computers, 1.7 million books.
Katrien loves the library.
Together they walk around the enormous square granite tower imprinted with meter high letters—BIBLIOTHEEK—so tall it looks like it supports the sky and all the lofty thoughts of liberal thinking men and women throughout time. They walk up the steps, around the clusters of young people of every nationality of the world, who laugh and chatter, waiting for friends, texting on cellphones, eating from the food carts, swaying to music on their earphones.
Inside is a cathedral of cool lightness. She loves riding up and down the escalators, watching people at the long glistening bank of computers, like operators controlling a spaceship, and she almost feels the building lift as they tap away at their keyboards. Up and up she rises, past stacks of books and CDs, the shelves illuminated with soft white lights. She rides to the top—fifth floor, sixth floor, seventh floor—and runs to the huge windows that look out across the IJ and over her city. She stretches her arms, palms on the cool glass, and embraces Amsterdam.
The library makes her feel powerful and wise, a queen looking out over her kingdom. She stands at the portal of the universe. She feels the future and the past, and somehow feels deeply connected to it. All she needs to know to be a wise responsible ruler lies within these walls. All is possible. Everything can be learned. All can be understood.
Her father steps up beside her and turns to watch her, a stoic twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Like many parents, he stands in awe of his daughter's fierce passions. He senses her longing, her fear, her determination. He looks around the library at the other parents, all who wear the same amazed look. Who are these insistent indomitable little spirits? Where do they come from? Will they save us?
“Let's find you something to read, and then get Mom's book,” he suggests.
“Okay.” She presses her forehead to the window, not moving.
He puts his hand on her shoulder, and says gently, “It'll still be here next time, schatje.”
“I know,” she says, but doesn't sound convinced.
He doesn't rush her.
Slowly she exhales on the window, signs her initials, KLB, steps away, and takes her father's hand. She rides the escalator back down to the children's floor and finds three books she can hardly wait to read. Only then do her cheerful spirits return.
“Shall we buy a Liege waffle at the cart outside?” asks her father after they pick up Jana's reserve book at the front desk.
“Oh, yes, Papa. Chocolate, please. Can we feed the swans?”
The waffle man, who is not from Belgium, but from Morocco, smiles as he hands Katrien three stale waffles. Excited, she runs to feed the birds. Her father ends up eating most of her treat as he watches her toss the pieces of bread to the birds in the water.
He makes a plan to go to the gym.
Enkhuisen
Amsterdam is a fun place to be a kid. Years pass. Katrien does well in school, her days filled with activities and friends. She reads a lot of books.
Come spring, Katrien and her father take the train to Enkhuisen. Ever since she turned nine, Katrien has helped her father in the boatyard. Prepping for the sailing season.
Pieter's sailing buddies, already at work on their own boats, yell out cheerful greetings when they see them. Sunday is the first day of the sailing season and everyone is excited, joking that this year Pieter is sure to win with his new skipper. Katrien won't really be the skipper, but it's fun to be teased.
These are practice races for the Flevorace in August. The Allegro won last year in the ORC-2 class. They have three days to get her in the water.
The Allegro has been sitting in dry storage all winter, perched up on jack stands like a prisoner in stocks. They loosen the tie-down ropes and pull off the white tarps. Even dirty she is beautiful, a Salona 37,
Katrien loves the library.
Together they walk around the enormous square granite tower imprinted with meter high letters—BIBLIOTHEEK—so tall it looks like it supports the sky and all the lofty thoughts of liberal thinking men and women throughout time. They walk up the steps, around the clusters of young people of every nationality of the world, who laugh and chatter, waiting for friends, texting on cellphones, eating from the food carts, swaying to music on their earphones.
Inside is a cathedral of cool lightness. She loves riding up and down the escalators, watching people at the long glistening bank of computers, like operators controlling a spaceship, and she almost feels the building lift as they tap away at their keyboards. Up and up she rises, past stacks of books and CDs, the shelves illuminated with soft white lights. She rides to the top—fifth floor, sixth floor, seventh floor—and runs to the huge windows that look out across the IJ and over her city. She stretches her arms, palms on the cool glass, and embraces Amsterdam.
The library makes her feel powerful and wise, a queen looking out over her kingdom. She stands at the portal of the universe. She feels the future and the past, and somehow feels deeply connected to it. All she needs to know to be a wise responsible ruler lies within these walls. All is possible. Everything can be learned. All can be understood.
Her father steps up beside her and turns to watch her, a stoic twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Like many parents, he stands in awe of his daughter's fierce passions. He senses her longing, her fear, her determination. He looks around the library at the other parents, all who wear the same amazed look. Who are these insistent indomitable little spirits? Where do they come from? Will they save us?
“Let's find you something to read, and then get Mom's book,” he suggests.
“Okay.” She presses her forehead to the window, not moving.
He puts his hand on her shoulder, and says gently, “It'll still be here next time, schatje.”
“I know,” she says, but doesn't sound convinced.
He doesn't rush her.
Slowly she exhales on the window, signs her initials, KLB, steps away, and takes her father's hand. She rides the escalator back down to the children's floor and finds three books she can hardly wait to read. Only then do her cheerful spirits return.
“Shall we buy a Liege waffle at the cart outside?” asks her father after they pick up Jana's reserve book at the front desk.
“Oh, yes, Papa. Chocolate, please. Can we feed the swans?”
The waffle man, who is not from Belgium, but from Morocco, smiles as he hands Katrien three stale waffles. Excited, she runs to feed the birds. Her father ends up eating most of her treat as he watches her toss the pieces of bread to the birds in the water.
He makes a plan to go to the gym.
Enkhuisen
Amsterdam is a fun place to be a kid. Years pass. Katrien does well in school, her days filled with activities and friends. She reads a lot of books.
Come spring, Katrien and her father take the train to Enkhuisen. Ever since she turned nine, Katrien has helped her father in the boatyard. Prepping for the sailing season.
Pieter's sailing buddies, already at work on their own boats, yell out cheerful greetings when they see them. Sunday is the first day of the sailing season and everyone is excited, joking that this year Pieter is sure to win with his new skipper. Katrien won't really be the skipper, but it's fun to be teased.
These are practice races for the Flevorace in August. The Allegro won last year in the ORC-2 class. They have three days to get her in the water.
The Allegro has been sitting in dry storage all winter, perched up on jack stands like a prisoner in stocks. They loosen the tie-down ropes and pull off the white tarps. Even dirty she is beautiful, a Salona 37,
Similar Books
Passion and Affect
Laurie Colwin
Christopher's Medal
S.A. Laybourn
Eric
Terry Pratchett
The Burning Gates
Parker Bilal
Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6
Patricia Hagan
Blonde Roots
Bernardine Evaristo
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress
Victoria Alexander
Melt For Me (Against All Odds Book 3)
Elisabeth Naughton
Dust
Jacqueline Druga-marchetti