes full of wonder, not believing the world was hers.
The magic lives on.
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