When I think of my summers when I was little, a few of my clearest memories are: waking up and putting on my swimsuit (in hopes of running through a sprinkler or a kiddie pool), waiting by the mailbox and checking it everyday until I got my report card in the mail saying I passed and could move on to the next grade, and waiting until Thursday so we could ride our bikes one mile to where the bookmobile was parked.
Ahhhhh I love that thing. We would park our bikes on a scorching, sunny, day, and step up into the narrow, dark, rolling library that smelled of old books. Not the musty kind, but the old polished kind and those with cloth covers and stitched bindings. It was floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the aisle was so narrow you would hardly fit through. I loved browsing the picture books and choosing a favorite, and filling out the little card in the back. Every book was a new adventure and the different drawing styles drew me right in.
When we were really young, our Mom would drive us, but as we got older, we could ride our bikes to where it was parked in our neighborhood. We would sit on the little step stools and page through the books to get a favorite or two. We had to keep our voices down, because being in there had a certain reverence (policed by a strict librarian). It was such a great feeling being in there. I liked to imagine having a bed in there, and moving in so that could be my bedroom.
That bookmobile is such a fond, treasured memory. Did you have a visit by a bookmobile in your neighborhood?