All my life, visits to the library were relatively transactional. I picked out books as a kid then, later, CDs as teenager and took them home to obsess over for a finite period. I returned them and started the process over again. Until one day, I stopped.
As a freelancer, I’ve tended in recent years to think of the library as a place I can take my laptop and do what I do at home, just with air-conditioning and more people around to psyche myself into productivity.
I knew there was more to it, I just never really found myself in need of all I could find and do at the library. I suppose that might be a sign of luck or privilege; the “more” available at libraries comprises a range of support. Help navigating complex technology or forms in a language you don’t speak. Face time with a helpful social worker. All manner of problems are solved in our city libraries.
Credit: Joe Armao
I don’t always open the email newsletters from Yarra Libraries, but when they sent one with the subject line “Stay cool & get creative” on December 1 – the first day of summer, on paper, and one of the many unseasonable cool days we’ve had in Melbourne – I had a little laugh as I scrolled. It described the importance of air-conditioned spaces “for older adults, children, those with poor insulation and for people who don’t have a place to call home” and mentioned some facilities will stay open later “to offer the community a safe place to stay”. This was more than just a place to sit and do emails.
Among the events it described were a screening of an Arabic-language film, a class on digitising photos, a session where new English-speakers can practice their skills and bookish events for writers and readers. In the middle of the list was news of a sewing club. With the growing pile of items I needed to mend – and had been unable to, after selling my bulky old sewing machine while moving house – I signed up and blocked out time on a Monday morning.
The librarian greeted me when I arrived and explained she was covering for the usual sewing club host, who was sick. “It’s my first time here, so you’re all I know!” I assured her.
Loading
I was the only newbie; the three other sewers were regulars. They took part in classes to make their own tote bags, came eager to pick up new skills, and collected family members’ mending to have something to do when they arrived. Any assumption I had of dropping into the chair at a machine to complete my tasks and head home were put to bed immediately.
The regulars all knew each other and were keen to get to know me too. I didn’t have a moment to feel like an interloper; they immediately made me feel welcome.
