My mother had donated a large rubber plant to the St. Catharines Public Library about a month ago. The plant used to live in the sub-post office she operated and when she retired and brought the plant home, she found it took up too much space. It tended to lean precariously toward the window so she worried that it was getting the light it liked in its new digs.

“They had to come and pick it up — you were too busy to drop it off,” she said. “The least you could do is to make sure it’s being taken care of like the lady promised.”

She was right. I’m in and out of the Downtown Library a lot these days — borrowing books and music CDs or for Canadian Authors meetings and library functions. But this story actually starts back in 1953 when my mom was 19 and I was about a year-and-a-half old.

Between working full-time at McKinnon Industries (now General Motors) and her homemaking duties, she had little time to herself for reading. She did, however, get a library membership and start borrowing books to read to me.

“Some were picture books with just a caption underneath,” she tells me. “Then there were some with no writing at all and I had to make up the stories to go with the pictures.” My mom’s been a member of the St. Catharines Library for 55 years.

I remember loving the Babar and Curious George books and once the seed was planted, my hunger for a good story grew like a weed. Today, I’ll read just about anything, but my favourite authors are Stephen King and John LeCarre. In the last few years, I’ve been writing the odd story myself. I think my mom likes Danielle Steele, but she doesn’t advertise it.

I answered my mom. “Yes. I informed them that I was conducting an investigation on your behalf as to the whereabouts of the plant. I told them you suspected that some administrator might have put the plant in their office — or taken it home. When I demanded to see it, the library police slapped the handcuffs on me and locked me up in the basement for fines I hadn’t paid. Lynn had to bail me out.”

My girlfriend, Lynn, started rolling her eyes when she heard this — she had been with me and was about to spill the beans, but my mom had already learned not to believe all my stories.

The truth was, when we were last at the library, we had looked for the plant. I had seen a few plants there, but I wasn’t sure which one was my mom’s donation. Linda at the checkout desk knew me by name so I asked if she knew anything about the location of Anne Kusyj’s plant. She wasn’t quite sure so she got right on the phone to Robin, an administrator, and told her I was there to visit the plant.

“She’ll meet you at the top of the stairs and take you to where it is, George,” she said.

True to her word, Robin met us on the second floor and led us to the wall with a southern exposure. There under the window sat my mom’s plant.

“You can tell your mom that it’s getting lots of sun and it’s not lonely either,” she said. Beside the rubber plant sat another one just like it. I was satisfied with its new shared accommodations and so was Mom when I told her.

The library has given us many benefits over the years. Where else can you get all that knowledge and entertainment for that kind of price? What’s curious to me is the difference in the way we show our support — my mom donates a plant for everyone to enjoy and I contribute to the employee pension fund by paying my late fees and parking tickets. It’s all in a great cause.