Tuesday Slice: Figuring it out

 

Last Tuesday, the day before attending our annual Texas Library Association conference, I wrote about not knowing if I wanted to continue working in a school library.  We had received word the previous week that we were losing our library assistants, and the state legislature was astoundingly moving forward with bills impeding intellectual freedoms.  Feeling attacked by systems over my pay grade, I was considering jumping what felt like a sinking ship.  I am, after all, eligible to retire.

But.  (You knew that was coming, right?)

I went to the conference, my first in-person in three years.  I was surrounded by like-minded professionals who believe in the right to read widely, promoting diversity in literature and safe spaces in libraries.  Three-and-a-half days of peopling among my people, exhausting for this introvert but filling my librarian heart.  Two days into the conference, we found out that some of the assistant positions were given back, and I was among the lucky few due to working on a Title I campus.

Yesterday, I signed my contract for next year.  I paused before doing so, but I signed.

There was a pause because the restrictive legislation keeps moving forward.  I've no doubt that certain groups, like "Moms for Liberty", are behind this.  After listening to a "CBS Sunday Morning" segment on book banning, I looked up the group's website.  The doublespeak is carefully crafted, but plain to see.  Their idea of liberty is narrow, and doesn't seem to be paired with "and justice for all."

Why?  Why are people so determined to restrict others' access to information and ideas?

Later that day, I was reading Kelly Barnhill's When Women Were Dragons (a book bursting with righteous social commentary).  Chapter 21's ending caught my breath; I had to take a booksnap.  Here is at least one answer to the why.  

That mom group's definition of liberty is the kind of freedom Barnhill describes.  The Giver by Lois Lowry is also about the same kind of freedom.  What both books warn us, though, is that legislating a cover-up for what makes people uncomfortable and rocks the status quo does not make those situations go away.  The cover is always blown; the universe arcs towards justice.

I'm okay with being uncomfortable.  So let's go once more into the fray, shall we?

Tuesday Slice: Today, I just don't know

 

I want to write about good stuff today.  

I want to write about how beautiful the weather was yesterday, sitting in my backyard after work for a bit.  I wasn't among the last people leaving campus for the day, for once, so I had time to breathe and enjoy some fresh air.

I want to write about how I didn't kill the beautiful flowering plant I got for School Librarians' Day (was that just two weeks ago?)--it just needed water to perk up.  How the notes of appreciation from students and staff made me feel like I am where I belong, that I can keep doing this for a few more years.

I want to write about finding the tote-that-turns-into-a-backpack that I bought three years ago for an annual conference that COVID cancelled, and how I'm finally going to attend the conference in person this week.  I want to write about how I'm excited to learn and grow as a librarian alongside my colleagues...

But.

Today, I just don't know.  It's been a week since confirmation that library assistants' jobs would be cut across our district (I guess because librarians are superhuman, and can do the work of multiple people within a forty-hour workweek?).  In the same week, SB13 passed the state Senate and moved to the House, the bill requiring more hoops to jump through to put books on our library shelves (I guess because my state certification as a teacher and a librarian, supported by degrees from state universities, doesn't make me qualified enough to make those decisions?).  Other bills are moving forward too, regarding prosecution of librarians and mandatory book labeling by vendors.  There's even a bill proposing that our highly trained school counselor-educators (yes, they have to be dually certified, like me) be replaced by chaplains (I guess because separation of church and state doesn't apply to public schools?).

I want to be excited about going to conference tomorrow.  I want to think that I have six more years in this profession, in this state, even though I am eligible to retire.  

But today, I just don't know.

Tuesday Slice: It takes two

It's national School Library Month!  Last week, I wrote about the good things happening in our library.  This week, I want to talk about the most important partnership that keeps a school library humming and growing--the teamwork of librarians and library assistants. 

We have an old-ish, small-ish school--about five hundred students, give or take.  And a small-ish library, four hundred square feet below current minimum standards but still holding over twenty-thousand materials (yes, we have a lot of weeding to do).

School librarians, at least in Texas, are not trained to just sit at circulation desks and check books in and out.  We have to be certified educators first.  Our master's program covers collection management; children's and young adult literature; curriculum support; cataloging materials; financial responsibilities; scheduling; equity and diversity; teaching information literacy, research skills, and technology use.  We teach through lessons and carefully planned read-alouds, and get to know our students and staff in order to provide just-right materials and keep our collections relevant.  

So who is checking books in and out, maintaining the shelves, helping with yearly inventory, keeping the library open while the librarian is performing all the tasks listed above?

Our library assistants.

Their work is just as important as the librarians' to-do list.  What good is a well-curated collection if the shelves and library closet aren't orderly enough to find materials?  Flexible access to the library is an important factor of its effectiveness--but the librarian can't be in two places at once, doing both tasks of teaching and running the desk.  

My library assistant takes pride in keeping our library looking great.  She takes the initiative when shelving to pull the musty, dusty books she thinks should be weeded.  She is an avid reader who is quick to recommend books to our students.  She covers ninety-nine percent of our library email account, sending and receiving interlibrary loans.  At this time of year she's busy with inventory; we have to scan all barcoded items in our collection, which includes both books and teaching materials.

It really does take two to run an effective school library.  

Spiritual Journey Thursday: You can't take the Catholic out of the girl

 

Ruth is hosting this month, and has asked us to  

reflect on Maundy Thursday and 

the origins of a personal spiritual practice 

this Spiritual Journey Thursday.

Her post is here.

I miss the incense.

I miss the feel

of water on my fingertip

from a cool marble basin

finger to forehead

to sternum

left shoulder,

right shoulder,

sealed on the lips.

I miss the moment

of reverence caused

by genuflection

the meditative quiet--

that I preferred to 

preludes on the organ--

that forced me to stop

breathe

listen

and simply absorb.

I miss the rustle

of whisper-thin missal pages

the cadence of common prayers

the peace that comes with

being apart from the world

even for just an hour, and

being a part of a global

community.

I don't miss

the patriarchy

the feeling less-than

the dogma that

welcomes to the table

only those who jump through

man-made hoops

insisting on intermediaries

between me and

my Creatrix.

But I do miss

the ritual 

and

the incense.

*********

I have kept the Church of my childhood at arm's length for almost two decades, but you wouldn't know it if you visited my home.  There are crosses over the main door and all the bedroom doors (the risen, not crucified, Christ is on the children's bedroom crosses; we are a faith based on resurrection, after all).  An old ceramic bust of the Virgin Mary hangs by the front door, her nose slightly chipped, most likely during a California tremor.  Dried palm leaves are tucked behind a mirror.  A large wooden rosary hangs on the wall between the dining and living rooms, and a collection of rosaries hangs by my desk in the study.

Praying the rosary is a meditation I resort to in times of unrest and weariness.  I very rarely follow the Mysteries; more often, I choose a person to pray for with each Hail Mary.  If I'm worried about rushing, I purposely recite the repeated prayers in French, which makes me slow down.

This Good Friday, I plan on taking a quiet moment to choose a rosary from my collection, pause, breathe, and pray.

*************

It is such a holy season.  My Islamic friends are observing Ramadan, fasting from sunup to sundown and reflecting on transgressions and reparations.  My Jewish friends are celebrating Passover; I remember a time when one of the parishes we belonged to (we moved a lot) celebrated a Seder meal with a nearby synagogue for Maundy Thursday.  Jesus was Jewish, after all.  Our traditions are so closely intertwined; it's a shame that our religions are often used as the basis for exclusion, shame, and violence.

I'll ponder that in prayer, beads in hand, tomorrow.  And maybe light some incense, too.

Tuesday Slice: Happy School Librarians' Day!

 

"Good morning!  Bienvenidos!  Welcome back!  Happy April!  Happy School Library Month!" I said to students from my duty station in the hallway yesterday morning.  "Can you imagine our school without a library?"

"NO!" was the emphatic answer, on their way to class.

This is the month when I pause and celebrate.  I look around the library, and see the positive changes in the physical space and the collection--and see how far we need to go, because maintaining a relevant collection is a never-ending process.  I think about the books we've shared, lessons I've taught, research I've supported.  I say a prayer of gratitude for my assistant, who is a master at shelf-keeping and reminding me to breathe, drink water, and go to the bathroom before she leaves for lunch duty.

I think of the students who smile when they say "We've got library tomorrow!" and the teachers who stop by for chocolate on their way to pick up kids from the cafeteria--or to use the office or closet for a much-needed moment of private recomposure.  There have been baby showers held in this space, club meetings, professional development.  Twice-yearly book fairs transform the library into bookstores for a week at a time.  Interventionists and counselors pop in with a student or two in between class visits, taking advantage of quiet corners and comfy seating.  And then there's the twenty-seven classes of preK through fifth grade students who visit every week for read-alouds, lessons, and checkout.

Yep, I'm with you, kids.  I can't imagine our school without a library, either.   

SOLSC '23 Day 31: Cathartic platform

 Congratulations to all my fellow Slice of Life Story Challenge writers who made it to the finish line!  How amazing is it that we showed up to write and share for an entire month!

I write in the morning before work, so I didn't have time to read over all my posts for a true metacognitive final submission, but I did read over all the titles.  What I found was 

a mishmash of 

personal and 

professional topics 

some deep 

some light 

some memories and

some hopes.

Some prose.

Some poetry.

An allegory.

A writing block

(only one this year!).

Frustrations and

celebrations,

politics and

whimsy.

Here's to finishing my eleventh year of Slicing, with gratitude and awe for all the wonderful educator-writers and their submissions this month.  Thank you for sharing your talents with this writing community!

SOLSC '23 Day 30: A simple thank you

 

I quit teaching after my first six years.  I was burned out; what had started as an ideal situation teaching small groups in a resource setting with two other special education teachers had evolved into a department of one--me--taking on the entire school's caseload by year five.  They hired another partner teacher in year six, but it was too late; we were both exhausted by the end of that year, and left the district.  I was pregnant with my first child, and felt like I couldn't be a good parent and a good teacher with that kind of work stress.

I tutored for a couple of years, then ended up working in the NICU where my daughter had spent her first sixty-five days.  My father berated me a bit for taking a job outside my college-degree scope.  My answer?  Not only was it lovely to work in a job I couldn't take home with me and with set hours, but I received more thank-yous from the nurses and parents in the first six weeks than I had in six years of teaching--and I was basically an errand runner, stocker, and cleaner.  I felt seen and appreciated, and that let me know that my efforts contributed to the operating system of the unit.

Fast forward...after eighteen years back in the education biz, I landed on a campus where kudos are built into the culture via a weekly call to recognize colleagues for the principal newsletter.  After a really long workweek running the book fair, a colleague wrote a really nice email praising my efforts and sent it to the staff.  I was still physically exhausted that weekend, but my mood was considerably lightened, and made me feel like I made a positive impact.

When the attacks on educators flared up again these past few years, we were encouraged to "toot our own horns" to make the work we do visible to the public.  But that is one more thing to add to an already loaded plate that most educators carry.  Our advertising may decrease some of the negativity outside of schools.  But in the midst of talented teachers leaving the profession, something tells me that if folks (especially politicians) just stopped, asked about, and noticed what we do every day to support children's academic, social, and emotional growth--and then said "thank you"--we might just have a few more of those teachers signing on for another year.