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. 

Days of the Week Mean Something Once More

If the last few months have taught me anything, it's how to properly value Fridays.

This was my first week back at work. We've started up curbside appointments, and it's taken what seems like months to iron out all the procedures, and a fair bit of helping to keep things running smoothly and safely fell on my shoulders, along with a group of about 20 others.

On Monday, I put in 16,000+ steps, and passed out as soon as I got home.

On Tuesday, I awoke thinking "I can't do another four days of this." All that day, I was in a high bitch of a mood--tired and exhausted and in pain, even.

On Wednesday, I got my second wind--it helped that there were various work fires to put out, and a noticeable uptick in work to be done, and we were a bit short staffed. It's almost like, when there are more challenges, it's almost easier to rise to the occasion with good cheer and energy.

On Thursday, I plateaued. I chugged along and did work and remained present and reminded myself that the weekend was almost here.

And on Friday, I basically just spent it doing all of what I had done earlier. And I thought, with increasing glee, oh god. The weekend. I can't wait. I just have to get through the next several hours of work, drop shit off for T---, work for The Prof, send off about twenty emails, oh! and pick up wine. But, oh, god: the joy of Fridays. What a lovely, lovely thing. It is a simple, pure joy, and I will never forget it.

At 10 PM on Friday evening, Mama Manager put down her sword.

The Year Is Slowing Down...But I'm Not!

It’s a warm, hazy day, one that straddles the cusp going into late August. Outside, the air is humid; the trees sway gently in an almost too-lazy-to bother breeze. The leaves on these trees are, for the most part, still lush and green and abundant. But like a weirdo playing Where’s Waldo, I keep my eyes peeled for the rarity: a yellowing leaf here, a rusty one there. Every now and then, one falls to the ground.

"The Poplars 1914" -T.C. Steele

We’ve still got another month before summer officially ends, but in my brain, which has been craving fall since our blink-and-you’ll-miss-it spring, summer officially came to an end yesterday.

Today the fall semester of college classes at IU begins, and once more, I am a college instructor.

Currently, I am sitting in the university library, listening to the ping and chime of the elevator and the chatter of students already hard at work (I’m impressed; it’s literally the first day of class); I’m killing time before I meet up with my fantastically British co-instructor. We’re going to grab a quick coffee and rev each other up (which will probably mean I work myself into an anxious tizzy while she gives me some side-eye and humors me with very calm advice) before our fall class starts.

I enjoy teaching, even though it’s a hell of a lot of work, and students can sometimes be harsh and unkind. And good lord, I am still very new to this. But my grandparents, along with from too many hours spent reading the works of Laura Ingalls Wilder, kind of instilled in me the need to do better, do more, improve, don’t quit. So here I am, once more. And now that I am in the library, surrounded by young people studying, immersing themselves in information and knowledge, I am glad I’m here.

The days are long, but the years are short. My Mondays in particular will be brutal this fall; I’ve got a lot keeping me busy. And while the minutes and hours of the next few months may drag, but the days and months themselves will fly by, and very soon I will find myself sitting at this very desk, and instead of looking out at some lush, verdant trees, I’ll be seeing bare branches, gray skies, perhaps even snow falling. The days are long, but the years are short. I’ll be exhausted, no doubt, and grateful for a slowing-down in pace, but probably reluctant, too, to relinquish this part of my life.

___________________________________________________________________________

It’s later; our first class is over. There are nine, plus myself and my co-instructor; we are a small group, enough to cluster around the long conference table. It feels more intimate and democratic than last semester, and I find myself looking forward to the months ahead, despite the hard work that lies in store for me. “I like keeping busy,” I tell people. “That way I don't have the time to make poor life choices."

The rain that was threatening earlier is still dithering, still trying to decide if it wants to do more than spit itself down at random intervals. I’m grateful for the clouds; it helps keep the heat at bay, and I can pretend, just a little, that fall is on it’s way.

When does fall start for you? Of course, there’s the autumnal equinox, at which point fall technically begins. But there’s that moment when fall appears for each of us individually, in our own heads and imaginations. For one of my friends, fall begins with the first football game of the season. For another friend, it’s when the air finally turns chilly. For retail establishments, I suppose it’s whenever they haul out their seasonally-appropriate merch. For myself, it’s when school starts, when the kids trot back to school. Perhaps it’s because I dislike summer so much, I will mentally end it as soon as I can, seize upon whatever will terminate that wretched season.

There’s another way that I can tell that fall is here, or at least fast approaching--something that I noticed, even during my season-starved childhood in Florida and exile in California. In early September, the light changes. The sunlight may still be warm, but something about its quality changes. It’s more gentle, and the slant of it is different, particularly in the afternoon and evening. It becomes benevolent, even a bit calming, and seems to say, “The year is slowing down. So should you.”

Not sure that that’s an option for me, but doesn’t mean that I won’t lift my face up and soak up that lovely autumnal glow, once it starts. In the meantime, I reckon I can go to a local retail establishment and pretend it’s fall there. (Spoiler alert: I may have already done so.)

The Month Ahead: August

Okay, folks. It's August. We are deep in the throes of the dog days of summer, but the end is getting closer. The other day, I saw a few leaves that were a rusty brown, standing out against the green of the trees surrounding them. And the day after tomorrow, school starts.

There haven't been too many lazy summer days for me this summer, but whatever leisure I enjoyed is about to become a distant memory...

Top Three Things I'm Focusing On This Month

1. Main Hustle
My boss retired yesterday. I'd only worked under her directly for a few months, and we worked hard and closely to make sure I got all the training she could impart, but the nature of our work meant that plans and schedules changed fast and often, and we didn't always have a chance to work together. She was phenomenal--and now she's gone. While I always want to be present and supportive to my team, I feel like it's very important in the weeks ahead for me to lean into those responsibilities, since my boss's replacement is not yet in place. And there's so much work to do!

2. Side Hustles 
When it rains, it pours. And right at the same time that my Main Hustle is experiencing big changes and opportunities, my side hustles of caregiving and instructing a graduate-level class are starting back up again. I'm not sure I will be able to teach again after this fall...while I am by no means long in the tooth, I am getting to a point where I need to be willing to pause and assess and focus on what's most important. But in the meantime, I'm organizing and reviewing my notes, reading pedagogical articles and books, and maaaaaaaaybe indulging in a little bot of back-to-school supply shopping. But no lie, my schedule is going to be very demanding this fall, and I've only got a couple more weeks before that schedule starts.

3. Me (Duh)
Since there's so much going on in my work life, and so many demands on my time, I know I need to be vigilant in self-care and boundaries. This means trying to be mindful about some things, like setting alarms to remind me to drink water, and saying no to other things, like extra social plans when there are too many other things still to tend to. It means forcing myself to do things that I don't wanna do, like the dreaded exercise thing, and not cancelling counseling appointments, and eating things that maybe have at least some pretentions to nutrition.

If I am not taking care of myself, I'm not going to be able to take care of others.

There is some fun stuff coming up this month, though. My North Star, Brian, is flying for a long weekend just before classes start, and we're going to have an action-packed weekend up in Indy. There's a Smashing Pumpkins concert, and a day at the State Fair (I think this is becoming an annual tradition), and another day meandering around rural Southern Indiana, and maybe something special will be happening to my tattoo. 

So, that's an overview of the the big stuff happening in my life this August. There are a lot of smaller goals and ideas that I want to tackle--getting drapes hung in my apartment, and making some meals to freeze, and getting my car detailed, and reading some books, but those are the details that will eventually, hopefully fill in the big picture. We'll see how that picture looks at the end of this month.

Onward!

Another Homecoming

Well and so! Another August--my second one back here in Bloomington--draws to a close. Other than a few brutally hot days, it's been unusually mild and dry, and while I'm no expert when it comes to leaf science (is that a thing?), I wonder if this weather has anything to do with the red and orange pops of color that are already here in the trees.

With the end of August comes the inevitable return of the students. And here is a rather unexpected development--the students are not the only ones returning to Indiana University. I am, too.

Two weeks ago, I stood before a class of library science students. Eleven and twelve and thirteen years ago, I had been one of those students, sitting in that same classroom, prepared to absorb the information my instructors were about to impart. Now, I am one of those instructors, teaching Collection Development. Strange to think that I'm now a little bit of an expert, at least in terms of having over a decade of professional, practical public library experience, which is apparently a marketable commodity.

So. It seems I've come home, in every sense of the word.

The basement halls and lockers around which  I and my friends and fellow students hung around now echo--other students cluster around them, of course, but all of my people--even the most of the professors I knew--have shuffled on to other things--other jobs, retirement, even death. Now, down these halls I walk, an almost middle-aged woman, missing those who populated my youth.  I try to hold myself rather accountable--"I'm not chasing some lost youth or fanciful second chance, am I?"  But still, I'm simply grateful to be here once more. It's another way to be useful and occupied and to try and lead a life of significance, if not success.

And I now have a solid reason to spend time on this beautiful campus, observing the lively, hopeful students, being challenged intellectually and professionally, roaming the stacks of the Wells Library.

Here, at least, things have not changed. These books, also my friends, have not left. They greet me, as they greet all, with a studied, passive indifference, but they accept me. They are steady, and change only as much as the people who read them (or revise them) change and project their own thoughts and interpretations onto the texts.

Most comforting of all: the campus, while now boasting of old buildings with sometimes-new names, and a few new buildings and cosmetic features, hasn't changed much either. It's still lush and green and a little bit abandoned in high summer, a little bit burnt-brown and a lot crowded in the late summer, but the land endures. The thoughts and personalities and hopes and sadnesses and worries and insouciant joys of thousands of students seep their way into the trees, the paths, the soil, becoming part of the story of our university, becoming the stories that nobody hears, but that endure nonetheless. A dozen years ago, I was one of those students, and my story became part of the university. Now I'm back to write another chapter.  

Feeling the Feels too Much

Outside my bedroom window, the wind is gusting fiercely, rumbling through eaves and whistling through cracks. It's January in Indiana--which means that four days ago, it was literally 0 degrees with snow on the ground, whereas right at this moment, it's 63 degrees with a tiny chance of tornadoes. (I'm kidding about the tornado part.) (But not really.)

"Welcome to Indiana! If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes."

I've heard variations of this statement a dozen times, about a dozen different cities (but not Palm Springs, of course.) And it's true for all of those places, but it's really true of here in Indiana. I like the mercurial nature of the weather here; it's an accurate reflection of the mercurial nature of life.

And of my mood, these days.

Today at work, we had the opportunity to attend a seminar for professional development credits. The nature of the subject matter was "Compassion Fatigue." Sitting there in the darkened room, listening to the presenter, surrounded by my colleagues (most of who work the public service desks much more than I do) I felt like a bit of a fraud. One of the unexpected delights of my job is that it's so peaceful--on a usual day, I work with about half a dozen folks, and interact with perhaps another half dozen or so for some reason. But other than that, I keep myself to myself, sitting at my desk, ordering materials, reading reviews and news, and doing various other collection development duties. I work with the public about five hours a month. It wasn't until I had been doing this collection development gig for a couple of months that I realized how much less stress I have now, not having to be "on" for the public, not having to be constantly sensitive to scores of different peoples' moods, needs, and often troubled minds.

I don't work on the front lines, and so I don't necessarily have the pleasure of triaging folks who might be in crisis. I don't experience the fulfillment, anymore, that can come from knowing you've connected a person with some piece of information, or some resource, that might change their life. Oddly, I am just fine with this--I took to this new job quite nicely. And given my own crowded thoughts, my own moodiness, my own worries and frets and neuroses, perhaps that is just as well--perhaps all of the compassion I have needs to go to me.

At least these days.