this is a page for
Browsing Tag: #librariestransform
Have you ever been treated as an outcast? Like you were the only kid in your class who wore glasses, or had freckles or curly hair? Or maybe you were a transplant from some far away city into a rural type town. Have you ever felt like you were the only one? And so, since you didn’t have anyone to talk to, you turned to books. And in books you found others just like you, a kid who had glasses and curly hair. A kid who had divorced parents. A country kid in a city school. A kid who wanted a dog but only had two goldfish in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter. You identified with these characters because they had things in common with you, and it seemed like a miracle because you were all alone until you discovered this book that appeared to be written just for you. Some kids are fortunate enough to have parents who talk to them, who pray with them, who teach them right from wrong. Some kids aren’t fearful of talking to a teacher, or a church leader, or maybe they trust a neighbor or relative with their deepest secrets and use them as a moral compass. But some kids don’t have that. Some kids only have books as friends, and as allies. Some kids only have books as a means to justify feelings or to trust with their heart. Maybe these kids use their…
Do those two words conjure dusty corners and musty smells? Do you think of lamplight and heavy drapes and threadbare cushions on antique furniture? Do you envision leather bound tomes, heavy as bricks, piled on every surface and crammed into shelves that reach to the ceiling? Do you picture bespectacled old women, peering at you from under steel gray buns when a book from your pile slips to the floor, causing a disruption? Do you conjure up card catalogs and rainy afternoons and periodicals enjoyed by a large potted plant? Perhaps you are remembering hours spent in your school library among books on spaceships and whales with rainbow posters on the creme colored cinder block walls. Maybe you remember being slumped in a plastic chair at a round table with a chipped veneer finish, #2 pencil in one hand, the other in a fist at your hairline as you tried to determine what the differences are between porpoises and dolphins for your research paper. Or was it college, when you were there in your cubby, scratching out an outline to your thesis and some grad student was being helpful and surfing through ten weeks worth of newspapers from Chicago’s Great Fire on the microfiche to help you. You were taken into the archives by a lady who probably painted lines up the back of her legs during WWII. You’re tapping away on one of those newfangled Apple computers, the monitor the color of a cherry Lifesaver…
Last week was Library Appreciation Week. I only posted one thing about it, but I think I post often enough so everybody knows where I stand on libraries. In case you recently crawled out from under a lettuce leaf, know that I LOVE them. I don’t know that I can adequately put into words what the library means to me. But I’m gonna try my best. Even though I’m more than a week late. I’m always late. And before I forget, that cover pic was taken by Liz Ballard, who truly has a history with our local library. I didn’t ask for permission, but I don’t think she’ll mind. I have served on the local library board for several years now, and it looks like I’m going off next month to serve on the Regional Board. Anyway, that’s the least of my love. QUITE literally. Board meetings are typically endured, not always enjoyed. Even though they try to make it cool. Here’s our meeting room: But that’s part of adulting. The good news is, it allows me to know what events are coming up before anybody else š I have a lifespan of memories at the library. It brought tears to my eyes when I was asked to serve. My mind flashed back to all the times I’d walked through the door, clutching my satchel, ready to…
Let me begin by saying I loathe Valentine’s Day. Read that carefully. Loathe. NOT love. It’s pure hokum, all these guys put under pressure to get a ooey gooey card, roses (double gag), and an expensive, romantic dinner out. It’s utterly ridiculous. And I don’t play. Never have. Don’t participate because it’s required of you. Make your person feel special on a regular day because you want to. Now that that’s out of the way. My day began at the office, like any other Thursday. I was in full Valentine’s Day attire, because if you wear black people accuse you of being bitter and hateful. Even if it is true, I don’t need to hear it. Plus, I like pink and glitter. And that’s not always acceptable on a Thursday. But on Valentine’s Day it is! So I donned my heart print Lularoes, XOXO Y’all shirt, red shoes, and off I went. I also had a pink light up flower for my hair, but even I will concede that’s a bit much for the morning hours. Baker the Baker popped in with some delicious morsels right off the bat, flitting through like Cupid. It wasn’t long before my momma showed up, bearing gifts. I had already warned her I wasn’t in the mood for sweets. I’ve been…
I don’t have much on my social calendar. Granted, I have more on it than I did five years ago, but I’m still not what you would call swamped. And I prefer it that way. I need time to recharge, time with my books. However, at the last board meeting, I cemented a whole whirlwind month’s worth of activities with my gal pals. We’re going to read and eat and watch the royal wedding. Friday, I finally convinced Shug to try Aubrey’s. Of course he loved it, as I knew he would. What’s not to like? Saturday was my mega-busy day for me: baby shower, hiking, dinner and drinks with two of my three lovelies. But then the rain. But maybe it wouldn’t affect the festivities. It didn’t matter to me. I could be just as happy at home, curled into a corner with my book. Unlike most people, I embrace the rain. Plus I’m too lazy to water my flowers, so it’s always welcome. The best thing about baby showers is the food. The worst thing is the children. Luckily, there were no children in attendance, so the worst part to endure was the oohing and aahing over tiny socks. Once that was over (alas, there were no games where you couldn’t say baby or win a prize for having the most abnormal crap in your…
Sometimes I think I’m doing all right, that I’ve got my act at least on stage, if not together. These are generally the times I’m comparing my life to the people you see in the news who have their heads stuck in pickle jars and the like. Other times, I embrace the fact that I’m batshit crazy and there’s simply nothing that can be done for my affliction. Today I thought I was doing alright. I even remembered to accessorize. Of course, when I got to work things took a nosedive, but that’s par for the course. My confidence was restored later, though, when the secretary of a large corporation requested a contract that I was reasonably sure I sent over last week. Digging through email archives, I unearthed it, and sent it back to her, along with the one from our insurance agent. She wrote back, apologizing profusely, blaming a lack of coffee on her slip. I was only too glad to soothe her, saying I was just glad I wasn’t the only one who goofed and felt crazy. It’s always nice when people who seem so professional are just as nutty as the rest of us. I have discovered this is nearly everyone. By the time we had finished our little conversation, she was signing her emails “Cait” instead of her full name with initial credentials š In celebration of making…
It terrifies and saddens me that I almost lived a life without Neil Gaiman. He is most wonderful and gifted and unique and I was thisclose to never knowing. If you need a vacation for your brain, if you want to slip into something more comfortable, if you’re tired of the pretentious books with parallel meanings and readers’ guides (why can’t they just say what the want to, for the LOVE), if you can’t stand the thought of another book hailed as a “gripping suspenseful novel with a twist, the likes of which have been unseen since Gone Girl” THEN READ NEIL GAIMAN. On second thought, just read him for the love of reading. Read for the childhood you think you’ve lost. It’s just there, around the bend. Step in. Step through the wall. Perhaps you’ll meet your hearts desire. Maybe you’ll catch a star. Buy it here I don’t know why it’s not showing the picture….it’s a pretty fantastic cover. There’s a unicorn in this book, for Pete’s sake.Ā A UNICORN…
Get it here. You’re gonna want to, trust me. Of course I’ve known of Rebecca for years. I’ve had it on my TBR (that’sĀ “to be read” for those of you not down with fanatical reader lingo) list forĀ over a year. I was going for it last year when I changed my mind to Jane Eyre for whatever reason. They’re similar, in that they’re both that of the Gothic Fiction variety, but that’s where the similarities end. This book gets right down to it, and there’s less of the fawning over the dashing Maxim de Winter, thanks be to God. Not that there’s less love, there’s just much more compelling drama andĀ livelier characters. Mrs. Danvers took shape in my mind immediately as a former coworker of mine, Judy. I won’t go into that here. I don’t want to say too much, you should read it and wonder as I did. I had no trouble at all envisioning Manderley, the author is quite talented (obviously) at spinning a vivid portrait of the glorious estate. I wanted to sit under the chestnut tree, and walk along the shingle beach, and eat a scone in front of the library fireplace while rubbing Jasper’s silken ears. Yes, I would like to send for a new frock from London. And freshen those flowers while you…
Here’s the requisite amazon link I love it when I finish a book in a day. I could have read it in a few hours, had I been fully committed and devoted, but Easter. Not that my family is unaccustomed to me having my nose stuck in a book the majority of the time, I do try to pretend to be in the mix of things on holidays. I always read the one star reviews on Amazon. Always. I find they are more honest than the gushing five stars. Also, you can tell by the grammar and spelling whether their opinions are valid. Additionally, a surprising number of people don’t seem to understand the star system, or perhaps they get too excited and hit one when they mean to choose five. Whatever. The disparaging reviews came from two types of people: Gossip mongers who read primarily tabloids who found the research about hermits through the years tedious, and people who thought the book was an invasion of privacy. ………the question begs to be asked: Sooooooo why did you buy it? Obviously Mr. Finkel planned to capitalize on the story. He may have donated some funds to Christopher’s family, but from what I read, they would have instantaneously rejected it. I found the book fascinating, as I knew I would after coming upon an article about him on Facebook last year. From that moment I had hoped a book would come out…
There’s this wonderful place you can visit. It doesn’t cost a dime. And once there, the places you can go are literally limitless. This magical destination is the library. I know, I know, I’m the biggest nerd. But seriously. So tonight was the board meeting. And it was typical in all aspects, other than our chairman was absent so the meeting was conducted by my lovely friend (and recent partner in crime), Tracy. Things were clicking along, we were approving budgets for consideration of the county, approving fundraisers, discussing projects that are coming up. I reached for my regional report and found it stuck to the glass topped table. No worries. I’m sure it’s just barely tacked on there. I didn’t even have anything sticky on my plate. What is going on? I finally ripped it free, leaving several bits of paper essentially glued to the conference table. The director had to dribble water on it and scrub. I don’t know how I constantly find myself in these clean up positions. I’m like a three year old. Someday I’ll tell y’all about the gallon of Red Cell I dropped at the Co-op. Or the case of Hearty Hoof that I dribbled from one end to the other. Now, see, I am obviously not a prototypical board member. Especially one you would picture on the local library board. I’…
