Our bus full of school librarians pulled up to the almost-brand-new central branch of the Austin Public Library. We were directed down a short flight of stairs and to the left; a grand room full of muted sunlight with empty tables and a delicious buffet line of coffee and juice and breakfast goodies awaited us.
Roosevelt Weeks, the director of APL, greeted us warmly and delivered statistics on the new library's use, touting thousands of visitors weekly. Our director then divvied us up by passing out slips with book details that we matched up to make groups of six or so; each group was escorted by an APL volunteer for a guided scavenger hunt.
We spent the next hour visiting the six floors of the beautifully designed, European-style library. Sunlight reaches all of the stacks. A full floor is dedicated to youth; children on one side, teens on the other. There is seating of every size, shape, color, and material imaginable, inviting readers to sit and stay, if only to look at the scenery through the windows. Reading porches on two floors beckoned us with fresh air and more comfortable seating. The shelves in many areas are on casters and easily moved; even the librarian stations are upright, wheeled desks with computers. There are plugs everywhere, and laptop checkout stations with several different brands available.
We were given a behind-the-scenes tour of the administrative offices by one of the graphic designers for the library. The cubicles were bright, with white walls and colorful interior panels. Knick-knacks, posters, and potted plants gave away hints about the occupants' personalities.
Back in the grand room, we were advised while eating our brown bag lunches to think about our own libraries through the lens of this new, modern, flexibly-designed building.
I am fortunate to be working in a school that is only ten years old. We have access to desktops, laptops, and iPads in our library, as well as a large interactive board. Last year, the school received a grant which included new, flexible furniture for the "learning side" of our library, the side that gets rearranged the most often for staff meetings, presentations, and student use. Tables on casters and chairs that stacked were a need in our heavily used space, replacing bulky wooden tables and heavy upholstered chairs.
The rest of our library is fairly stationary--heavy wooden shelves with twenty thousand books; a big, oval circulation desk with space in the middle that can host myself, my assistant, and two teachers without touching one another; and the old, heavy tables and chairs on the "reading side" of the library. It seems to work pretty well, especially when we are hosting two classes at a time.
I like to dream as much as the next person, but for now, I will forego asking for grant money for fancy chairs. Moveable shelving may be a necessity in the near future, but even that can wait for another year or more. As long as there are school libraries in my district that are home to old, splintered circulation desks, worn out carpeting, and furniture that doesn't serve their needs...do I really need to focus on wants?
The sun broke through the clouds as I sat in a heavy wooden rocking chair, on a balcony overlooking a gentle slope of dormant grapevines. Sun's warmth had been hard to come by this February; I closed my eyes, and let the rays sink into my bare arms and face.
Clouds rolled in, and the cooling breeze interrupted my dozing. Moving inside, I noticed a coverlet I hadn't paid attention to before. The soft bed and a book beckoned. Leaving the balcony door open, I sank back onto the pillows. I let this moment sink in--the sounds of birds, the feel of the breeze through an open door, the weight of the book in my lap. I was utterly, deeply content.
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I was blessed last weekend by attending a SoulCollage© retreat at The Vineyard in Florence, Texas. From Friday afternoon through Sunday, I was in the presence of soulful women as we read our cards and created an altar for them. I didn't realize just how much I needed the quiet until this exact moment. I hope to do this again next year.
The quiet is creeping in to our empty nest.
I wake up hours before he does. The house is dark, intensifying the sounds of the rushing tap water as I make my coffee and the jarring metallic rattling of silverware pulled from the dishwasher. I prepare for the day with quiet words in my ears and before my eyes. He is just getting out of bed as I enter the shower, the music of his alarm breaking the stillness. Good mornings are given in barely a whisper.
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"How was your day?" "Fine; how was yours?" "It was okay."
A silent pas de deux in our small kitchen, opening cabinets and refrigerator and microwave door for a dinner of leftovers. A smile exchanged across the table, over our plates.
Afterwards, one falls asleep on the couch, the other in the armchair. "Antiques Roadshow" is softly playing in the background.
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Another afternoon goes by without a television or radio blaring. Computer keystrokes play a staccato beat against the intermittent bluster of the central heater. We sit back to back in padded office chairs, each staring at our own screen in the twilight of the study, occasionally bumping softly with a mumbled "sorry".
In the evening, the dishes clink as he cleans up the kitchen. The first to head to bed, I give him a quick hug from behind and wish him good night. He will follow long after I am asleep.
Two quiet souls, at the end of noisy days. We revel in the comfortable silence.
They arrive just a few days after I order them online. Four sets of Tombow dual-ended brush markers. I have no idea how to use them, but they were recommended by websites and friends, and I have two sketchbooks filled with heavy paper beckoning to be used.
My first attempts are doodles, swooshes, spirals. Ombre swaths, experimenting with the blending pen. The paper absorbs the ink, sometimes pilling in the process, but doesn't bleed through.
More swishes with different colors. A childlike landscape hearkens back to my elementary art classes. Flowers emerge in response to gray February days.
At the top of each page sits a sentence. Though I'm no artist with words, they are the medium I'm most comfortable using, even with these lovely new markers at my disposal.
