Library
There
was a library in eastern Helsinki, which I had not visited before.
This was a small city library near Myllypuro and Itäkeskus. It
was not far from our place, so it was easy to reach with a bike.
As
usual I started with the music department. A few CDs seemed interesting,
so I took them. In the neighbouring department I found some children's
books. On the top shelf there were games next to small ornaments and
statues which, too, could be borrowed. As far as I knew, this was
a new service. I had not seen anything like it before.
Further
back there was one more department. It was decorated in an old-fashioned
way, almost like a luxurious living room, where you could sit down
in a comfortable chair and relax by reading or sipping brandy. Indeed,
adjacent to the book shelves, in front of an antique mirror, there
was a chest of drawers with a fine collection of liquers: whisky,
brandy and port wine - freely available for library users.
'How
is it possible that alcohol is provided as a public service?' I asked.
The librarian said that in the smaller city libraries they had started
experimenting with new ideas to deepen the reading experience. 'In
large libraries this wouldn't work. But when the number of visitors
is limited, the atmosphere is cozy enough for the library to claim
its purpose and truly start acting as the people's living room.'
The
innovation was certainly good, and many benefited from it, particularly
those who didn't have such a cozy atmosphere in their own home. It
was all very nice, except for a few low-life types who stopped at
the drawer a little more often than was really necessary, which disturbed
the ambience somewhat.
I
was about to leave the room, when I happened to come across my grandmother,
whom I hadn't seen for more than twenty years. She looked younger
than I remembered. Being almost one hundred, the skin looked as smooth
as with a 50-year-old. 'What are you doing here?' I asked, as she
poured me a glass of whisky. 'Hey, take it, it's good for you,' she
said, without answering my question, and poured herself at least the
same amount.
I
knew that my grandmother had died a long time ago, but it felt quite
natural that she was here now. Perhaps she had recently moved to live
in eastern Helsinki.
What
happened next was interesting. My granny took a bowl of hot water,
removed her shoes and socks, and poured the whisky in the basin. She
then rinsed her feet in the hot whisky water. I assumed this was probably
an old tradition to improve one's health.
I
was about to go but, before that, I received a big hug.
