Public Libraries

I was browsing through the morning paper and stumbled on an Op Ed titled Without Public Libraries (Sin bibliotecas públicas). After lamenting on how limited governmental efforts are towards the betterment of libraries throughout the country, the author of the article quotes Humberto Eco's raison d'être of a library experience:

...an adventure, in the sense that many times a user goes for a book and finds a different one, which attracts him more.

This reminds me of my early visits to the school library...

Green library bag over my shoulders,

Savouring every second of the walk- 

Thinking and rethinking on what three books to borrow this week-

Tracing my fingertips along the shelves so satisfyingly abundant with new adventures,

Just imagining  worlds vaster than Swallows and Amazons , had me blushing and going 'oh, boy'. 

There was just so much, too much, to explore. 

As a ten year old, I dreamt of visiting the selection on the second floor, exclusive for high school kids

(Unfortunately,  I never got to tick this box off my  'When I am older...' to-do list, since I ended up not only changing schools but moving to another country before the seventh grade).

During my university years I frequented Guayaquil's Municipal Library for it had the cheapest photocopy rates ($ 0.02 a page). On a few occasions, reminiscing on the good old days, I tried to submerge myself into the library experience and was greatly disappointed, for it was one helluva hassle. But if  you are interested these are the steps you shall follow:

Leche Frita

If there is one thing I admit to liking more about the pastry world than the savoury-cooking world it is in the names of desserts, just to mention a few of my faves:

Éclair.

Baked Alaska.

Charlotte.

Fool.

Gelato.

Palmier.

Syllabub.

Bananas Foster.

But, my most recent favourite is: "Lecha Frita".

The beauty I see in it is that it's a paradoxical euphony not only in the etymological sense but in its raison d'etre as a smile-boosting delicacy.

Etymophilia

In recent years I've developed a rather odd inclination: a liking for words.

I've always liked reading, however around the time I reached my thirties reading has become not anymore an act of hunger for a story but more like a yearning to excavate for gems that are tucked away in between the lines...

Like stumbling upon dabs and specks of poetry within a horror novel:

"Tonight's moon was so bright that it had embarrassed all but the brightest stars into invisibility." (The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Stephen King)