This morning I find myself temporarily displaced. As almost always happens in an old house, a repair project is taking longer than hoped. The plumber found a layer of rubble in the space under the bathroom floor. That's the space in which he's meant to be installing new drain pipes. There's a lot of plaster and other dust from said rubble in the air at home, so I left. I knew I'd wanting a working bathroom sooner or later: where to go?
I needed a place with climate control, perhaps a chair, and a public restroom. Internet access a plus; something to look at like art or magazines or books: required. The art museum's closed on Tuesdays, so like the truly homeless before me, I came to the downtown library.
The remodelled women's rooms on the first floor seem to be good solutions to the realities of a city library. The two single-occupancy women's rooms are kept locked, with keys available at the Reference Desk. I suppose simple blue and green tile work will seem dated at some point, but for now it seemed a trim, spacious restroom. As "singles" a (homeless) woman needing to wash up could without freaking out others.
I've found a nice enough place to sit in an odd nook of reference works. A couple of low shelves of art ref. are topped with law ref. books. I am surrounded by art books at least 20 years old or older, and a bunch of fresh paperback titles from Nolo and J.K. Lasser.