Harumph!  I awoke at 4 a.m. out of a perfectly sound sleep.  The angels were playing games in my head so I got up, made a pot of coffee and started to read.  This would have been fine except that at around 5 my eyes slammed shut and because I was up and had had coffee, I was gifted with the strangest dream – It was after closing at the library and people kept coming in anyway, bizarre parades of people would appear:  groups of senior citizens gazing, longingly at the reference collection; a gaggle of kids, wet from running in the sprinklers and wanting to play football inside; the painter came and hung a plastic sheet over the northwest corner of the adult area to paint the walls; and entire reggae band marched through.  I kept saying, “Please exit the building.  The library is now closed.” No one would leave.  They accused me of being rude and I couldn’t get them out of the building.  I fell to my knees, begging and crying.  Then I woke up.  Sheesh.  Someone can have a field day interpreting this one.  Yow!

I gave up trying to sleep after that and left for work.  As I walked outside I noticed one perfect, orange marigold blooming in the front flowerbed.  Stoic and strong, she stands there, buffeted by the wind and weather, promising a better balance to the day.

It is, in fact, another “Clean Your Desk Friday” and with four classes coming in today that could be a complete and total act of futility but, valiant trooper that I am, I shall give it my best shot.

And So It Goes.

Between the Stacks

The sun breaks through the clouds here and beams through the library windows shedding light on the oak.  It’s one of the things I love about libraries – the light on the oak.  The children are working or reading silently. The only sound is the soft asking and answering of a reference question and the beep, beep, beep of the barcode scanner.  Sometimes the phone rings.  I should record these moments of silence.  They are rare, here, on my planet.

I attended an Every Child Ready to Read workshop on Tuesday.  I was a bit beyond cynical when I signed up and was pleasantly surprised when I came away full of energy.  Ideas swirl around inside a brain I thought jaded and full of sludge.  How do we get more kids in?  How do we convince parents that reading matters?  How do we engage the families that need to be engaged – and they are generally NOT the ones that are regular library patrons.  I have been making excuses.  I know that.  It requires more work – more work on my part.  I give it willingly to this cause of mine – connecting kids and books, giving them a place to be and a reflection of themselves in the pages of a book.  It can happen here.  It WILL happen here.  Passion.  I love the way it feels, that crazed adrenaline rush when I am ready to surge forward, knocking down and overcoming anything in my path.  Passion.  I love it.

On the Homefront

It is not often that I get to experience one of my children holding forth and holding his or her own in a philosophical argument.  Let’s face it, with my now adult children it’s a lot of, “Hi Mom!  Bye mom!” and ships passing in the night.  Daisy decided on a whim to attend Bible study Tuesday night.  It’s not a traditional Bible study, exactly.  We’ve read Marcus Borg, Bart Ehrman, and Emmet Fox, in addition to more typical faire, if there is such a thing.  Anyway, Tuesday night it was a delightfully proud moment to watch Miss Daisy hold her own in a discussion that included the philosophies of Kant, Spinoza and Nietzche.  After all, this is the little girl who skipped off to kindergarden singing Every Sperm Is Sacred, pigtails bouncing with each stride.

Around the desk

So the last 5 minutes have been spent huddled around my desk with 10 or so teens, sobbing inconsolably, and me right with them, over a youtube video and the end of a remarkable, shared experience.  You may cry with us if you wish.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JUjowg3rAg

And so it goes.

I have been thinking of love and friendship this morning.  Good things to ponder, I suppose, on what promises to be a grey and drizzly day.  But I wonder…. can they be required or do they just come full grown not unlike whoever that goddess was that sprang full grown from Zeus’ breast?  Why do we love those whom we love and become friends with those we do?  Does friendship imply love?  And what depth of giving of self do those require?  Can one be a true friend and withhold parts of the self, indeed cringe at the thought of sharing oneself at a level with which one is not in the least comfortable?  And why is it so easy with one person and so difficult with another? 

Movies

I went to see Into the Wild last night.  The movie is quite different from the book, but it manages to flesh out the book, answer some questions while leaving others.  Even though Emile Hirsch’s dialogue delivery sounded a little like a freshman in an acting class at times, the physicality he brought to the role made up for it.  Penn’s screenplay and direction are sure-footed and perfect.  The contrast between McCandless in the city versus the wilderness makes it clear that he had no choice – his life rested on being able to sort himself out, alone and free – which made his aborted attempt to return to civilization all the more heartbreaking.  It dragged a bit in places but looking back, I think the audience was supposed to feel that endlessness.  The supporting cast was brilliant.  Marcia Gay Harden, Jena Malone, Kristen Stewart and Catherine Keener were absolutely brilliant as the women in McCandless’ life as were the men in his life – William Hurt and Vince Vaughan – who really can act, by the way.  However, Hal Holbrook stole the movie in my opinion.  He was absolutely brilliant and beautiful.  Go see it.

And so it goes.

We are an open enrollment school.  That means that students from anywhere in Lake County can apply and be accepted as students here.  Many of our open enrollment students come here because they are guaranteed a spot on the sports team, or they have used up the patience and suspensions at their district schools.  Some come because classes are smaller.  Thus at the beginning of any school year there are actually faces and personalties to learn that I have not seen grow up or known since they were in diapers. 

            This year was no exception.  A charming blonde, haired, blue-eyed girl joined the seventh grade and strolled into the library announcing, “I love it here!”  I smiled and said, “And we love having you.”  She asked for a copy of Eragorn, a popular piece in fantasy literature.  I didn’t think twice about it.  Many kids read and re-read it from fourth grade up.  A couple of days later S. returned to the library, big smile on her face, “I need a new book.”  “Ah, you’ve finished Eragon.  How did you like it?”  “Oh, I love it!  I’m on page two.”  We went off and found a new book – big and thick – the size infinitely more important than the content.  “S. how would you like to try something a little smaller?”  “Nope,” she said confidently, “I will read these.”  I am quite familiar with the quirkiness of teen readers.  While I don’t encourage length as a criteria, if you want to take a year to get through a book, I’ll keep renewing it. 

            As S. has become comfortable in her surroundings her disabilities becomes more evident.  She’s a little too loud.  A little too effusive.  A little too awkward.  A little too young.  Still, she responds well to gentle reminders and has never been a problem.  I now know why.  She is loved beyond measure.

            The other night she was here late, unusual because she pops in only for brief moments after school.  I was reminded that it was conferences at some point and realized why I had more than the usual suspects lingering about.  All was well.  S. got on the computer and was happily playing a game when everyone else had gone.  Around 7 p.m. two elderly folks walked in the back door.  “May I help you?”  They shook their heads and gazed at S. on the computer.  They gazing lasted longer than I was comfortable with and I was about to say something else when I watched them more closely.  I don’t know what made me do that – usually I am quite protective of the kids who spend time here, and we all know that weird people come in all shapes and sizes.  Anyway, I watched them, the two older people, and they gazed at that child with such love and pride, quietly nudging one another as she concentrated on her game.  They let her play, undisturbed, until she turned and saw them.  Her face lit up, “You’re here!  Come and see what I can do!”  They sat patiently next to her then, watching her play her game, whatever it was.  She finished, put on her coat, pushed in her chair and hand in had they left. 

            The simplicity and caring of the whole thing touched me so deeply.  It is rare in our hurry up and wait world to see that kind of quiet, patient love, even with the youngest children.  It was a gift, a reminder, a pebble to hold and cherish and I am grateful.

Book Review

Mistik Lake by Martha Brooks is about as flawless a novel as you will find anywhere.  The interwoven, multi-generational story threads move the reader effortlessly through time and space.  The sense of place is breath-taking, absolutely breath-taking.  The emotions are so tender and exquisitely expressed it is difficult to know how to find words to describe it.  This is a beautiful piece of writing.  It sits in my heart and will not budge. 

And so it goes.

Carrie just walked by, giving a tour to a new patron, and said, “That the children’s librarian.  Don’t feed or touch.”  I’m still smiling.

At some point I have to recognize that coffee is not a food group.

I bought pink glasses today.  I can now see my computer screen.  The excitement never stops.

So far today I have been asked for a compass, my three-hole punch, a glue stick, scissors, pencils, and paper.  No one has asked me to accompany him/her to the rest room.  Life is good.

And Daisy said, “Did I tell you I woke up today and realized I was four.”

And so it goes

A special thank you to everyone who read and understood without the gory details and offered support.  You have no idea how much it helped and mattered. 

I am in a much better place today and it is not the weird high after a few funky days.  It is a place that wants me to be productive and get back to my life.  So…instead of real entry, I send you something to amuse you and brighten your afternoon and evening.  Please forgive an incredibly bad reformatting job.

Here is the Washington Post’s Mensa Invitational which once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the winners:
1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the
 subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
 2. Ignoranus : A person who’s both stupid and an asshole.

 3. Intaxication : Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts
 until  you realize it was your money to start with.
 4. Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
 5. Bozone ( n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops  bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately,  shows  little sign of breaking down in the near future.
 6. Foreploy : Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of  getting laid.
 7. Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high
 8. Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.
 9. Inoculatte : To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
 10. Osteopornosis : A degenerate disease. (This one got extra  credit.)
 11. Karmageddon : It’s like, when everybody is sending off all these  really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and  it’s like, a > serious bummer.
 12. Decafalon (n.): The gruelling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
 13. Glibido : All talk and no action.
 14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
 15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you’ve accidentally walked through a spider web.
 16. Beelzebug (n.) : Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
 17. Caterpallor ( n.): The colour you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you’re eating.

And so it goes.

I am trying so hard to hang onto the beauty of last week, the colors, the friends, the smell of coffee, a big fluffy bath towel and conversation that carried no agenda but to be as honest and thoughtful as one could possibly be.  It is difficult to be back in what, I suppose, is the real world, where I have been manipulated into feeling that I am somehow less than who I am.  Perhaps jealously spurs the tongue-lashing received over soup that tasted like sawdust. 

Here’s what I know: the motivation doesn’t matter.  Knowing the why is not going to make one bit of difference in how I feel.  The other thing I know is that no one has the right to belittle and besmirch a person’s character in the guise of “helping them understand friendship.”  That I am almost sixty years old and allowed myself to be subjected to an encounter that is not unlike the poorly played out arguments of the adolescents girls I see on a daily basis makes me sad and angry and indignant. I have no idea how to respond to this – none.  I will feel what I will feel and it will wash over me in waves.  I will do what I do and love these kids and try to make my corner of the world a little better and safer and kinder.  Anyone want to join me?  You’re all welcome.

And so it goes.

There is something wonderful about getting in the car and going, pointing the vehicle in one direction or another and just moving forward.  The solitude in the car allowed me to listen to whatever I wanted on the radio or tape player.  (I listened to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but more of that later.)  That solitude also allowed me to gather my head and thoughts and point them in directions as yet unexplored or not explored in quite some time.

Once I arrived at my destination, mine was the easiest vehicle for moving all of us from place to place.  Thus I drove and was given directions:  “Turn left at the next stop sign.”  “Go straight here but slow down it’s coming up on the left.”  “Turn left onto 201.”  “Turn left….”  “Turn left….”  Yes, I sent a great deal of time turning left, making a large circle.  It was funny at the time, my head leaning on the steering wheel begging to turn right at any point.  We laughed and laughed about this, but the metaphor was not lost on any of us.  Coming full circle, rediscovering ourselves and each other. 

Book Reviews

            Remember Alexander?  He was the guy who had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and I don’t know about your house but in ours that phrase has become one that means “I absolutely take you seriously but you have to learn to laugh at yourself.”  Viorst said it much better, don’t you think?  She’s back and so is Alexander along with his wife and three children in Alexander and the Wonderful, Marvelous, Excellent, Terrific Ninety Days.  This one is for the grandmothers in the crowd who believe our children don’t worry enough about our grandchildren, and that our homes are potential disaster (and worse) traps for our precious grands.  I laughed out loud.  Put it on you lists for grandparents everywhere.  We need a laugh.  You guys make us crazy.

            David Small and Elise Broach created the delightful picture book When Dinosaurs Came with Everything.  It is a dinosaur lovers dream come true.  On a regular, boring shopping day with Mom instead of getting the requisite balloon, or sucker, you get…. A dinosaur!  What could be better?  Small’s water color illustrations show the child’s delight and the mother’s well….not. It is a wonderful marriage of text and illustration that makes a perfect book.  Don’t miss it.

            The unnamed protagonist in Jonathan Bean’s At Night can’t sleep.  The magic of the night call to her and she climbs the stairs to the roof of her home in the city to spend the night gazing at the stars and beyond.  Bean’s illustrations are breathtaking and move a rather pedestrian story into the realm of spectacular.  The reassurance in the final illustration says it all.  I love this little book, just love it.

            The winner of this week’s pile of picture books is Alice Walker’s Why War is Never a Good Idea.  Vitale’s illustrations are vibrant, alive and poignant as is Walker’s personification of war:  “War has bad manners/ War eats everything/ in its path/ & what/ It doesn’t/ eat/ It/ Dribbles/ On….”  This is the best and simplest explanation I have come across to explain to everyone, young and old alike, what war means and how the experience feels to those who have not experienced it first hand.  This is an essential for every home library and may well be my Christmas present for all this year.

In the Stacks

            I have to get work done today.  I have spent too much time recovering from this vacation.  It’s time to earn my paycheck.  This place is a mess.

And so it goes.

I have returned from vacation.  It was beautiful and restful and wonderful and difficult and perfect.  Let me start with the easy stuff….

            I went to Shartlesville, Pennsylvania to visit two friends from college with whom I had lost contact for too many years.  We reconnected a couple of years ago at a reunion and this visit was the first time we would have a face-to-face with wine and conversation and no one else around.  We visited Hawk Mountain, one of the most spiritual places I have been in a very long time.  I often sit on the beach and hear the tones and voices of the ages but there is so much human intrusion this close to population that those moments are rare and hard to come by.  Hawk Mountain was a gift.  It is a true cathedral, calling for hushed tones and serious contemplation.  One of these days I will return and just sit.  There are answers there if one listens.

            The bonfire in the rain on Friday was delightful.  Not as large as the community had hoped but perfectly respectable for a first time event.  The rain was torrential so the fire was small but no one seemed to mind and there was music, laughter, food and friendship.  What else matters?

            Monday and Tuesday were spent at the Delaware shore, another place of spirit.  We walked and talked and gathered shells for the grandchildren. 

Libraries were visited to satisfy my longing and homesickness.  I talked about my children far too much, nauseating even myself.  No one seemed to mind though so that was all right.  Wine and good food were consumed throughout the week.  It was good.

As far as the difficult….we did not spend time catching up per se.  There was no chronology of “I did this on this date blah blah blah.”  It was rather a matter of wrapping our heads around who we were some thirty odd years ago and who we are now and how our lives have changed and grown and matured into this person in this time and this space.  For me, it was a Pentimento moment.  In the preface to that memoir, Lillian Hellman writes,  “Old paint on canvas, as it ages, sometimes becomes transparent. When that happens, it is possible, in some pictures, to see the original lines: a tree will show through a woman’s dress, a child makes way for a dog, a large boat is no longer on an open sea. That is called pentimento because the painter ‘repented,’ changed his mind. Perhaps it would be as well to say that the old conception, replaced by a later choice, is a way of seeing and then seeing again.  That is all I mean about the people in this book. The paint has aged now and I wanted to see what was there for me once, what is there for me now.”  In some ways I am still looking at the painting, still there in that place with those people.  I suppose I will be for a time.  It is hard to be here when part of me is still there.  I do not have my Fairport legs yet.

The kids, biological and not, make it easier with their hugs and their strength.  Right now, I want to wrap the people I love around me like a quilt and just sit with all of them in front of the fire and breath.

And so it goes.

And so it goes.