I’m walking through the doors to the Harris County Public Library. I wish I could tell you that I was an avid reader, that I consume books like I consume Turtle Tracks ice cream. But I don’t.

I made it through 12 grades of school without reading a single book all the way to the end except for a small paperback I got through the reading club called “Dirt Track Summer.” That was maybe 6th grade.

My dad used to take me down to the dirt track just outside Zebulon when I was a kid. It feels like we went a lot but I’m guessing it was only two or three times. A kid’s memory is inflated. Backyards that were the size of a football field when I was 10 turn out to be hardly big enough to turn a truck around in when I’m grown. I’m not sure how that happens.

But seeing those cars race around that track piqued my interest in “Dirt Track Summer.” I read it during class when I was supposed to be learning proper grammar. I ain’t never had no handle on good grammars.

And I still don’t read as much as I should.

The air was cool inside the library. A modern building. Not the architectural wonder of my youth with wooden floors that creaked and staircases that carried a child’s mind to the stars. Where the aroma of ancient book bindings filled your senses and the hushed slide of a wooden chair echoed across the room.

“How can I help you today?”

The young lady with dark hair was not what I expected. A librarian is supposed to be a little old lady with a grey bun on top of her head with reading glasses down on the end of her nose. She should know the Dewey Decimal System without blinking. The bottom of her arms above the elbow should sway when she moves.

It threw me.

“I want to see if I can get a library card.”

“Well, you have come to the right place. Have you had a library card before?”

She starts tapping on her computer. She looks up at me, waiting for a response.

“Hmm! I don’t think so. I might have had one when I was a child. If I did it would be from the library in Griffin, Georgia.”

She smiled politely at the dazed man standing in front of her.

“I think we might just start fresh with a new card.”

I sat and filled out the form. It was asking me for all the modern digital connections I have in this world. Did I want the library to contact me through email or text. Did I currently have any outstanding fines with any library. I laughed. They don’t know me very well.

I gave her the form. She took my driver’s license to scan it into their system. They are serious about keeping up with their books, I guess. And in just a wink, she handed me a shiny brand-new library card.

I looked around the big open room. Tables and computers. Study desks. A long row of stacks against the far wall. I used to know my way around a library. I knew what the numbers on the spines meant. But today I was feeling a little out of place.

She could tell.

“Is there something else?” she asked.

“Well, I’m guessing that the card catalogue went the way of the dinosaur since last time I was inside a library. How do I look up a book I might want to check out?”

She was so nice. I’m pretty sure she waited until she went in the back on break to hold her stomach in laughter.

“See the green sign on that counter over there? That’s our library interface. You can check out pretty much any book in the state of Georgia from right there.”

I paused.
.
“If you need any help, just let me know.”

I sat down in front of the screen. It took me a minute to figure out the magic spell of how to operate this thing. First, I had to choose which library I wanted to search. I wanted to search the one I was sitting in, but I didn’t know the actual name of this library. I’ve always just called it the Harris County Library.

Turns out that this library is part of the Pines Library Network. All libraries in the state that are a part of this system, and there are a passle of them, are divided up into regions. You have to know what region you’re in to find the library you want. I went A to Z until I saw the one I needed.

Doing new and unfamiliar stuff is what makes a man feel his age. Sitting here reminds me of my 8-year-old granddaughter taking my phone from me and saying, “Oh Grandpa, let me show you how to do it.”

I am not afraid of technology. I can dive into most computer stuff without thinking twice. But just the fact that I call it computer stuff and not a library interface system tells you where my skill level is lacking.

Anyway, I’m scrolling through the catalogue. I don’t have an author in mind, so I’m using a subject as my keyword for my search.

This is embarrassing. “Exercise and fitness” is my subject. Now that I’m retired, I know I want to stay flexible. I’m not loading trees for a living any longer. I need a routine that challenges me to take care of myself. I have no illusions of building muscle. I’m way past that. I just want to be able to get up off the floor and make a flight of steps without hurting myself.

Case in point. I went to my brother-in-law’s house on Saturday to meet my kids and grandkids for a pool party and cookout. The place was already in full swing when I arrived.

The shouts of small children echoed across the lawn. “Grandpa’s here.”

Once in the pool, I was immediately identified as the Sea Monster by all the smaller aquatic creatures in the water. The game which ensued without my input was to kill the Sea Monster. I was hit by shark attacks. I had an octopus wrap its tenacles around my waist. An unidentified beast leapt from the side of the pool and landed across my back driving my ribcage forward of where it’s normally located.

I rest my case. Stay limber, I say.

The library does not have a huge collection of exercise books. All I really want is something like a chart. I did a lot of exercises in PE a hundred years ago. Coach Orr made sure of that. But I’m looking for low impact. I need to stretch my core. Make sure my joints stay loose. I’ll let you know how this goes.

I went to the counter to check out my book. I handed my new card and the book to the librarian, this time a young man. He pointed me to a self-check scanner.

One more tech-hurdle and I’m outta here.