SOLSC '20 Day Nine: Last day of book fair

It's the last day of our Spring Scholastic Book Fair.  The last day to pull in sales that result in cash earnings for our library program, money that largely goes toward author visits for my students.  

Running the book fair reminds me of how hard it is to run a store.  My restock items are always hit or miss; I could do better with advertising; and I am fully aware that it takes a team to put on a fair the size of ours.  Three registers run during morning "rush hour" as the door person counts out students allowed to enter before the tardy bell rings.  Along with the volunteers, teachers earn more angel wing feathers as they allow students to shop during the day.

My husband is a book fair widower twice a year for a week as this goes on.  I am home much later and more exhausted than usual, after days of playing store owner and hostess, stressed about running out of popular books and not earning enough for next year's events. 

It's been too late for restocking since Thursday evening; we close at noon today so that my wonderful team of volunteers has time to take it all down and help me turn the space from bookstore to library once again.  At eight thirty a.m., I'll be sending an email to the teachers to let them know that we'll be clearing their wish bins to let the last of the student shoppers have a chance at buying those hot commodity books. By eleven-thirty we'll be starting to clean up.  Promptly at noon, books will be repacked, decorations either trashed or carefully folded up to share with other schools.  I'll leave a register open until 130p, for those last minute teacher purchases that have been piled on back chairs.

There is always a student or two who will pop in as we're cleaning, money clenched in fist, eyes widening as they realize they've missed their opportunity to shop.  I'll offer apologies and hand them the qr link to our online shopping.

And then it will feel a bit like the day after Christmas holidays are done.  The library will look emptier, at least until the books go back on display and the circulation desk gets cluttered once more with bins and schedules, returned books and work piles.

Tomorrow morning, it will be business as usual.

SOLSC '20 Day Eight: Privileged thoughts

The pain in my neck was still there when I woke up this morning, this ache that varies in intensity as it has accompanied me on my daily rounds for the last seven days.  Using Occam's Razor as my guide, I'm pretty sure the cause is work stress (I've been in book fair mode), computer posture, and lack of exercise.  

I've already written about my neck (and got really good advice, thanks!) this past week.  Despite this daily reminder of my human frailty, I find it hard to complain (much) about the inconvenience.  

I'm one of the "seat of the pants" writers when it comes to Slicing, so I rarely plan the words that appear each morning on my blog.  Sometimes at night I lie in bed wondering about what I'll write at oh-dark-thirty, and ideas will float by my closed eyelids.  More often, it's a silent prayer for a Muse to land that sends me off to sleep.  The result of this lack of true planning is often a surprise when I go back and read what I've posted.  It's as if I'm reviewing recorded hypnotic episodes, more thought going into the re-reading than the writing itself.

This month, it's thoughts of privilege that come to mind.  My posts are full of first-world observations and annoyances.  

The exhaustion at the end of a long workday--at a job that pays more than minimum wage, indoors with a controlled environment, with some legal protections against employer abuse.  Paid sick and personal leave is included!

Sitting on the porch of a house I own outright with my loving, supportive husband.  Sleeping in a comfy, warm bed in yet another controlled environment.  Potable water at hand, hot showers, soap and bleach to clean away germs, medications in the cupboard for my allergies and sore neck.  Technology for global communication.

Even the privilege of celebrating another birthday, three more now than my mother was able to experience, makes an appearance in my posts.

Does this make my musings trite?  Are my daily activities worthy of note, when so many others are struggling with meeting basic needs, their stories of daily life largely untold?

On the one hand, my experiences are all I feel comfortable writing about.  I never want to presume what someone else's life is truly like, whether we travel in the same circles or not.  On the other, thinking about my current life status makes my writing seem trivial.

I guess for now, I'll just keep writing what I know...fully aware that there is much, much more beyond my scope of experiences, hoping that what I have to offer is of some value, somewhere, to someone.

SOLSC '20 Day Seven: Because I could

Because I could

I stayed up til eleven last night, wired from twelve hours of book fair
Eyes glazing at the television screen
Set the alarm for six thirty and fell asleep
Woke up a six a.m., then went back to bed after a bathroom visit
Noticed my clock thought it daylight savings time change already 
Turned off both alarms and fell asleep again
Stayed in bed past my husband's kiss goodbye (glad he's paid overtime today)
Got up at eight twenty
Padded in socked feet to the kitchen to make coffee
Read my email, responded to blog comments
Paused to retrieve my coffee and ponder the quiet
Decided not to disturb it with the television or radio
Making the click-clacking of these keyboard keys 
     the loudest sound in the house.

SOLSC '20 Day Six: I knew it was coming

The subject comes up in conversation among my patrons at least once a day.
"We canceled our trip; too worried about being in a plane, in close quarters."
"I wanted to take my kids to the hands-on museum, but not sure if that's wise right now."
"The stores now have signs at the front to tell you what is sold out--water, hand sanitizer..."

My own daughter, working in schools in Japan, gets to sit in empty classrooms for the coming weeks.  Students have been told to stay home.  Teachers still report to work, every cough in the lounge receiving an accusatory glance.

This has had little effect on my daily rounds, aside from a bit more attention paid to handwashing and face touching...until now.

COVID-19, for the foreseeable future, is keeping me and my fellow volunteers from rocking babies in the NICU.

My head completely understands this need to protect the most vulnerable, precious patients.

My heart hurts that for now, we won't be able to help the NICU nurses as they work so hard to take care of multiple babies during their shifts.  Thinking of the "good touch" these babies will be missing makes me sad.

Here's a silent thank you to the scientists and doctors who are working hard to figure out the details of this virus, for accurate diagnostic testing, sanitation guidelines, and prophylactic measures.  I hope we are all able to get answers soon.

Until then, my arms will feel a little bit empty each Saturday morning.

SOLSC '20 Day Five: Full mail cubby, full heart

It was getting dark.  The book fair had been closed for the day for over an hour.  Tills were put away, reports were run, but I still had one more task to complete before heading home.

The lights in the workroom turned on as I opened the door and walked to the copier. I was joined by one of our kindergarten teachers, and we chatted a bit about the fair, and why I didn't remember to print the coupons before we opened this afternoon.  I made my copies, cut them apart as she made hers, and then she left with well-wishes.

I started distributing the coupons in the mail cubbies, left to right, top to bottom.  All of us "fringe teachers" come first, so it wasn't long before I came to my own box.

It was full of papers.  I paused to remove them, setting them on the lunch table.  That explains the early birthday wishes during book fair preview today, I thought to myself; I am one lucky librarian.

SOLSC '20 Day Four: A pain in the neck

It's there when I wake up in the morning

A dull ache on the right side of my neck

It begins to throb as I sit at my computer

Body facing forward, head turned 

To the screen on the left

I stretch, roll my head in circles

Turn my face as far to each side as I can

But that muscle refuses to soften; it's

As stubborn as my computer habits.

SOLSC '20 Day Three: Porch meditation

Ten and a half hours indoors.  Sure, there are windows in the library, and the mountain laurels in view from the back are in bloom.

Still...all walls and no sky make Chris a dull girl.  I realized this as I drove home on autopilot, my energy sapped by the long day at work.

I pulled into the driveway, got out of my car, and retrieved the mail.  I unlocked the front door, setting my purse and keys in their usual spots, then straight to the kitchen to drop the mail on the table.  For some reason, a glass of wine sounded good; I rooted around the cabinet for the fancy insulated, stemless, lidded container and made myself a spritzer.  Grabbing my phone, I headed back out the front door.

I brushed a stray brown leaf off the red mesh chair, plopped down and looked around.  It felt like spring, but looked like winter.

Breathing deeply, I did nothing but look and listen for ten minutes.  A bird was calling from a nearby tree, repeating its message in three parts over and over again.  I could hear the crunch of walkers on the gravelly path next to my yard before they came into view, one person getting their exercise, another walking a dog...did I know that person, that dog, lived catty corner from my house?  I felt disconnected from my own street. 

My practical side kicked in, and I completed my Duolingo exercises on my phone.  First Spanish--"Disculpe, por favor."  Then Japanese...my eyes still getting used to the characters, the sounds still foreign to my ears. Will either language ever stick?

My husband calls in the middle of the lesson; he's on his way home.  The darkening gloom makes me look at my watch, and I realize it's dinnertime already.  I take one last deep breath before heading inside to make a bowl of leftover chili.  The beeping of the microwave breaks my reverie.