Tuesday Slice: The passenger side

One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, 

"What if I had never seen this before? 

What if I knew I would never see it again?"

--Rachel Carson

As an undergraduate, I prided myself on my long-distance driving skills.  College was here in Austin and home was El Paso, five hundred eighty-seven miles due west.  I inherited the family car when they moved to Germany halfway through my freshman year, and I made the drive each holiday, spring and semester break to spend time with my high school friends and my grandparents, who were long-term house-sitting for us.

As the driver, I had to pay attention to the road conditions, look out for deer, gauge food, bathroom, and fuel stops.  After the second or third trip, the latter became routine--Isaack's Restaurant in Junction, the McDonald's in Fort Stockton, a quick on-and-off the highway gas station in Van Horn.  The focus was on getting there, sometimes in thirteen hours, sometimes in nine.  The trip was already long, so there was little incentive to sightsee.

Fast forward a few years, and I married a man who prefers to do the driving.  Now I get to open my eyes to a passenger's view of the highway.  On a trip this past weekend, I saw

• a three hundred sixty degree view of the sky, filled with gray rainless clouds
• twin calves with unusual, matching markings
• a gray-haired, scruffy, paunch-bellied man on a tasselled motorcycle, no helmet, no gear, just a brown cigarette dangling from his lips as he rode
• a caravan of cars from Minnesota, loaded with people and furniture
• vehicles from twenty-three different states (license plate game)
• the Fort Worth skyline, and planes flying in and out of the DFW airport
• cars of all shapes, sizes, and conditions
• fields of wildflowers in orange, yellow, and white
• tall wild grass waving in the wind
• billboards and church spires, dilapidated barns, almost-abandoned shopping malls

There's a good chance I'll get to see many of these things again, with an undergraduate son going to school up that road.  I'll enjoy the view from the passenger's side while I can.

Tuesday Slice: We grew together

Today our fifth grade class will be recognized for their achievements, and then walk the halls to be hailed by their younger schoolmates. In two days they depart elementary school, middle school on the other side of the summer horizon.

Elementary years seem to go on forever, especially if you stay in the same school.  Six years from kindergarten through fifth grade--more time on one campus than any other to come.  This is the first group of students that I've shared that forever with as a librarian.  They were five years old, and I was their first introduction to the wonder that is the school library.  Thousands of books waited to be chosen and taken home; all they needed was a shelf marker and their library card.

"I can take any book I want?"
"Help me find a book about dinosaurs."
"Can I get one off the top?"
"I have this one at home!"

"Yes, you can have any book you enjoy."
"Sure, the dinosaur section is over here."
"You can always get a book from the top.  We want you to do that!"
"Are you sure you want to take the same book you have at home?"

Oh, but before looking and checking out, we had read-aloud time in the Book Nook.  Learning to sit for a bit, keep our hands to ourselves, and listen to a story.  What did we learn?  How did it make us feel?  Did you like it, or not?--and it's always okay if you don't like it, not every book is for every reader.  

"Ms Margocs, please play the color game to leave the Book Nook today!"
"Okay...if you have words on your shirt, you may get a shelf marker.  If you have stripes on your pants, get a shelf marker.  If you are wearing black anywhere..."

At their request, the fifth graders returned to the Book Nook a couple of weeks past, their growing bodies barely squeezing into the space, feet flat on the floor where legs once dangled.  We read silly books, and they laughed at jokes they wouldn't have gotten six years ago.  I reminded those that have been here the longest that we grew together, they as students, myself as a librarian.  My experience with them in every grade has informed and shaped my teaching, my librarianship, for all of our students.

They began the year by helping our kindergarteners learn how to use shelf markers, and they'll end their year with kindergarteners, and one misty-eyed, appreciative librarian,  applauding them as they walk the halls, on their way to middle school and beyond.

Thank you, my fifth grade students, for being the best teachers a fledgling librarian could ask for. 

Tuesday Slice: I need a day...

I need a day
To wake up when my body wants to
Drink coffee at my leisure
With no particular place to go

I need a day
When my body feels whole, refreshed
I'm not too tired to exercise
Movement bringing a smile to my face

I need a day
With no deadlines, no rushing
No planner with lists
Except this one:
          Sunshine
          Nature
          Books
          Art
          Rest. 


******
With eight days of school left, two more days of testing, and thirteen days of work, I woke up with a sore throat this morning. This post is wishful thinking about summer break! 

Tuesday Slice: Celebrating a milestone

The dinner reception was well-attended.  Employees from multiple campuses gathered to celebrate milestones in their district careers--twenty, twenty-five, thirty, even forty years.  Many were retiring.

This is my twentieth year:  eleven spent running ARDs (IEP meetings to non-TX folks) in our DAEP, three teaching in an elementary resource setting, and now six as a librarian--a job I truly love.

The meal was delicious, and I enjoyed seeing colleagues I've known since the beginning of my employment, most from my ARD facilitating days. My registrar was also celebrating her twentieth, and my "big boss", director of library services, was there to cheer me on.  We were announced, had a photo op with our superintendent, shook hands with board members, and got a congratulatory gift.  All in all, a nice evening.

And then it was back to work.  Not a mention of the anniversary at our faculty meeting, and I thought the festivities were over.  Moving on...

Friday began with our final all-school assembly for the year.  For once, I wasn't on the agenda to present a library award, so I hung out at the back of the crowd.  We listened to guest speakers, recognized student achievements, and watched volunteers and Eagle Scouts receive awards. One of our assistant principals came to the front and asked, "Who loves books more than anyone?"  Most of our students raised their hands, which made me smile.  Then she laughed, and said, "I meant to say--which teacher on our campus loves books more than anyone?"

I was called to the front, and received praise and roses, along with our registrar.  That was lovely--but the raised hands of those readers was the highest praise of all.

Did I mention that I love my job?