It's More of an Art Form, Really.

Yesterday I spent some time reading shelves.

How much time? Not sure. Time has no meaning "in the stacks".

In a public library, books get touched a lot. Shuffled around. Picked up and stuck back in the wrong spot. And hey, that's okay. Sort of. We want people to be using the books; that's what they're there for. Unfortunately, we also want books to be in their proper place. Do you know what it's like to look up a book on a computer and have it say it's on the shelf, then take the patron to the shelf and not be able to find it? Awkward. We have to be able to find the books in their proper spots.

That's where shelf reading comes in.

Shelf reading is reading the spine label of each book to make sure everything is in order. Fiction books are arranged in alphabetical order by the author's last name. Nonfiction books are arranged according to the dewey decimal system.

So you stand there and examine each book. Yes, it's tedious. But it's also gratifying. Some of those nonfiction sections just get so messed up. And once a few are out of order, more books are shelved out of order.

I get into a kind of rhythm there, reading and straightening and becoming hypnotized with the numbers. No time to think or worry about life, just time to process the numbers. It's a beautiful thing.

And when I can look back and see the rows of books that I've correctly arranged, it gives me a great feeling of satisfaction. Sure, it will all just get messed up again. But for a brief time, it's all right.

Perfect.