Brown & Dickson reminiscing on the old Central branch of the London Public Library after a new collection fell into their possession:
“The current upswing in Canadian spirit, and these well-met first editions, brought to mind our early days at the old London Public Library. It was a burgeoning regionalist’s paradise—-and what is Canadian spirit if not regionalism?”
Regionalism. To love, appreciate, explore, and celebrate the places we call home. The library has always been at the heart of all things local; stocking regional collections, maintaining the historical archives of communities, and being the third place where people come together to share in common interests while building bridges between the less common things we share.
“We explored zines, newspapers, posters, and ephemera from our unexpectedly bright and interesting local art scene’s history. For both of us, it was a step beyond the background of our home berths into a larger, cosmopolitan community weirdly just at our doorsteps.”
There’s something to be said about the broad swath of content that a library’s collection contains. There’s something on the shelves for everyone. And, when this statement isn’t true in practice, there’s something behind a closed door that is easily accessed by a friendly librarian.
“Its collection was a classic mix of arts and humanities. It was curated with deep care.”
Most of all, it’s the diversity of what the library contains, and the infinite possibilities of the the space and its resources facilitates, that makes a library a very special place. It helps to create something, out of nothing:
“That library made us writers.”
Then there’s the space itself. The carefully selected furniture, to fit into the meticulously designed environment; a combination which instantly transforms The Good Room into The Room of Requirement:
“We’d spread all this mind-blowing stuff out on those handsome wood tables and WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE. We hunkered down with the naive verve of teenagers discovering greatness in their own city, and do our best to create something, anything, that could merit inclusion in that cannon. Hours would go by. The small, poorly stocked coffee shop in the basement provided mediocre sustenance. Librarians sometimes got excited about what we were doing, and popped over to set an Anne Carson book on our piles, saying, “I think you might like this.””
The library as place is unique in our society today. It is one of the last truly public spaces, for the public good, where everyone is welcome and where everyone can transform the space into what they need for themselves in a given moment. For some, the library is a place to be, for others a place to become, and for book lovers like Brown & Dickson and myself:
“That old library taught us how to simply be in books.”
Growing up I didn’t spend much, if any, time in the old Central branch of our public library. I was too young to venture there myself, and our family’s branch of choice was one closer to home. I can only recall visiting the old, historic Central branch once or twice in my life as a young undergraduate student. This is a shame, because I would love to, “remember what the rain sounded like hitting those huge windows,” in the old Central branch, the calming nature of the sound, and the experience it cemented in memory to be relived each time I were to “sit down with a good book and discover something new about [myself] and [my] world.”
Cedric Richards on walking as both a practical and purposeful act.:
"I used to enjoy walking, especially long distances when I was younger. The world was so much larger and I could see all the little things that composed our surroundings."
There's lots to be said about walking.
There's the obvious health benefits of being active and out in the fresh air. But then there's the meditative benefits, especially when one chooses to walk without headphones in their ears. The opportunity to observe, people watch, and consider one's relation to the environment they are passing through is as much of a benefit of walking as it is when simply sitting around.
Cedric’s ability to enjoy something so simple, yet take so much away from the experience, is a welcome take on an every day thing.
There's also a gem in here of a benefit living in run-of-the-mill-no-where-suburbs:
"...when you live in a hard-to-find suburb and you can do your own thing without judgment."
by Jay Ingram
My (step-)mother passed away in early 2024 after more than a decade of battling progressively worsening dementia. By the time she left us, I could no longer remember who she was before the disease. This lingers with me—not just as a personal loss, but as a deep sense that she deserves to be remembered as the vibrant, compassionate, and thoughtful person she was before dementia took hold. And yet, I struggle to bring those memories into focus.
Over those ten years, I watched my father shoulder the immense weight of caregiving, often alone, as he tried to care for her, for himself, and to understand the disease that was reshaping their lives. In contrast, I did little to educate myself about dementia or to support him in ways that, in hindsight, feel like responsibilities I should have fulfilled.
Now that my mother is gone and my father is on his own, I find myself drawn to books like The End of Memory— a way to learn, to understand, even if it feels too late.
When I started reading, I hoped to make sense of what my mother experienced in her later years, to understand that her actions weren’t a matter of willpower but rather the inevitable effects of a disease no one can truly fight. I wanted to grasp how dementia and Alzheimer’s develop over time and what individuals, families, and communities can do to delay its onset—because, for many of us, it’s not a matter of if but when.
I got what I needed from The End of Memory, but not without some struggle. As with most topics rooted in biology and physiology, much of the scientific detail went over my head. I don’t have a background in science, nor do I have much interest in diving into its complexities. That’s not a flaw in the book or in Jay Ingram’s writing, but rather a reflection of my own difficulty in connecting with certain aspects of the material.
That said, I did take away some valuable insights. I found it particularly interesting to learn about the link between sugar intake and the likelihood of developing Alzheimer’s, as well as how staying physically and mentally active during leisure time can help delay cognitive decline. This passage from late in the book encapsulates the dynamic nature of Alzheimer’s and the factors that can help combat it:
“This is a reminder of the fact that late-onset Alzheimer’s is malleable: diet, exercise, education, a mentally challenging occupation, conscientiousness and likely many more as-yet-unidentified influences play a role in creating the brain reserve that is considered to protect against these genetic effects.”
— p. 179
I’d recommend The End of Memory to anyone interested in the history of aging and Alzheimer’s, especially those looking for a comprehensive look at the science behind the disease and the strategies that might help delay its onset. If you’re willing to engage with the more technical aspects, this book provides a well-rounded exploration of what we know—and what we’re still trying to understand— about Alzheimer’s and its impact.
I've recently started to fiddle with The Story Graph to see if I can get a bit social reading.
I've long kept a reading log, with mini reviews (some of which are shared here), but I'm growing tired of the maintenance of the system. I wonder if there is an easier way.