I *heart* libraries

I work at a publisher and I love libraries.

There, I've said it. Seems like an oxymoron for a woman who makes a living marketing books to the masses. But it's true.

Tonight I had to drop off a few books at that library that were in danger of being overdue. As I walked out--with two new books in tow that I happened to see on the express shelf--I let out a happy sigh. Oh, how I love the library.

As a girl, there was no place I'd rather be in the summer than the library. My parents didn't have much money, so obtaining books for an obsessive reader came either by donations from friends cleaning out shelves or by borrowing them. I don't exactly remember the first time I was allowed to ride to the library on my bike, but I do know that for years after I took liberty with that freedom. First on my banana seat bike and then on a larger one with a basket, that trip was my own little piece of heaven. The library had blessed air conditioning and since my house had none, I could get away from the stifling mugginess of Indiana summers with a 15 minute ride.

I lived in a subdivision that had sprung up in the early seventies with road after road of identical ranch houses. The long roads were connected by shorter ones that made a back and forth path for me to get to my destination. I liked to ride and spy on my neighborhood, wondering what certain houses looked like on the inside. I was never afraid nor did my parents worry for my safety. I would be okay. Nothing bad happened in the seventies to kids except perhaps poison in Halloween candy, but we checked those before eating. My rides were uneventful, yet big events.

I hated all the rules of my parents and church; the library was a place for me to be myself and be on my own. I discovered many writers during those visits: Catherine Marshall, Nancy Drew, Louisa May Alcott, Anna Sewell, Grace Livingston Hill, Marguerite Henry...such a variety! It was escapism at its best. Horse books and mysteries, romance and humor--I read it all. There was one summer in which I determined to read all the books in my section of the library. Don't know that I actually did it, but I started at A and kept going until school started.

Once I had grown up and had a baby, I determined that my boy Zach would experience libraries as I had as a child. When my husband would travel, Zach and I would go over to the itty bitty library by our house and pick out books. It became our own little tradition--a date night that was our sacred routine when we were on our own.

The library where I now live is not a big place, but it has character. There is an arch over the doorway with neat little windows. That archway desperately need sweeping since the cobwebs make it look haunted, but I guess it adds character. There are a few little side nooks throughout the building where a comfy chair has been placed to read. One such place is Zach's favorite. It looks as if it was a closet at one point, but now it is a sweet spot just big enough for a chair, table and lamp. A very tall, thin window is centered on the wall that looks out into the yard where a tree shades it in summer. A few years ago while waiting for swimming lessons to start, Zach and I would often stop at the library to wait and kill time. He still claims that corner he discovered as his own special place to read. An obsessive reader himself, Zach once told me that he didn't like going to the library. He only wanted new books. Why? I asked. Because the new books haven't been read by anyone else. He's a book snob at heart. Publishers of America love him.

To me, the fact that hundreds or thousands of people have read or will read the books that I handle, remains one of life's greatest mysteries to me. Where has that book been? The beach? Someone's backyard? To Europe in a carry on bag? Did that person love this novelist as much as me? As an adult, I now choose to escape with writers such as Anita Shreve, Adriana Trigiani, Maeve Binchy, Anne Rivers Siddons, Cecilia Ahern, or Elizabeth Berg. Often times a cookbook or craft book makes its way into my bag along with a few magazines for good measure. These books are loved on and don't have crisp papers or sharp jackets anymore. All have ugly plastic covers that crinkle when you crack open the spine. But with each and every stack that makes its way to my home, I feel the same thrill.

Potential. Adventure. Escape. Dreams.

Freedom.

To My Son

Dear Zach,

Today is a milestone in your life, graduating from elementary school to make the big leap into middle school. This morning your dad and I will be seated in too hard metal seats as we watch you shake the Principal's hand and get a certificate that means much more than the paper it is printed on. You will strain and look for us among the sea of people and then flash that smile that I would know in a crowd of a thousand. And we will beam. And of course, I will take pictures. :-)

You came to us six weeks early on February 6, 1998. We weren't ready for you yet. Your room wasn't done and I didn't even have clothes to fit your tiny little preemie body. Your Aunt Tonya and Jammy had to shop and buy the only five preemie outfits that they could find at JCPenney. One was even a clearance outfit from Christmas. I look back at those pictures of us in those early days--Dad trying hard to hold onto you looking nervous, me with bloated face from the preeclampsia with HELLP syndrome that I had--and I can recall so many moments in great detail. I guess that I hadn't lost much sleep yet! McKenzie was a good little surrogate momma for you, pushing on your cradle and sticking her nose between the rails to get a good whiff of you. Tyson was a pup and only wanted to be let out about every ten minutes, beginning his life of driving me crazy, then batting those big brown eyes at me.

You were a gift. I remember laughter and giggles from a short, sturdy guy at two. The stubborn temper that you had as a tike and still continue to this day. How you loved and thrived on a schedule--we would have to warn you that something would be happening ten minutes prior or it would rock your world. The lines of Matchbox cars up and down the hall. The Lego builds that would engross first your three year old mind and continue still--the harder, the better. Sitting in front of Animal Planet and watching Steve Irwin and Jeff Corwin, learning every single detail of each animal and bug in the universe. You still know more about creatures than anyone I have ever met. Your temper that grew as you grew up--patient for awhile with someone, then WHAM-O, watch out! The caring spirit you have for animals and humans alike, worried about those that are upset or hurt. The random "I love you, mom" or "I love you, dad" yelled or stated from anywhere in the house or out on the town at any random moment of the day since you were teeny tiny. And the laughter, always the laughter that makes our world go 'round.

I remember when you walked into Lakes for the first day of K-5 and I will remember the day that you walk out of it. We are so proud of the little man that you are growing up to be. We've seen a maturing in you even over the last few months. You try not to cry when things upset you or you wait for bedtime to share your worries. And worry, you do. It's tough for you to control your imagination sometime--you are starting to sound like a few people I am related to! I know that you are trying hard to pray and think about what Jesus would want you to do. Dad and I can see those changes beginning in you.

Zach, Dad and I always have your back. We will support you and keep encouraging you the rest of your life. We want you to finesse your talents and abilities as you go through school, to discover things within you that we didn't find out about ourselves until we were older. We want you to find great friends that keep you moving in the right direction and that motivate you to be the best that you can be. More than anything we want you to mature and develop into a strong man of God and one that loves Jesus with all his heart. And when life gets too serious, we hope that you can always laugh in its face.

We love you Zachman. And we are so very proud of you.

Mom and Dad

Just Another Manic Monday

Just another manic Monday
Wish it were Sunday
That's my fun day
My I don't have to run day
Just another manic Monday

Thanks to the Bangles, that song pretty much describes my day.

Before Dan left for Flushing this morning, I discovered that Tyson had bugs in his food dish. Several. He only had a small bit of food left in the bowl that he was eating. I glanced down while walking by, and something moved. Aack. Gag. Seriously gross. I do not do well with that sort of business and was gagging. My hero washed the bowl outside and then I scrubbed Tyson's whole food area down afterwards. Unfortunately, the rubber garbage can that we keep his food in, seems to have more in it. And we recently dumped the BIG bag from Costco in it. Okay, YEAH...enough about that...my stomach is starting to churn, too.

The day was back to back meetings with one conference call lasting an hour and a half. My email was full so I couldn't send anything out. I left late because I lost track of time and there is no one to start dinner but me. Then this evening, Zach found a 3 day old bird (we found pictures online of a similar bird) and my resident zookeeper wanted to save it. This bird only has fluff on it and was at least 20-30 feet away from any tree. Man, was that thing ugly, but it was so pathetic when it strained its beak apart like a hinge. Poor guy.

We ended up making a nest for it in a small pot then read that it was best to keep stray baby birds outside (Are you kidding? I wouldn't think of letting it in the house!). I convinced Zach that perhaps the mom will come back and feed it as the websites said. I also warned him that in most cases, these little guys won't make it. I haven't figured out what to do with it once we find it dead in the morning. Hmmm...

The beginning of a crazy week. Zach's fifth grade graduation is on Wednesday and Dan and I are volunteering at the park for their class field day. Half days, Dan out of town again, sales conference deadlines coming up--ah, stress. I even cried tonight reading Lakes Elementary's school newsletter. The back of it had the class supply lists for next fall's start of school. I realized that Zach had moved through all of those classes and I wouldn't be needing this one anymore. Moving on up to sixth grade with all its new challenges and growth. This week is starting out to be an emotional biggie for me.

As I sit here typing, the power flipped out. For the billionth time in the past few months, no less. Glad it popped back on, but I am sure the cable will have to be reset. I was going to work some tonight, but I think I need to go to bed and start the day over.

Here's to Tuesdays that are bright and shiny and new.

Inspiration

This week went by in a flash. It wasn't necessarily that I was very productive nor did anything interesting. TV pretty much sucked up my time in the evening...had to watch American Idol and Dancing with the Stars finales. Zach had a project due this week--Famous People--so there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when he uh, "realized" that he was not ready for the speech part of the day. Seems there were a few things last week that he should have brought home to prepare for this week. Crazy how that stuff just slips your mind! Ha.

Now Dan is home for the weekend and the sound of him puttering around the house makes me happy. Fixing my computer that had a virus, mowing the lawn, breaking apart two frozen pork roasts with his bare hands...you know, these are the reasons you need a MAN around the house. We had a great night out on the town Friday, celebrating our 17th wedding anniversary. It's always a good night when a date is involved since those seem to come few and far between. Grilled halibut with crab and asparagus made me do the happy dance. Mmmm...

During the day on Friday, Zach and I ran around doing errands. One involved taking back books to the library. It's a goal to not bring them in overdue and I did it this time! At any rate, I cannot walk in that place without finding something that I have been dying to read. And what do you know, it didn't fail me this week. The Gentle Art of Domesticity: Stitching, Baking, Nature, Art and the Comforts of Home by Jane Brocket nearly jumped off the shelf at me. Those of you who really know me probably are laughing extremely hard that this particular book would speak to me, but stop that. It did!

I saw this book at B&N weeks ago and loved the look of it. Beautiful color photos inside and the writer is a very popular blogger in England (http://www.yarnstorm.blogs.com/). I began reading yesterday and I cannot put it down. The writing is amazing. There is much about color and creativity and beauty, and the things you might expect about quilting and baking and knitting. Oh, and tea and family. This woman is very well educated and her writing style is so lovely to read. I cannot wait to get into her blog.

Here's a quote that I loved on inspiration: "Inspiration is inspiration, whether the end result is a painted masterpiece, a soul-searching sonnet, a richly colored homemade quilt or a batch of freshly baked scones. We shouldn't diminish our creativity by despising the results of our inspiration, but instead celebrate and exploit the wonderful feeling of elevated energy and the enthusiasm we experience when we feel inspired...Inspiration is the opposite of expiration, a drawing in, as opposed to a letting out. We can walk through life without seeing, without taking in the details, the words, the colors, the pictures, and miss the whole point of inspiration. Or, we can adopt an approach that allows us to stop a while and look and listen and reflect and enjoy. We can learn to sift through the mass of stimuli we encounter every day and to focus on what inspires us as individuals and, in doing so, create a way of seeing, a way of being receptive to inspiration. For the one thing that sets creative people apart is that they have all acquired the habit of being receptive to inspiration, actively seeking it or even simply recognizing it. Some may have to travel to the ends of the earth to find inspiration, others may find it hiding in libraries, at that tops of mountains, buried under the earth. But the domestic artist is in the glorious position of being able to find inspiration in daily, domestic life."

So cool. Love this book.

What I Should Have Said

On Saturday, I nearly punched another woman.

Zach and I were so happy to have Dan home for the weekend. We'd had an eventful morning of drinking coffee, puttering around the house and even venturing out for the monthly Costco/Target run. And I had the brilliant idea of stopping off at Coldstone Creamery for a Mother's Day treat. YUM-O.

Upon arriving home, we began to unload the Explorer. I'd gone into the garage when I heard one of our neighbor's yell out at the end of the driveway. I had sticky meat packages in my hand, so I ran in quick to put them on the counter and wash off. As I walked back out to the road to say hi, she says this...Looks like you have the same belly issues I have! (pat, pat, pat) I was still not quite down the driveway so I said, what? Surely I didn't hear her correctly. And then she said it again!!! Yep, heard her right and yep, heard her laugh after she said it.

Dan continued to quickly walk back into the house (smart to stay out of that one!) and the neighbor's dog was yapping and I could see visions of this woman laying on the pavement...but I took a deep breath and ignored what she said. Then I mentioned something about the dog, and told her that I would see her later. And walked in the house FUMING.

Since when did women get the right to comment outright about another person's body shape. Have I seen this woman in 6 months? NO. Do we exercise together? NO. Do we even interact socially? About one bonfire per summer. Do I--at all--think that the two of us are anywhere near the same size? NO.

(deep breathing)

Knowing that I could not say anything back to her face without being unChristian and evil, I thought the next best thing would be to blog my feelings. It's always good to be public about your frustrations, right?

Here are 10 things that I wish I could have said:

1. At least I don't smoke.
2. At least my dog knows how to walk on a leash. That is the first time I have ever seen your dog on one. Didn't know that you had one!
3. You will always be at least ten years older than me.
4. You may be ten years older than me, but with all your wrinkles, you look twenty years older. I use face cream. It helps around the eye area.
5. Funny thing, maybe you haven't seen me but I have been exercising--running--past your house at least every other day for the past three weeks. I'm guessing that my little winter gut from these last few months will be gone long before yours.
6. Do you own a pair of tennis shoes?
7. Ever seen the movie, Mean Girls? Great one. Maybe you should watch it.
8. Note to self, when greeting a neighbor for the first time in over six months, it would be appropriate to at least say hello before picking them apart.
9. When picking someone apart, how about starting with the hair. Oh, no? Yours looks great? Hmmm...
10. Oh, are you pregnant? A little old for that, aren't you?

Why do stupid comments from people we don't even care about hurt so much? I couldn't pitch that one out of my head all night. I have gained weight over the winter. I was the exercise queen last summer and as soon as the fall hit, I stopped. I hibernated. Christmas was stressful and there were yummy goodies everywhere. Then Dan lost his job and I didn't really care what I ate or how often. So, yeah. I could lose some weight. But the point is...do we dare openly criticize someone for it? Wow. I had another friend mention to me over the winter that we were alike because we "caried our weight in our butts." Did I ASK for your opinion about my butt? Maybe I am sensitive because I have never weighed this much in my life, but good grief. Respect is respect. Let's support each other in the never ending battle of losing weight, not hurt each other.

Keep your opinion to yourself, sister. I'll ask for it if I want it.

On marriage

Okay, so the story of the day is Kate Gosselin's interview on the Today Show. If you have not watched the clip, you can find it anywhere (today I don't feel like doing links--I know you are disappointed). I happened to catch the interview before taking Zach to school today and I couldn't stop thinking about it. The context for the interview was to promote Kate's new book, but of course Meredith could not avoid discussing the elephant in the room--Jon's alleged affair. Jon had pulled out of the interview at the last minute and issued a statement about the photos from US Weekly. Now video footage has appeared backing up the claim that he is cheating on Kate.

Why do we care? Because the show Jon & Kate plus 8 is the number one show on TLC right now. The whole world seems to care.

Anyway, she made a statement over and over again at the end of the interview. She said that the kids were the focus. They always were the focus. They would continue to be the focus. I wanted her to say...my marriage is my number one priority right now. I wanted her to say, Jon and I love each other and are committed to work through this. She did say that they were working on it privately, but a simple statement like that would have added to her support of their marriage.

A few years ago, Oprah had an author on her show who received backlash because she had stated in an essay that she loved her husband more than her children. I realize that Kate may not have been in the mindset to say that right now on national television. I am sure that she is very angry and embarrassed. But after all is said and done, those eight kids will leave the nest. Jon and Kate will look at each other and the silence will be deafening. Any of us who are married and have kids will feel this same emptiness. And I, for one, don't want to look at my husband and wonder who in the world he is and why we are together. I want our marriage to be the focus NOW so that later we can sit contentedly together and be happy to have loved each other.

Today I saw the cutest couple at the coffee shop. Probably mid-sixties, dressed in their golfing clothes, looking at their laptop together. They were sharing a drink and laughing and looking at pictures together. They were flirty and happy. And most obviously in love.

The picture above shows a couple that was on our ferry to Mackinac Island last summer. I could imagine them in their younger years but on the ferry, they were comfortable in the silence. I imagined him patting her hand, and the look of love in his eyes. They were beautiful. Just like the coffee shop couple. And just like I hope my marriage can continue to be.

I wish the same for Jon and Kate.

Smiling through the tears

Yesterday was a blistering torrent of problems, meetings to overcome problems, meetings to become aware of problems, and meetings about things beyond my control. I found out that I was a 'sporty red coupe' in one meeting, then crashed that beauty in another. And on top of it all, I missed my husband. We're beginning Week Three and I think the first day he is out of town, might become known as The Day to Get Through.

And on top of it all, I met J.

A friend had referred her to me because I scrapbooked. Of course, never denying a chance to talk photos and stories, I chatted with her about why she wanted to begin. Her answer dropped me to the ground. She wanted to scrapbook to remember her baby girl who passed away a year ago. Before that moment, I only knew her by sight and could not tell that behind that sweet smile was a woman in deep pain. Her baby had passed away at five weeks old after a freak accident involving another family member. She had not done anything with the photos since that moment but her sister had suggested she put together an album this week. Tomorrow would have been the baby's first birthday. We decided to meet today at lunch to look through her purchases and go through some of my albums and books to get her started.

Today J and I met at lunch. I showed her some simple ways to tell her baby's story suggesting that she celebrate her arrival and remember on page that her baby was incredibly loved. She has an older son and this book will be healing for him, too, and will serve as a wonderful memorial as he grows older. A fast formula concept that I suggested was to use a two-up album with simple, designed pages placed throughout where she could write the birth story, the details, how J decided on her name, who was waiting for her, and even some notes from family members sharing their love. Not knowing how many photos she had, I thought that it would give her plenty of space.

She was beaming the entire time and we got inspired through conversation. We are both mothers and could share our own versions of the births of our kids. We laughed about how neither one of us were planning on buying preemie clothes, but did out of necessity. Later as we started to pack away my stuff, I realized that there was a packet of photos sitting underneath some books.

Are these your photos? Yes, she said smiling.

As I opened the packet, I cried inside. Here was a stack of prints only about an inch high. The life of one tiny baby that fit in the palm of my hand. The pictures were too close and pixelated and blurry and there were far too few. One of baby and dad. One of baby and mom. One of baby and grandma. A bunch with big brother. I exclaimed over them as if I was holding that baby in my arms and could smell her newness. Look at her feet! I love that little tiny dress! Aren't babies funny when they make that face? I think she liked her brother alot. And look at him hug on her. Love that. I looked at her face and she was beaming again.

She didn't care that there was only a tiny stack. She had pictures to cherish her entire life. She didn't see the blurry shots or see the awkward angles. She saw her baby who has a name and a birthday. She could hear that cry and smell her newness and feel the softness of her cheek immediately after she was born.

I can't wait to see what she will create. And I know that no matter what, it will reflect her. She will have begun a different stage in her grieving and will have something tangible to hold in her hands. Documenting the stories of our lives, both bad and good, is important. Whether we have a camera that is from the dark ages or a slicked up 2009 model, it is vital that we record snippets of the day to day. We never can tell what lies around the corner.

I was listening to Christine Dente's Out of the Grey album today (yes, that is OLD!) and I heard this...

If I know you
You will turn this day
Into a perfect surprise.
If I know you
Like I know I do,
The worst of times
Will work out right

And I smiled.