MY BROTHER, MY FRIEND...

 

Patrick Matthew Michael Pope. Hmm, what can I say about him? He had the most Irish-sounding name of any Italian American guy I have ever known.  Growing up, he was my big brother, my playmate, and my nemesis. As an adult, he was my protector, my confidant, and my best friend.  He was handsome, funny, creative, but most importantly… kind and thoughtful. He loved his family unconditionally.  

Patrick was born on March 30, 1949, in Chicago, Illinois to Rocco and Marilyn Pope. He was the second out of four children, as well as the only boy. While I wasn’t around for the first five years of his life, I can say without fear of contradiction that my brother was a much-loved member of the family.  

In September 1954, Patrick was starting kindergarten at Alfred Nobel Elementary School. My mother loved to tell the story of how on his first day of school, after about an hour or so, Paddy (as mom liked to call him back then) marched himself over to the principal’s office and announced to whoever would listen, “get yourself another boy, I’m outta here!” That was the first phone call from the principal’s office that mom received about my brother. It would not be the last.

I think it is safe to say, that most older brothers get a kick out of teasing (although at the time I might have referred to it as torturing) their younger sisters. My brother was no exception. The time that Pat wanted to go off to the neighborhood playground with his friends and I wanted to tag along comes to mind. Patrick was never going to let that happen. So, the compromise was that he would play hide-n-seek with me for a little while. Do I need to spell out that I did the hiding, but Patrick did not do any seeking? Then there were the snowball fights. By the time I finished making my first snowball, Pat had already pelted me with about five of his. I could go on, but the point is that I was a pest and Pat wasn't having any of it.

Patrick was not a saint. He could be a devil at times. For example, there was a time when he broke the neighborhood bully’s nose. As the family sat down to dinner, my mother was in the kitchen finishing up some last-minute touches to the meal when there was a knock at the back door. She opened it, and standing there was Butch Panzewski with his head tilted back, and his hand cupping his bloody nose. His father, a bigger version of Butch, stood next to his son… itching for a fight. Mr. P., with his finger, pointed and shouted directly at mom, “where’s your husband?!” Mom called out to my father to come into the kitchen. Dad took a deep breath, knowing this could not be good, and confronted Butch and his father. Mr. P., flailing his arms at dad, accused Patrick of breaking his son Butch’s nose. To say that my father was not pleased by this dastardly accusation is an understatement. He called out for my brother to join him in the kitchen and asked him, in front of his accusers if he had indeed, broken the younger Panzewski’s nose. Pat, looked my dad in the eyes and said, no.  Dad turned to Mr. P., and stated as a matter of fact, “my son says he didn’t do it,” and proceeded to close the door on junior and senior Panzewski. After a minute or two and, since no one on the other side of the door attempted to kick it in, my father put his hand on my brother’s shoulder and walked him back to the dining room, asking him along the way…” so, why did you break that kid’s nose?”  It seems that Butch was picking on one of the younger kids in the neighborhood. Pushing, kicking, and trying to trip the younger (and much smaller) boy was standard behavior for Butch. When attempts at reasoning with the bully fell on deaf ears, Pat put a stop to it by giving Butch a taste of his own medicine. Breaking someone’s nose was not in Patrick’s nature and something to my knowledge that was never repeated. I can attest to the fact that standing up for someone weaker than himself would be something that Pat would repeat time after time throughout his life.

By the time Patrick entered Rezin Orr High School, he was more interested in girls and dating, some school sports, woodshop, and art classes than the standard core curriculum. He was smart and his grades reflected it, but he was never going to be happy working in an office or a laboratory.

After graduation, Pat enrolled in Wright Junior College for a couple of semesters, and then in 1975, he went on to attend Washburne Trade School. He earned his diploma as a Carpenter’s Apprentice and by 1978, he was a Journeymen Millwright. Patrick’s skills as a carpenter would be a godsend to me when I moved into a rundown 1926 apartment. Among the many repairs that he made, Pat also built shelves, refinished woodwork, and laid carpeting for me. I also ended up with a lot of high-grade tools, which have come in handy over the years. It was a lot of work, and I am sure he thought I was crazy for investing so much time, energy, and money into a rental apartment, but if he had any complaints, he kept them to himself. All he ever asked in return for his sweat equity was lunch, and coffee…lots and lots of coffee.  

Pat always looked out for me and my two sisters. While I cannot speak for them, I can say unequivocally that I reaped the benefits of getting the inside track on several people we had in common that I considered dating. Thanks to my brother, I knew which ones were the liars and cheats. He also let me know where he stood on whether or not they were good enough for me to date.

On December 8, 1981, our mother passed away. It was a major blow to our entire family. The family was no longer whole and would never be quite the same. Patrick was a source of great comfort to me and for that, I will always be thankful.

Just when I thought the worst was behind us, Patrick was killed six years later in a construction accident on June 4, 1987, at the age of 38.  While none of us ever really got the chance to say goodbye, I hope he knows how much he was loved and is missed to this day. 

Rest in Peace, Pat…

 

 

 

SWEET HOME CHICAGO...

The Windy City. The City of the Big Shoulders or City of Broad Shoulders. Hog Butcher for the World.[1] All nicknames for a sprawling metropolis that has bragging rights to an incredible skyline that overlooks Lake Michigan. A magnificent mile for shopping that lights up like the most beautiful Christmas trees you’ve ever seen. Theatres, restaurants, and sports for all seasons. There have been poems, plays, movies, and songs written about it, and of course, who could forget about that lovely cow that kicked over the lantern and burned it all down?

The Second City (or Third City depending on whose being quoted) is not without its share of problems. There are darker sides to this city that I wish didn’t exist, but given its sheer size and population, that’s to be expected. Chicago is definitely known for its weather, both good and bad, but that’s okay. It’ll change in a minute or two. Anyway, it’s where I was born, and will always be known to me as sweet home Chicago. It’s my kind of town.    

 

Springtime in Chicago

Chicago's Lake Shore Drive - In the Summertime

Autumn in Grant Park - Chicago

Winter Walks in the City

Christmastime at Chicago's Water Tower 

Elevated Train aka the "L" - Leaving the City

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[1] Words and Their Stories: Nicknames for Chicago. https://learningenglish.voanews.com/a/a-23-2010-01-08-voa1-84659357/118644.html

 

MULBERRY or TAYLOR...WHAT'S in a STREET NAME?

Mulberry Street in New York City. Taylor Street in Chicago. Both streets were colorful and well-known and played an essential role in the early days of hundreds of immigrants. For many, these two thoroughfares were as close to their homes back in Italy as they would ever come again.

Undoubtedly, they were not the most significant or wealthiest Italian neighborhoods when first established and were probably considered the poorest. As a result, Mulberry Street and Taylor Street became known as the "Little Italy" within their cities' confines. The residents tended to stay insulated from the rest of the city through language, customs, financial and cultural institutions.

New York City was a major port of entry to the United States. To be exact, Castle Garden in the 19th century, followed by Ellis Island from its opening in 1892 until its closure in 1954. Once the newly arrived emigrants passed through the gates of the immigration receiving center, many found their way to Mulberry Street…

Mulberry Street…

Mulberry Street - New York City - circa 1900 1

Mulberry Street is historically associated with Italian-American culture and history. The late 19th and early 20th centuries were the heart of Manhattan's Little Italy. Countless immigrants, including many of my ancestors, began their lives in the United States on this street.

New York City's Little Italy on Mulberry Street used to extend as far south as Worth Street, as far north as Houston Street, as far west as Lafayette Street, and as far east as Bowery. Mulberry Street is now only three blocks long. My great-grandfather, grandfather, and great-uncles came to reside in a tenement at 118 Mulberry Street. The building is no longer there.   Ironically, a place where so many immigrants temporarily 'parked' while they settled into their new lives would be transformed into what appears in more recent photos as a parking lot. By 2019, the lot that once housed a tenement and subsequent parking lot transformed for a third time into a multi-purpose building, including luxury apartments.

New York's Little Italy originated as Mulberry Bend. Jacob Riis described Mulberry Bend as "the foul core of New York's slums." During this time, "Immigrants of the late 19th century usually settled in ethnic neighborhoods." Therefore, the "mass immigration from Italy during the 1880s" led to the large settlement of Italian immigrants in lower Manhattan. Such migration resulted in an "influx of Italian immigrants," which "led to the commercial gathering of their dwelling and business."

As more time went on and the community grew, particularly after World War II, many residents began moving to Brooklyn, Staten Island, and New Jersey. The dominance of Italians in the area was "relatively short-lived." Due mainly to the quick financial prosperity many Italians achieved, which allowed them to leave the cramped neighborhood for Brooklyn and Queens. Immigration restrictions were lifted in 1965, and Manhattan's Chinatown began to expand into what was once Little Italy. The area is currently referred to as Little Italy more out of nostalgia than a reflection of an actual ethnic population.

In 2010, Little Italy and Chinatown were listed as historic districts on the National Register of Historic Places.

Taylor Street…

Around Taylor & Maxwell Streets - Chicago - circa 1901  2

While several Italian-American communities thrive within the Chicago metropolitan area, Taylor Street seemed to be the port of call for Chicago's Italian American immigrants. It inherited the title of Chicago's "Little Italy."

Taylor Street's Little Italy is part of a larger community — Chicago's Near West Side. Dominant among the immigrant communities that comprised the Near West Side during the mass migration of Europeans around the start of the 20th century were Italians, Greeks, and Jews. Other ethnic groups vacated the neighborhood in the early 1900s, and only the Italian-American enclave remained a vibrant community.

Other ethnicities have always been present in the area known as "Little Italy," however, the strong influence of Italians and Italian culture on the community throughout the 19th and 20th centuries dominated. The Italian population peaked during the 1950s and '60s. It began declining after the decision to build the University of Illinois in the area was finalized in 1963. However, several Italian restaurants and businesses remain in the formerly prominent Taylor Street corridor.

Italians began arriving in Chicago in the 1850s in small numbers. By 1880, there were 1,357 Italians in the city. By the 1920s, Italian cookery had become one of the most popular ethnic cuisines in America. Many successful bakeries and restaurants—some of which prospered for generations continue to influence the Chicago dining scene. By 1927, Italians owned 500 grocery stores, 257 restaurants, 240 pastry shops, and various other food-related businesses concentrated in Italian neighborhoods.

The immigration of Italians accelerated throughout the late 19th century and into the early 20th century. Chicago's foreign-born Italian population was 16,008 in 1900 and peaked at 73,960 in 1930. The largest area of settlement was the Taylor Street area.     

How do I answer the question, "What's in a street name?"

Technically I did not grow up on Taylor Street or any nearby streets that make up the Tri-Taylor, University Village/Maxwell Street, or Little Italy area of the city. However, my grandparents, parents, assorted aunts, uncles, and a few cousins did, so I claim that privilege by association. From the stories that I grew up hearing, times were tough. There was the Spanish Influenza, the Depression, few jobs, many mouths to feed, and two World Wars, not to mention Korea and Viet Nam. But, there were also many good times shared. A closeness amongst family and friends. Love and pride in the community and one's heritage still exist today in the recollections often repeated by those there. Not a bad thing.

RESOURCES:

¹Wikimedia Commons contributors, "File: Mulberry Street, New York City (LOC det.4a08193).jpg," Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Mulberry_Street,_New_York_City_(LOC_det.4a08193).jpg&oldid=410554170 (accessed August 3, 2020).

²Wikipedia contributors, "Little Italy, Chicago," Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Little_Italy,_Chicago&oldid=965385614 (accessed August 3, 2020).

WELL ISN'T THAT JUST PEACHY...

Just Peachy - March 1958

A perfect Sunday afternoon for a three-year-old might be playing with a new toy, wearing a new hat, or eating a favorite treat. For this little girl, it looks like she has all three!

An abject look of determination crosses the face of this adorable child (ahem, okay, it’s me). The giant spoon held perfectly in her little hand… she slowly guides it down into the tin can of heavy syrup, in search of the delicious canned peaches contained within. Here I am on a mission to scoop up the delicious fruit accompanied by the perfect amount of sticky, sweet nectar. 

Of course, one must always keep up with current fashion trends, and what better way than to have a hat made from the latest edition of the Sunday paper?

Newspaper hat couture was my dad’s specialty. No one could design a statement piece out of the classifieds better than him, and if he used the paper’s comic strip…the bright, colored ink could give the fanciest, British fascinator hat a run for its’ money!  

Hmmm, I knew Mom was a milliner by trade, but who knew that Dad dabbled in that field, too?! 

Lilly Daché¹ couldn't have done better, at least not in my mind's eye!






¹ Lilly Daché 1898-1989. A European-born American milliner and fashion designer. 

PHOTO CREDITS:

Photograph entitled 'Just Peachy - March 1958' from the author's private photo collection.
Raised Eyebrow Emoji by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY 

STREET SCENES...

It isn't easy to imagine how my life might have turned out had my great-grandparents not decided to immigrate to the United States. I know why they did it, but sometimes I wonder if they regretted the decision? Leaving behind family, friends, and the only homes they had ever known must have been difficult.



As in most immigrant stories, the men emigrated first. Hopes were high that they might earn enough money to secure their family's future in the old country or establish a new life in America.



Three weeks at sea, what an arduous journey to undertake. Not an easy trek, especially for women. It couldn't have been easy to travel alone with young children to meet their husbands in a strange land with no one to lean on. Or imagine the young girl traveling to a foreign country to meet her future husband. A man that was selected for her by her parents and whom she had probably never laid eyes on before. Hoping that this person she was about to spend her life with was well-suited or kind, at the very least.

From August 1, 1855, through April 18, 1890, immigrants arriving in the state of New York came through Castle Garden. America's first official immigrant examining and processing center, Castle Garden welcomed approximately 8 million immigrants — most from Germany, Ireland, England, Scotland, Sweden, Italy, Russia, and Denmark. 

Castle Garden Immigration Center - about 1888

Castle Garden welcomed its last immigrant on April 18, 1890. After the closing of Castle Garden, immigrants were processed at an old barge office in Manhattan until the opening of the Ellis Island Immigration Center on  January 1.1892. [i]  

My maternal great-grandmother, Carmella DeLio, and her 8-year-old son Angelo, my future grandfather, set sail on the SS Bolivia from Naples, Italy, in December 1887. They arrived in New York through Castle Garden on Jan. 4, 1888. They would join my great-grandfather, Raffaele, and eventually settle in Chicago, Illinois.  

According to family lore, a young girl was also on the boat. Her name was Saveria Debiase. She was approximately 14 years old and was on her way to meet and marry her future husband, Michele Lufrano[1]. Carmella would take young Saveria under her wing during this long ocean crossing. The two became fast friends. A pact between them developed, determining that once Saveria and Michele married and started their family, their first daughter would be promised to marry Carmella's son, Angelo.

  

Chicago Street Scene 1888-1890

Downtown Chicago - 1890

Whether Saveria and Carmella met on the boat or through other means, an agreement was struck. Two years after that meeting, on Mar. 5, 1890, Saveria gave birth to her first child, a daughter named Maria or Mary, as she would be known. On Jan. 15, 1905, 14-year-old Mary and 24-year-old Angelo wed in Chicago, Illinois.

Bowler Avenue - 2017

The match between Mary and Angelo DeLio turned out to be a good one. The young couple would eventually raise six children in a house they purchased in 1917 in the Little Italy section of the city, which still stands today. The family lived in the house on Bowler Avenue (fka DeKalb Street) throughout the 1940s.  

My favorite memories growing up were of my parents, aunts, and uncles discussing the old days on DeKalb Street. They spoke about them with such relish that I felt like I was there. What great fun and adventures they shared. If ever there was a time to need a video camera or tape recorder, it was then. Oh, to be a fly on the wall!   

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[1]  Most documentation lists Michele Lufrano as Michael Lufrano. However, a baptismal registry for one of Michael and Saveria's children refers to him as Guiseppe Lufrano. This information has yet to be verified.  

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[i] ^{Powell, Kimberly. "Castle Garden: America's First Official Immigration Center." ThoughtCo, Feb. 11, 2020, thoughtco.com/castle-garden-americas-official-immigration-center-1422288.}

THE CONSPIRATORS...

How happy and contented Dad looks with his little babies, balancing one on each arm as they wiggle and giggle without a care in the world.

The Conspirators - June 1950

(Dad, Natalie & Patrick in the Park)

Aww...how cute these two little pixies look on their playdate in the park. Perched on top of Dad’s big, muscular shoulders. So sweet and innocent, or is Natalie providing final instructions to Patrick for some diabolical adventure?  


Whatever these two cuties are whispering and plotting, it is sure to promise loads of laughs…for them, and I’m sure… something that will require a great deal of explaining to Mom!


Hmm, I’ll bet Dad made a quick stop on the way home for some candy and flowers. Couldn’t hurt, right?! 

PHOTO CREDIT:

Photograph entitled 'The Conspirators - June 1950 (Dad, Natalie & Patrick in the park)' is from the author's private collection.

HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY...

Whether hiding under a bed, copping a few zzz's while curled up in a ball on the sofa, or peeking out from behind a curtain, you never quite knew where this cat would decide to cop-a-squat.

Searching high and low for this little kitty turned into an everyday occurrence.

Unfortunately for Dad, his back was often the best seat in the house for Sammy! Fortunately for Sammy...Dad didn't mind...too much.

Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty - ca 1990

PHOTO CREDIT:

Photograph entitled "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty - ca 1990" is from this author's personal collection.

IT'S ALL COMING BACK TO ME...

I generally do not like having my picture taken. I've never considered myself very photogenic. I do, however, try to take at least one new photo every 5 years or so...sort of like a mile marker for how quickly or slowly my looks are fading as I age. The picture that I took at the end of last year wasn't too bad (if I do say so myself). As a matter of fact, it's one of the few photographs I've taken over the last several years that I actually liked. I was really quite proud of it, so much so that I felt safe to leave my house without using a disguise or having to place a bag over my head for fear of someone recognizing me from it. I even felt secure enough to update my Facebook™ profile photo without worrying about snarky comments. I took the plunge and posted my new picture. All of the feedback that I received was positive, and then it happened...

THE BACKSTORY:

A couple of years ago, a former coworker (a woman I'll call Anna) sent me a "friend request" on Facebook™. I've technically known Anna for about six years, though I haven't seen or worked with her for over two and haven’t really spoken to her in at least one. We weren't particularly close, but there really wasn't any reason I could think of not to be "friends." She seemed like a kindhearted person as I recall, and I got along with her fairly well... so I accepted her friend request. That was my first mistake. Mistake #2 happened about a few months ago... 

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT...:

Curiosity is a double-edged sword. After not hearing from Anna for over a year through regular channels and never through social media.... she sent me a private message via Facebook Messenger™. My instinct was to just ignore it. Besides...the message was more than likely just small talk...

'hi, how are you?'💬...

'oh really?'💬...

'that's nice'💬…

'see ya...bye.'💬.

I thought about pretending that I accidentally deleted the message when I tried to open it. But... curiosity got the best of me, as I wondered what Anna could have to say after all this time. Could it be that my new profile picture showed up in her newsfeed, and it prompted her to say hello? Only one way to find out...open it. As I suspected, the message started out with...'hi, how are you?' It ended though when she took aim and fired off a single shot...figuratively speaking. She wrote that she had just read an article about a reasonably popular character actor. The Internet did indeed have several stories and pictures of him because he had died the day before, but what did that have to do with me? Anna went on to write that she thought that he and I looked exactly alike... especially our eyes. As a side note, this actor had a particular look about him, which made him ideal for portraying gangsters and other rough-type personalities.

And there it was, folks... another random off-the-wall comment lobbed directly at my looks (see my previous post entitled Landing the Second Punch). I'd like to say it was totally unexpected. Still, as soon as I read her comment... memories of past conversations with this woman came flooding back. All I could say was, 'are you kidding?' It made me wonder what kind of vibe I was giving off. After more than a year of no contact... this woman was compelled to send me a message out of the blue, comparing my looks to that of a male actor, 20 years older than me, and dead?

BUT SATISFACTION BROUGHT IT BACK:

I really had nothing else to say to Anna after that...and even if I did...it wouldn't have been anything that she would want to hear. My lack of a reaction was probably the best comeback I could have come up with. If she meant her comment as sarcasm... an adverse reaction on my part would have fed her satisfaction at hitting the mark. The fact that she spent the next few minutes trying to walk back her idiotic statement to an unresponsive audience was mine.


In the end, I decided to take the high road and assume that Anna meant no harm (and maybe she didn't, but seriously...) Why couldn't she have at least picked someone younger, female, slightly less weather-beaten, and alive for the comparison?! 😕 It's all coming back to me now as to why I haven't spoken to her in over a year.

LESSONS LEARNED:

There are two lessons to be learned here...

1. Make sure that you know your audience before you say or put in writing something you might regret later, and...
2. Friends are people that you choose to have in your life. They should build you up ...not tear you down. Going forward...I will need to be a little more selective in who I choose to "friend" on social media sites.

Before I close out this post...I want to go on record by saying that my doppelganger was a very talented actor. I have no firsthand knowledge to the contrary, and so I'm sure he was also an upstanding guy 

(emphasis on guy). It was never my intention to disrespect this man if that's the way it appears. As to his identity, my lips are sealed.

My vent is over, and now if you'll excuse me... I need to log on to Facebook™... there is someone, I mean something that I need to delete... 😉

Me - 2019

 RESOURCES:

The photo entitled 'Me - 2019' is from this author's personal photo collection.

Clip Art: 'Zipper Mouth Emoji' by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND

Clip Art: 'Thumbs Up Emoji' by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-SA-NC

PLAY BALL! ...

Ah, …sweet love. It may look like mom is preparing to slug dad with a baseball bat, but it was just a bit of harmless fun while on a picnic. You see, the photo was actually taken at the Brookfield Zoo.

Let's Play Ball! - Jul 1945

Along with the couple they were with, the two lovebirds decided to take a break from watching the animals and their sometimes-crazy antics and do a little playing around themselves. With a lovely picnic grove on the grounds, they had the perfect setting for this silly baseball game.

Mom & Dad at Play - Jul 1945

What style...flair and grace! 

What shenanigans!! 

What a great team these two were!!!  

PHOTO CREDITS:

Photographs entitled "Let's Play Ball! - Jul 1945" and "Mom & Dad at Play - Jul 1945" are from my personal photo collection.

ONCE UPON A TIME...

There are many cleverly named bookstores and websites that use the word, 'bookaholic' or 'bookaholism' in their titles. I cannot say for sure that there is no Webster's Dictionary definition for either term. Nor do I know if it appears in any medical books or journals that I have seen (albeit I didn't look very hard or at all). To me, it's sort of a made-up word. One that you might find in an urban dictionary. In today's world, you throw 'aholic' behind any other concept, and it means to be addicted or obsessed with something. A bookaholic, in my estimation, is a lover of books or someone that is addicted to reading. Some of these individuals may attempt to read multiple books all at the same time. I believe that as long as there are libraries and these cleverly named bookstores, that this is a disease for which I hope there is no cure.

Clip Art by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND

I love to read, and I pretty much have a book of one kind or another in my hand at any given time. It is a habit that has been handed down to me by my mother. Mom loved to read and would read stories to me when I was a small child. That is quality time in which I encourage every parent to participate.

Learning the Dewey Decimal System - Photo Courtesy of Wikipedia.com

The first time I ever set foot in a library was in elementary school. Once a week, my class was brought into the school library. We learned the fundamentals of library etiquette, as well as how to use the Dewey Decimal System to look up a book. Once we mastered these skills, we were allowed to check out one or two books every two weeks. The first book I checked out was 'Little House in the Big Woods.' It was the first book in Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie series. I brought the book home, and while it wasn't exactly to my liking, my mother got a hold of it, read it, and loved it. For the next several weeks, I would continue to check out two books...one of the Little House books for mom and another book for me.

As I got older, I cherished that memory of sharing books with my mother. My love for reading inherited from her grew out of that, and I am truly thankful. These days, I've added to my reading repertoire of works of fiction, to include books on history and biographies. I also love genealogy, so if I can combine my favorite type of books along with my passion for genealogical research, it's a win-win for me.

Recent events that are pandemic in nature have ground to a halt my ability to obtain books conventionally. Before the stay-at-home order currently in place as of this writing, I had been on a kick of reserving books from the public library. It's so much easier and cheaper to feed my reading addiction that way. The risky part of borrowing or reserving a book is that you only have three weeks to read it. If a library allows me to reserve as many books as I want at one time, they obviously must think I can get through them all in 3 weeks... right?

Since there were several books that I wanted to read, I reserved five of them. It would be no big deal if I were a speedy reader, and these books were less than 200 pages or were auto-renewable. Note to self...some are not. Also, if sitting down with a good book and a steaming hot cup of coffee were all I had to do all day, it would be no big deal. Hmm, if only that were true.

It's not difficult to reserve books. All you need is a library card and knowing what it is that you want to read. Nowadays, the public library makes it quite effortless. I never even left my sofa. All you need to do is select the book, reserve it and wait for it to become available. The library then sends you a notice to tell you that the book is in so that you can pick it up.

My problem began when only one of the books I reserved was available. My queue positions in line to receive the majority of the others were anywhere between 49 and 300. I believed that I had a good, solid month or two before the rest of the books would be ready. Foolishly, I thought it was safe to go ahead and reserve a few more. After all, one or two were bound to come in within the next week, and I would be able to get through them before the other books became available. I reserved an additional five books, bringing my total number on hold to ten. If I haven't said it before, let me repeat borrowing books or reserving them from the library is a good thing! Unless you reserve ten or more at one time, and eight of them come in all at once!! I knew I should have reserved audiobooks!!

The moral of my story is twofold. The love of reading is an intangible gift that can be handed down from parent to child through a simple gesture such as the reading of a bedtime story. It is a gift that will last a lifetime. Also, while taking advantage of this gift, try not to go overboard when reserving books at the library. One or two books at a time should suffice. The others will be there when you're ready to read them, and whatever you do, don't place too much stock in queuing positions!!

Hello, I am a bookaholic... 

Photo Courtesy of ifandorbutpublishing.com