SOLSC '24 Day Five: Unpredictable ways to run out of fifties

The card from my husband was predictably leaning against a vase with a fresh bouquet of flowers, and it was predictably sweet and loving.  My father's card was predictable, too, printed out from his computer with greeting card software, like most of his cards for the past several years.  He always includes a picture on the verso from his archives, usually baby pictures or school photos.  But not this year.

He inserted a photo of my birth announcement--"It's a Girl!" in flowery illustration--with my mother's handwritten details.  My eyes welled with tears at the sight of her graceful swoops and loops written fifty-eight years ago.  How can one predict that which triggers decades-old grief?

*****

I arrive at work to find the library door open and festooned with green door fringe and a "Happy Birthday!" banner.  Inside, there are enough pastries and juice for a quarter of our campus, with a giant green bag that I know contains goodies that have been creatively gathered.  When did she do all of this? (Apparently at 630a!)

*****

"Ms B, I'm here to cover your class...you have a meeting?"

"Ms Margocs, we were just talking about you!  Let's sing her a Happy Birthday, class!" (Second graders erupt in song.) "And oh, they didn't tell you?  I am skipping the meeting--Happy Birthday!"

*****

"Fifth graders, it's time to line up.  Grab your computers and books--las computadoras y tus libros.  Thank you!"

Fifth grader in line:  "And a one, and a two--Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...".  The rest of the group joins in, smiling and laughing with me.

***** 

Parent volunteer/ library substitute sneaks through the green door fringe while I'm wrangling kindergarteners, bearing an 8x8 pan of homemade banana pudding, complete with whipped cream and nilla wafers.  I give her a huge thanks and a hug, then get back to wrangling kindergarteners.

*****

Number fifty-eight has been interesting, uplifting, and unpredictable. Only one more fifty to go; wonder what that one will be like? 

 

SOLSC '24 Day Four: March forth

My parents wasted no time in taking advantage of the new piece of plastic in my wallet, circa 1982.  "You get to take your brother to morning marching band practice now," they said.  One less pre-dawn task for the overworked adults in the house.

My younger brother played percussion, and back in the day, he marched with a xylophone.  Yes, they marched with xylophones back then; these days, those can be found in the "pit".  (More on that, later.)  If the El Paso weather was cooperating, I would sit in the bleachers and finish my calculus homework.  If it wasn't, I waited in the car until the school doors opened and I could escape the cold, picked up some friends, or drove to the convenience store down the street to get a Big Gulp Diet Coke and a Snickers bar.

We were at the smallest high school in the city, and the band had less than 100 members, to my recollection.  I was in choir, with a cheaper instrument and much less coordination involved, except when Mr Shirley insisted on choreographing movement to accompany a song.  I was always worried about falling off the risers, a problem my brother didn't have to worry about on the fifty-yard line during half-time.

Fast forward almost three decades, and I was back to those pre-dawn marching band chauffeur duties once again.  My daughter plays percussion, and did her high school band gig in the pit--the front row of keyboard percussion players, brandishing double mallets on marimbas and xylophones.  No weighty harnesses for her, just pushing her instrument on and off the field, time and again throughout those four football seasons.

A year after our daughter graduated from high school, I was back at band chauffeur duty with her younger brother, French horn in tow.  I'm still amazed at how he played and marched at the same time.  He didn't inherit that trait from the parent who was worried about falling off the choir risers...

So here's to all those band kids and band directors on this March Fourth--National Marching Band Day.  I hope this is a tradition that never dies--though I am more than happy to be done with those early-morning chauffeur duties. 

 

SOLSC '24 Day Three: It's a magic number

 "Three is a magic number
Yes it is, it's a magic number
Somewhere in that ancient mystic trinity
You get three as a magic number

The past and the present and the future
Faith and hope and charity
The heart and the brain and the body
Give you three as a magic number

It takes three legs to make a tripod or to make a table stand
It takes three wheels to make a vehicle called a tricycle
And every triangle has three corners
Every triangle has three sides
No more, no less, you don't have to guess
When it's three, you can see
Its a magic number

A man and a woman had a little baby
Yes, they did
They had three in the family
And that's a magic number"

--from the "Schoolhouse Rock" series, lyrics by Bob Dorough

Last night, my husband and I watched three music shows on our local PBS station:  the induction of Trisha Yearwood to the Austin City Limits Hall of Fame, a Bee Gees documentary, and Part 2 of the concert in honor of the late Freddie Mercury, held in 1992 in Wembley Stadium to raise funds for AIDS research.  We sang along to a lot of songs (I was surprised by what I knew of Yearwood's music, given that I'm not much of a country fan).  We lamented that several of the performers on the last two shows were deceased--all of the brothers Gibb except Barry; Freddie; George Michael; David Bowie; Mick Ronson.

The death of our cultural icons, as well as the passing  of loved ones and our own demise at some point, is part and parcel of this third stage of life that I am coming to terms with in the most mundane of ways; there's nothing magical about decluttering at your adult children's plea of not leaving behind a lot of stuff to go through.  

There is magic in the crone years, though.  The increased appreciation of time and what it can hold, if the universe allows.  The ability to see things more clearly through the lens of experience and cute reading glasses (sorry, I won't be decluttering those anytime soon).  The ability to offer faith and hope to those who are still in their maiden or mother years, that yes, you can find your niche; yes, you'll get to sleep through the night before the kids leave home; yes, you can get to a place where your self-worth and health matter more than others' expectations.

Three is my favorite number, and this stage of life may be my favorite, too, despite the loss involved.  As long as my heart is full, my brain remains curious, and my body holds out, this promises to be the best of times to come.

 

SOLSC '24 Day Two: Two of a kind

Scenes from our spring book fair (names changed to protect the innocent):

"Okay, Michael, here's your change.  Thanks for shopping our book fair!  Who's up next?  Oh, welcome back, Jenna!  What would you like?"

"I'd like an invisible pen, please!"

"Let's see how much money you have...oh, honey, you don't have enough for a pen.  How about one of these erasers, or a bookmark?"

Michael, still waiting by the door, notices Jenna's face fall.  "Ms Margocs, Jenna can have this," as he hands me two dollars from his change.

"Are you sure, Michael?", I say.  "Will your parents be upset if you don't bring back all of your change?"  He shakes his head, "No.  She can have it!" and hands me the bills, then leaves.  

I pull the pen from the bucket.  As I'm completing the sale, I ask, "Jenna, is Michael a friend of yours?  Is he in your class?".

"No, Ms Margocs--he's in second grade, and I'm in first."  Jenna leaves with her pen in hand and a smile on her face.

***********

"Hey, Jimmy!  What have you picked out?"

"I got this for me, and this for my little sister.  She's home sick with strep AND the flu.  This will cheer her up!"

I ask how old his sister is; he tells me that she's four.  I scan the items.  "Jimmy, I'm so sorry, you don't have enough for both of these big books.  You can put one back and get another that doesn't cost quite so much.  Which one would you like to put aside?"

Jimmy hands me the book he picked for himself.  "I can get another book for me.  My sister will feel so much better with the one I picked for her.  Do I have enough for the smaller book and a pen?"

"Yes, you do, Jimmy."  I scan the purchases and send him on his way, grateful for his huge seven-year-old heart.

***********

Children these days.  I pray to God that their hearts remain this tender and giving throughout their lives.  If so, there is hope for humanity, after all.

 

SOLSC '24 Day One: Ones

 

It's Friday, and I'm at school later than I want to be, sitting at the circulation desk, staring at several piles of one-dollar bills.  Many are bent and wrinkled, threatening the stack with an imminent careening-over.  I sigh, and start straightening them as I count out sets of twenty before creasing the pile lengthwise and placing it to the side.

**********

They almost always come back, the shoppers who receive "paper" change.  Or sometimes it's a raid of the piggy bank, a gift from a friend, a last-minute handoff from a parent in the car rider line.  Whatever the source, the ones are most likely wadded up in a sweaty palm, tossed across the counter by the register when asked "How much do you have?"

The negotiations begin, mini-lessons woven throughout:  how $4.99 is really like $5, not $4; attempts to explain tax (nearly impossible for this librarian to execute to a six-year old in English, much less to a fifth-grader in my limited Spanish--and often ending up in my "eating" the sales tax).  My assistant and I spend the bulk of book fair days helping students navigate the weighty decisions of invisible pens versus cellphone erasers, holographic bookmarks or a pointer to poke a sibling.

By and large, our customers leave satisfied, and a few more wrinkled bills end up in the till.

**********

The ones get counted and entered on the tabulation form.  Other denominations are far less wrinkled and numerous; I complete the form, safely store the funds, and head for home--my twenty-second book fair closed, packed, and stacked.

Spiritual Journey Thursday: A ship called Grace

 

Patricia is hosting our Spiritual Journey Thursday this month.

Her theme is "Grace"; 

you can find her post here.

I need reminding

that I am sailing

in a ship of

Grace

It is a small vessel

--just enough room 

for me, and

my hopes, and

my worries

and a Captain,

of course

The hopes I packed

She uses as 

seasoning

just the smallest bit

added to our 

sustenance, to

brighten our

spirit

The worries that

stowed away

get thrown overboard

as they are discovered

left behind

as we flow 

with the current

There is nothing

I need to do

The Captain

guides her ship

the ship 

gently holds us

the water

takes us

where we need to go

It is enough

to just be

and breathe

and let my fingers dangle

in the sparkling river

taking care

not to let

discarded worries

wriggle their way

back onboard. 

Spiritual Journey Thursday: How will things turn out?

 

Linda is hosting our Spiritual Journey Thursday this month.

Her theme is the word "turn"; 

you can find her post here.

I almost didn't write today.  I haven't written much this summer, save for these first Thursdays.  I usually post book musings on Mondays through the summer, and Slice of Life posts on Tuesdays throughout the year.  I just couldn't find the motivation or the muse post-May.  My half-written post for my first Monday on the work calendar languishes in the queue, my compulsion for timeliness preventing me from finishing it and posting late.  It's made me question if I should even continue those posts, and maybe just concentrate on Wednesday library updates.  My thoughts are turning, turning,...not quite turned out.  

It's been over three very long years of wondering how things will turn out.  Pandemic surges and deaths, lockdowns, remote work and school have turned into teacher shaming and shortages and delayed academic learning and stilted social skills among children.  This beginning of the school year, though better in job fillings, is still feeling the pinch.  And I just saw a commercial from Moderna reminding us that COVID is still present as a top-five cause of death in our country.  So we are still in the process of turning, turning,...not quite turned out.

I received hard news this week, and I am in a state of "and":  grateful and appreciative of the strategizing done to support me, worried and saddened by the impact the changes will undoubtedly have.  My feelings are turning, turning,...not quite turned out.

Reading back over this post, I am hesitant to publish it.  I am not wont to adding burdens to anyone's psyche, nor am I prone to toxic positivity.  I consider myself an optimistic realist, but in this moment, my outlook is turning, turning,...not quite turned out.  

I pray that when it does turn out, it hasn't been turned around. 

"No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit."  --Helen Keller