Breakfast in Scarborough

I’m reporting live from the south room of Runnymede‘s upper story, which doubles as a study area and art gallery. For me, this attic has the right combination of austerity and artistic flair, putting it on a par with Gerrard/Ashdale branch.

A simple hearth lies a few yards in front of me under the sloping roof. Above the carved wooden mantle is a quilted runner which celebrates the fact that Runnymede Library was featured on a postage stamp in 1989. An image of the grey stone building is sewn in centre of the runner, and framing the central panels are the famous totem poles which flank the library’s actual entrance.

I’ve just left the gallery to descend to the main level. I like how the wall separating the flights of stairs contains square windows with amber glass; they give people the opportunity to make funny faces at each other as they come and go between floors.

Now I’m perched on a low wooden bench that fronts a very tall window with dignified dark-brown window-frames. The frames really suit this part of the library, which has high built-in bookshelves that would look right at home in Mr. Rochester’s study (or any other brooding aristocrat’s den). And the imaginary study need not be limited to England, for books at Runnymede are available in Ukrainian, German, Polish, French, and Russian.

Following the row of shelves with foreign-language resources to the end (which culminates in large art volumes), I’ve now reached the south wall. Mostly glass, it offers a view of a square piece of lawn and a collection of respectable yet approachable houses. On the far side of this wall is an enormous floor-to-ceiling piece of copper with nine square windows cut out of it. Near the base of  this structure is a long sturdy window seat, perfect for leaning against the copper while looking out a small window. (Fingerprints on the glass testify to moments of inattention and day-dreaming).

The Children’s section is mostly along the east wall, which has been painted an intense shade of green that suggests Kermit the Frog’s pelt after an exfoliating treatment. On the part of the wall where the staff’s office is partitioned from the kid’s area, four portholes indicate submarine playfulness or surveillance. I don’t see any librarians peering through them disapprovingly, although some might object to a young couple who appear fused together in a studious love-heap. The affectionate pair are huddled on a bench which backs up against the Teen Section’s wide computer table. (In this context, the high portholes in the library remind me of a picture I’d once seen of a 19th-century parlour which had a tiny window above the door for parents standing on chairs in the adjacent room to monitor courting couples).

Shaking off old-fashioned images of spying librarians, I return to the gallery to see if the meeting room across the hall is empty. I find it unoccupied and enjoy a few minutes sitting in the north side of the upper level. Under the eaves, a piano and puppet theatre wait for the next entertaining event at the library. Three lovely dormer windows show bare trees and a dark blue afternoon sky. I feel peaceful here.

When I found Perth/Dupont Library after some pleasantly aimless walking, I was struck by how architectually-integrated the branch seemed, as if it had been lovingly tucked into its storefront room by the surrounding community. About the size of Davenport Library, Perth/Dupont’s interior was off-white with olive trim and featured an exposed blue-purple heating duct that snaked around three walls. In the southeast corner, a blue alligator kept watch from a platform above a square column built into the wall. And on a matching platform in the southwest corner, two white teddy bears with red-ribbon bow-ties served as guardians of their domain. Near the centre of the south wall was a heavy hanging wooden frame that supported a large dragon face. This was a very toothy specimen indeed, and its protruding tongue amped up the scare-factor.

Not intimidated by the dragon, I sat at a table between the Portuguese collection and the checkout desk for a few hours, soaking up a typical weekday afternoon at a branch which appeared to be a second home to the families who brought their kids to read and play. When most patrons came in, especially the smallest ones, the librarian greeted them by name. What’s more, she engaged in relaxed conversations with the parents and didn’t become overly officious when a few rambunctious kids crawled inside the paper-back display frames. When the game of chase got wild, mindful moms said, “Remember we were going to practice our inside voices? This is a library, not a playground.”

Even though Perth/Dupont is not technically a playground, I liked how the kids showed a natural sense of ownership; they knew it was their library even if, in their exuberance, they might have made themselves a little too much at home. What better testimony to Perth/Dupont’s genuine welcome to local families and individuals!

When I studied the TPL map before I set out for Davenport Library, I wrongly assumed that Shaw Street went up as far north as Saint Clair Avenue West. For this reason, my decision to take the streetcar west from Saint Clair West Station was ill-advised. By the time I heard the automated voice announce Dufferin Street, I knew I’d probably gone too far.

Deciding to try my luck on foot, I hopped off the streetcar into the rain, walked down Dufferin to Davenport Road and then proceeded east on a prayer that Shaw would appear soon. I was getting tired and cold, so when I saw the small warm building on the corner of quietly residential Davenport and Shaw, my spirits lifted. On that dark afternoon, the library’s lights and Christmas wreath looked especially welcoming to this sojourner. And I valued reaching Davenport all the more because of the difficulty.

The door made a chunky clink when I opened it, but none of the three patrons inside looked up. Glad to rest my feet, I sat down at a table and let the pale lime walls of the narrow room soothe me. The floor’s blue and green tiles were attractive, and I liked the way the shelving had been adapted to a space that called to mind a New York railroad apartment. Davenport’s tall shelves lined the west wall, each a three-sided entity unto itself; a book-seeker could lose herself in the contemplation of titles in front of her and on either side.

Although it took only a few minutes to cover the library’s 3,604 square feet, I lingered for more than an hour at a table in the northwest corner marking papers. I felt the gratitude of a traveller who has found shelter after being cold and lost. How lucky I was to spend a rainy afternoon in this secluded box car of a branch!

From the outside, Rexdale Library had a pleasing squatness that gave it the air of small-town post-office. Confirming this impression, a historical outline posted inside described the evolution of the library and its formerly rural surroundings. I was especially fascinated by a newspaper clipping which showed how Kipling Heights looked in 1955.

Though not as empty as the field in the photograph, Rexdale wasn’t very crowded on the afternoon of my visit. Near the west wall, a couple of elderly men fondly reminisced about TTC fares that only cost six cents in the post-war era. A few shelves away from their table were books in languages which probably weren’t heard very often in Kipling Heights fifty years ago: Gujarati, Punjabi, and Spanish (with the exception of Italian, which was more common).

Having come into the building from the back entrance, I decided to investigate the front vestibule facing Kipling Avenue, which was like a sunny wooden box. Further along the north wall was a bay window with a lovely C-shaped window seat. Brightening the window were pictures of Winnie the Pooh, The Simpsons, and Dora the Explorer (among others). Opposite the windows, a wooden sliding screen completed the circle started by the window seat. Its flexibility made it possible to enclose the area into its own separate space. Emphasizing the room’s singularity, a circular depression in the middle suggested a woodland pond. Two carpeted steps led to the sacred pool, providing the perfect amount of transition time from land to water. With late afternoon sunlight flooding the window-seat theatre, this otherwise ordinary branch was transformed into a cartoon-friendly hermitage.

Woodview Park Library is part of a modest strip plaza near the intersection of Sheppard Avenue and Weston Road. Despite its name, there were no views of woods or parks on offer. What’s more, I found this branch to be one of the more spartan TPL establishments I’ve visited; the large square room seemed almost too big for its contents. A few patrons rattled around the main area, but the most lively part of the library was a separate Quiet Study Area where a family crafts activity was in progress.

The decorations were sparse as well, mainly consisting of some painted Greek arches festooned with leaves and dark purple grapes. In the Children’s Area, the east wall featured the very same wooden cut-outs in the shape of joyful kids that Black Creek Library has. Nevertheless, the minimalist approach to decoration didn’t extend to the number of books on display. There were plenty of ESL, Italian, Spanish, and Vietnamese resources as well as volumes in the language of Romance. Two titles I liked were Cattle Baron: Nanny Needed and Hired: Cinderella Chef. Who knew want ads could make household chores sound so alluring?

My visit to Humber Summit (1974) was a flying one, as Stewart and I arrived less than an hour before closing. A small branch placed on top of a gentle hill, Humber Summit’s interior successfully imitated a living room. I was drawn to four fat armchairs positioned around a coffee table, but there wasn’t time to luxuriate in one, much less try out all four, Goldilocks-style. Not far away, a small group of youngsters on a red sofa watched the 2007 version of Hairspray, further enhancing the domestic atmosphere.

While Tracy Turnblad danced her way to personal victory and civil rights activism, I studied multilingual shelves which offered materials in Urdu, Spanish, Italian, Hindi, Gujarati, and Punjabi. I sensed that the librarians were getting antsy to close, so I dashed downstairs for a quick look. The rooms were locked, but I discovered an auditorium, a couple of meeting rooms, a homework club, and a Leading-to-Reading office. I liked how there was a choice of two different staircases to take you back up to the main level; one led to the northwest corner of the library and the other to the outer lobby. Must be great for games of chase or escaping homework club!

Stewart caught sight of me when I re-emerged from the lobby and motioned me over to the check-out desk. Minutes before closing, we made a hasty exit so we wouldn’t further delay the staff. Stewart took a few pictures of the library’s exterior while I admired the business names across the street: Om Cash Bank, Bollywood Lollywood DVD’s, Empanadas, and Asafo Market. I was pleased to take in Islington Avenue at sunset on the mild slopes of Humber Summit.