“I guess we got our social fix for the week,” I tell Dave as we stroll side by side down the ramp of the Crawford County Library.
Ms. Lita, one of the two librarians, drives the conversation, as she usually does. She asks about Evelyn’s day, comments on the weather, and mentions the number of books waiting on hold for us—a recurring topic. (Between you and me, there are always a lot of books on hold.)
Today felt different, though. With an hour and a half before our next commitment, there was room to linger—to wade a little deeper, relationally. Ms. Lita, Ms. Sabrina, Dave, and I each contributed just enough to keep the fire going. As Ms. Lita shared stories from her life, she used first names—something our usual quick library exchanges don’t quite allow for.
“Lisa keeps the house at 80 degrees. I can only stop by for a short minute, I start panting,” she shared about her daughter. In a twist, her Lisa, a librarian’s daughter nonetheless, also only reads when absolutely necessary—how-to manuals and instruction books.
I learned Ms. Lita lives just a handful of blocks from the library, past the post office and the park by the town square. You won’t catch her walking on days like today, though—not when the thermometer reads 30 degrees.
Not to worry, Ms. Lita. It later warmed up to 61, and my two-mile walk-jog just now left my face flushed and feeling zesty.
Later, I took a 38-minute drive with Maria to the Decadent Coffee Bar for a silent book club. We arrived eight minutes early, but all eight four-top tables were already claimed—Kindles, thermoses, and book bags saving seats—while the coffee line stretched fifteen people deep.
Soon, Maria and I followed the organizer and another woman outside to collect patio chairs for the area near the eight-foot faux fireplace and rug setup. Surprisingly, the cold metal chair suited me just fine.
A few times, I turned around to take in the room: forty women, heads bowed over Kindles and paperbacks, absorbed in silence. It was a cool sight. Equally entertaining were the customers who wandered in unaware of the event. At one point, a man roughly the same age as most of us walked in, and I leaned over to Maria and whispered, “Any divorced or single guy would love to stumble into this place.”
And yet, there was also a vaguely cult-like vibe. I imagined someone trying to figure out what was happening—dozens of similarly aged women, uniformly silent, all staring downward. We could have been studying. Or plotting the quiet dismantling of the social fabric.
But since we were at a café called Decadent, I couldn’t help myself. Sinking into a vibrant pink wingback chair, I said, “Ooooh, how decadent.” While eyeing the oversized chocolate cakes—extra whipped cream, chocolate chips, dipped everything—I said again, “Look at how decadent.”
I received a well-earned eye roll from Maria.
I imagine we’ll go back. It was a nice way to spend some time.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 