When I was growing up, there weren’t many kids my age whose company I enjoyed. At church, I usually ended up in the little library, which was frequented almost exclusively by elderly women. I befriended a few of them enough that one asked if I had any book recommendations.

After a few seconds of thought, I gave her the title and author of a creative nonfiction book I’d recently finished and thoroughly enjoyed. She thought it sounded interesting, so she went and got a copy from her local library.

Two weeks later, she’d finished the book, so I asked her how she’d liked it.

Old Lady: “You know, it’s the funniest thing. When I started reading it, my husband gave me an odd look and asked if everything was all right. When my son saw me reading it, he pulled me aside to ask if everything was okay with me and my husband. My daughter-in-law wanted to know if everything was all right at home. And my granddaughter — she’s eleven — asked if everything was okay, as well!”

At that moment, I remembered that I’d recommended to her a book titled “The Poisoner’s Handbook.”

I wonder how much worry I inflicted on her family with a simple book recommendation.

I illustrated a sixty-page book for a client I had previously worked with satisfactorily for many years. The book is now in stores. The client and their publisher contact me; they want to make a larger version of the same book.

Client: “We want you to redeliver the illustrations for the new version. The proportions are different, so you probably have to change the composition of each page. And we need you to redo all the illustrations because we actually didn’t like them at all in the first book. Make them more beautiful, with more details, like a real illustrator would. Oh, and since we paid you too much on the first version, it seems fair that we don’t pay anything this time around for what are essentially fixes.”

Me: “Wait… The budget for the first book was proposed by you, and all illustrations were happily approved after some corrections. And now you want me to redo the whole book for free?”

Client: “Yes. The whole project depends on you!”

I have been a librarian for over thirty years. We are a relatively big library in our town, and one of the more conveniently located libraries — right across from a middle school, by a major store, and near a dog park. But when the health crisis hit, we went from being in person to being only pick up in the car. Our state considered us essential. People for the most part were understanding about it, though we did have some interesting people. The absolute best patron, though, was one who remembered our names.

She would drive up, and when we came out, she would always have a smile and try and make conversation. This girl would constantly check out ten to twenty books every week and return them promptly every Monday. The odd thing was that the books were all over the place; some days it would be mysteries and sometimes it would be classics or nonfiction.

When we finally opened back up, she was there that Monday afternoon with a big plate of cookies and donuts from the local bakery with a card letting us know how much she appreciated us, especially since she knew that we had a lot of work to get out all her books. I finally asked her if she was reading all those books, because honestly, we were always curious.

Customer: *Laughing* “I read some of them, but I didn’t want the library to go under during this, so I figured if I could get as many books as I could checked out, they would see that this was a necessary thing.”

I admit my eyes were a little teary. And now, nearly six months after we have fully opened, she still checks out that many every week.

Manager: “I don’t need this albatross around my neck like the Sword of Damocles!”

Me: “That’s the most pretentious mixed metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

It’s late summer. I am sitting in the lobby of a hotel a few miles from the Gettysburg battlefield, waiting for a shot at a massively under-staffed and over-utilized breakfast buffet and reading my Nook.

Random Helpful Stranger: “Whatcha reading?”

Me: “Mr. Lincoln’s Army.”  

There’s a pause.

Random Helpful Stranger: “I can tell you how it ends.”