In honor of National Library Week I thought I would talk not about books or libraries, but about library ladders. I've always loved them. They seemed to make a room feel more important. A home library seemed much more serious and sophisticated when a sliding ladder was on hand - at least I thought this way as a child. I'm sure part of the appeal was less about the aesthetic than the functional, or fun. I so enjoyed climbing the ladders and exploring the various titles that were well above my reach. Titles that were hard to pronounce, subjects that would bore the average child. But books, whether I was particularly interested in them or not, seemed to cast a magical spell over me. They seemed to hold secrets to unknown universes, where pages and pages of the written word danced on and off the pages. Some had images, paintings and illustrations of well known works of art, some of which I had seen before, others I had not. But it wasn't how these books looked on and off the many shelves but how they felt in my hand. Some were light and pliable, others were heavy with pages that smelled of must and age, with yellowed pages. I then began to notice these very same ladders used in other areas of the home. I saw them in kitchens, used to retrieve items off those impossibly high shelves (I always questioned that design tactic), in wine cellars, storage closets, shelves, home offices and even closets. In fact, as long as there's a need to store items that are out of reach, there's no room that won't welcome these wonderful pieces.