There is nothing about the Prescott Valley Public Library that is anything short of stunning. The picture above is the one I took as I walked in from the parking lot and does not do the rusted metal exterior and glass motif of the building justice. Many of you know that our family spends a lot of time in libraries. We generally like to spend time at college libraries because Lorena and the kids can study there while I work. College libraries tend to have pretty good wireless internet, so I was thinking of heading over to the Prescott College Library a small liberal arts college here in town. I went to their web site and talked to a few people all of which led me to the understanding that this particular college took the liberal (in the modern sense pop culture sense, not the classical sense) part of the liberal arts program to extremes that might make me persona non-grata. So I opted to huddle with the proletariat at the public library and boy am I glad I made that choice.
The left, top picture of the view from where I am sitting right now out the window looking at the mountains. Actually, you can see beautiful mountains on two sides from windows that are thirty feet high and run the entire length of the building. The inside is no less stunning. I took the left, bottom picture looking down onto the first floor. Just wow. I will be here a lot.
And, just to be consistent. They have a great little coffee shop and you can drink coffee in the stacks.
…and there’s WiFi, presumably? Also, only dislexics like myself (not really) will find your article by googling “bisciuts” –since your tag is misspelled. Not meaning to harp :-). Love reading your writing (as the clarinetist said to Beethoven, with a slight difference in spelling)! By the way, “biscuit” is a good word to refer to there where you are, for telling visitors, since its last syllable is the correct pronunciation of the last syllable of “Prescott”–‘ccording to locals, right?
Ah, and good ol’ Prescott College! That’s where I got serious about Spanish, my second year in the work, taking a weekly night class, and subsequently was assigned a field in Mexico the following year. Our fantastic Spanish teacher there was Kristi, or Christie Somethingorother. That would be a kick if she were still there, a phenomenal instructor of Spanish grammar, which, thanks to her, I have always loved. I may check online to see if she maybe hasn’t moved on after all these years. That was in 1978. She wouldn’t be that old; she was barely older than us students.