At a recent visit to a Seattle library, I accompanied my son to the check-out desk. The staff member behind the desk told us there were some fines on his card.
At four feet, eleven inches, my great-grandmother was a ball of energy that could do just about everything.
There is a rule at home during the summer that my kids can stay up as late as they want, as long as they are in bed reading.
There are two seasons that stand out above all in a public library: tax time and the month of January.
I was two years old when Stars Wars first came out. I’m certain my parents didn’t take a shrieking toddler to the theater so I didn’t see it until eight years later at a slumber party.
Recently my son brought home information about the school science fair. Inside the thick packet were astonishing lists of deadlines, directions, topic ideas and the rule that under no circumstances (ever) is anyone allowed to bring in a homemade volcano or anything that needs an open flame as an energy source.
One of my favorite things to do as a librarian is recommend books. I enjoyed it when Evelyn, a former volunteer, would frequently ask me for recommendations. Her tastes differ from mine so it was always a challenge.
When my son was a newborn I survived 2 a.m. feedings by listening to jazz. Something about Kathy’s Waltz was very therapeutic as a new mother with a squalling newborn.
I’ll admit it: I’m a lazy runner. To overcome my hatred of running, I often seek out ways to stay motivated. Sometimes I pretend I’m in a race or that I’m running from zombies. Other times I write haiku in my head. Music helps, but I’ve gotten tired of the songs on my iPod. I can only listen to Gangnum Style so many times before I feel like I’m running away from (not with) the music.
