No right answer for what happened in Clovis library

When grief or anger or despair creeps in, I turn to baking.

So it was that I arose at dawn on Tuesday and laid upon my kitchen counter four sticks of butter, three eggs, and a bag of chocolate chips.

Like most of us in eastern New Mexico, my head was still reeling with the news from the Monday evening, snippets of information that arrived via text messages, phone calls, and Facebook posts after a young gunman tore apart a space many of us hold sacred: a public library.

By nighttime the worst had been confirmed. Two librarians had lost their lives in this unspeakable awfulness, another was in surgery, and three patrons had been airlifted with serious wounds.

I know it is wrong to make broad sweeping generalizations, but I’m going to. I’ve never met a librarian I didn’t like, or been in a library where I didn’t want to linger.

So this really hurts.

Aside from my home, I’ve spent more hours in libraries than in any other buildings. Libraries are islands of sanity in a crazy world. They are a public space open to all. There are no admission fees.

No purchases are necessary. Aside from the occasional used book, there is nothing even for sale.

They are cool in the summer, and warm in the winter.

They are raucous with laughter during children’s events, and they are also places of peace and calm and hushed voices.

They are spaces where babies play, parents read to toddlers, teenagers flirt, job-seekers surf the internet, and old men nap over newspapers.

They are treasure troves of wonder filled with books and periodicals and music and movies and history and language and civilization — collections gathered and nurtured by librarians, a profession that seems to attract the kindest and gentlest of souls.

Librarians (especially children’s librarians) are often the first adults outside of our immediate families that we know and love. It’s a bond that lasts a lifetime, one that ranks right up there with aunties, uncles, and grandparents.

In a world overflowing with information, librarians are our guides.

“Google can bring you back 100,000 answers,” writer Neil Gaiman said. “A librarian can bring you back the right one.”

Except this time.

There will never be a right answer to what happened in Clovis-Carver Public Library on Monday afternoon.

While I try to wrap my mind around the unthinkable, I mix things I can understand: flour and sugar, butter and eggs.

Because, at the very least, I can bake chocolate chip cookies and take them to my library.

And I can give my librarians a hug.

Betty Williamson mourns for the librarians, and all who loved them. You may reach her at: [email protected]