Here We Come To A Turning of The Season (Summer into Fall, 2022)

 Sometime around the last third of July, I decided that August was going to be the beginning of fall. 

Admittedly, this was probably 'round about the time that I was starting to get delirious from acute Summer Reading Program Sickness (There are only so many times you can utter "Yaaaaarrrr! You get ALL YOUR PRIZES! Dig into the treasure chest, enter the raffle, choose your book, and don't forget about loving books!"within a one hour period without this occurring), so I wasn't necessarily using all of my brain. But the bit of my addled brain that was working...kind of...came up with this reasoning:

1. Because Summer Reading Program Ends July 31st, due to children going back to school around August 1st...

2. And thus, reasonably, When children go back to school, it's called "The Fall Semester"

3. Therefore, August 1st is the Fall Semester...

4. In conclusion, August 1st is the beginning of Fall

Does it make sense to any person other than a perimenopausal children's library-manager-bureaucrat whose brain has been absolutely fried by SRP shenanigans, and whose body is absolutely drained by the heat, dear god the heat? Probably not, but whatever. It made sense to me!

And what do you know? August 1st rolled around and...things got better. The first half of July seemed to be filled with a lot of sunny, humid, 90+ degree days; the second half of July was maybe a little better, especially with the SRP finish-line in sight. And August...It wasn't immediately or consistently cooler those first few days, but after that....August has been absolutely charming. Dog Days? No such thing! For the last ten days or so, we've been enjoying days that aren't too humid, and that don't get past the low 80s, and plenty of rain here and there to get rid of the flash-drought-stricken grass. (And also, let's not discount a  more sustainable workload in my professional life.) I've been sleeping with my windows open at night; I've been contemplating going outside for recreational purposes. I've been trying to rebuild my social life and Get Out There, more. And in the mornings, it has almost felt cool. In the evenings, it feels...golden. Gentle. Those are the words that come to mind: golden, gentle evenings, filled with the feeble chirps and creaks and sing-songs of crickets and cicadas, making their racket in defiance of the encroaching empty barrenness of the winter and the dying that inevitably comes with it.

(Okay, I know it's not so anything poetic as summer insects screaming against the coming death; it's got something more to do with them trumpeting their final attempts at mate-reproduce-marry-fuck-kill.)

But here is the thing: each late summer, as I listen to the cicadas and crickets begin to protest their impending doom...I hear an echo of my own encroaching end. I can't be the only one, can I? I can't be the only one realizing that the death of summer is a somehow significant milestone in another year slowly marching its way to its end. The death of summer is the approach towards the fallow months, where I, at least, am prone to taking stock, remembering, honouring my labours, thinking of the people I've met, loved, talked to, yearned for, laughed with, held close, advised, supported, dismissed, scorned, reviled. (Yes, there are even a couple of those.)

These late summer days, as well as the coming autumn, are beautiful gifts, really--and sad gifts--an annual reminder of our own coming harvests and decays and ends, and an annual recollection of the fruitful, endless numbered days that will one day run out. But until they do run out, I'm just gonna sit here drinking my Pumpkin Spice Latte coffee that I found at Wal-Mart last week. 

And if you are judging me for shopping at Wal-Mart, whatevs. Clearly you're not a basic bitch with a poetic soul fighting a losing battle against inflation. 

Book-It List, August 2022 Edition

I had a whole post typed up about how, at some point over the heartbreak and trauma of the last two years, I somehow manage to lose my Reading Groove. That is to say, my voracious appetite for books somehow withered away to a skeletal echo of its previous voluptuous self. Thanks, Corona.

But then I thought, who the fuck wants to read about that? Many of us found our concentration shot during the fallout of the last couple of years. Many of us had too much else going on. What-the-fuck-ever. We keep buggering on.

Fortunately, I think my Reading Groove is starting to come back. Books—which are, perhaps, my oldest and truest friends—are starting to appeal to me once more, and I am trying to deliberately cultivate that interest, coax it back into being. What better way to do it than to create a monthly Bucket List of Books? A Book-It List, if you will: 

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I'm not a book blogger--hell, I'm barely a blogger--so I promise I won't be nattering on at great length about all the titles on my bedstand right now; nor will I be doing any sort of formal reviews on here. Instead, I figure I'll just hit a few of the highlights about my reading goals of the month...

First, and obviously most importantly, The Art of the Occult, by S. Elizabeth. 

Full disclosure: I read this book a couple of years back, but the author S. Elizabeth (AKA Eldest Sister) is releasing her second book The Art of Darkness next month, and I figured I should re-read to get me in the mood for her next literary work. Although, I won't be reading The Art of Darkness until we are balls-deep in the middle of Spooky SZN.

Next up! The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, both by Andrzej Sapowski.

I'm not always a slut for fantasy novels, but when I am, it's usually because there's a delectable bit of man-meat lurking within the pages. And if you've seen The Witcher televisions series, which is based on these books, you'll know the man-meat of which I speak: 

Behold! Geralt of Rivia, at his cleanest. 

Alas and alack! There are only two seasons of The Witcher out as of right now, but happily, there's a whole stinkin' series of books just waiting for me to devour. 

And finally, The Midwest Survival Guide: How We Talk, Love, Work, Drink and Eat...Everything With Ranch, by Charlie Berens.

Look, just because this book is considered "regional humour" doesn't make it untrue. (Especially about the Ranch dressing, AKA "Hoosier Sauce.") The author is Charlie Berens of TikTok and YouTube fame, and his writing is every bit as delightful (and mostly wholesome, which, wtf? Who am I even?) as his video productions. Out-of-towners, if you ever plan to visit me, please read this book first...and be prepared for "A Midwestern Good-Bye." 

Obviously, I've got a bunch of other stuff in my reading pile,  including some youth fiction, as well as the picture books I look over when I'm working the desk, but since there's every chance I won't read my way to the bottom of my August Book-It List, I'm sure as shit not going to blog my way to the bottom, either. 

Happy Reading, Comrades!

 

All That Wilts Shall Bloom Again

An Artist's Rendering of Me on July 31. 
Source: An Amazon vendor that has absolutely no business selling or marketing these stickers to non-adults. 

Summer Reading Program. 

If you know, you know. 

I thought I knew. I have, after all, worked in libraries now for 16 summers; more summers than not, I was a front-line worker. For four of those summers, I managed people who were completely immersed in it. And of course, I had my good friend and veteran Children's Librarian, Abby Johnson, to blog and share firsthand accounts of the programs, the intensity, the added desk shifts, the madness. The fucking madness of it all. I thought I knew. 

Comrades, I knew nothing. Not until this (distressingly hot) summer, my first in a 100%-immersed-in- Youth-Services-management gig, did I truly learn what it means to live through Summer Reading Program at a public library. And when I say "live through", what I really mean is "endure". Slog through? Melt and droop and ooze through? Whatever. A post I made on Facebook, relatively early on during Summer Reading Program, sums it up pretty well:  

And of course, what have I to complain about? It was the librarians and assistants in my department who I feel did the lion's share of the work: they are the ones who planned and staffed the programs that drew in hordes of children and families and caretakers. I just provided all the desk staffing and moral support I could and tried to keep the schedule in order and helped with program cleanup when I could and tried not nag folks too much about their timecards. But whatever, we all played our role in what, I'm told, was a pretty successful Summer Reading Program. However, by early July, I was dragging myself home every day, fairly wilting from the heat and my ears still ringing from the incessant hollering and screams (I promise, it's a Children's Department, not a torture chamber) and not able to do much except hunker down in my chilly, darkened living room, pulling faces at the cats and trying to remember a time before or after Summer Reading Program. 

It was fun. Fun and funny and frenetic and frickin challenging in all the good ways, but I am not going to pretend even in the slightest that I'm sorry that it's over for another 10 months or so. Because, while my wall calendar and desk calendar are still open to June 1, Summer Reading Program officially ended on July 31. RIP, Oceans of Possibilities. We'll catch you on the flipside, in your resurrected form sometime next May. 

It's actually kind of fitting that the first day of Life After Summer Reading Program starts today, on August 1. Some of my witchywoowoo friends celebrate Lughnasadh on August 1; it is the first of the harvest festivals, one in which we harvest the fruit we had sown in the spring. We celebrate our harvests knowing that the dark winter is coming, reminding ourselves that all that falls shall rise again. Including us. And including Summer Reading Program. But for now, a fallow time. A time of rest. 

So, okay, it's a bit of a stretch, but you get the idea. Summer Reading Program has passed for another year, and hopefully the year marches on to a cooler, gentler time, and those of us who wilted under the heat and work of summer can rise and thrive, at least briefly, once again. 

Except maybe the flowers I tried to grow on my patio this summer. They're fucked.