...someone writes another version of that classic holiday poem.
This one celebrates downtown Round Rock (don't forget Christmas Family Night on Dec. 6) and Rocksssanne, the library's beloved (and intrepid) snake mascot.
*** Rocksssanne's Christmas Eve Ramble ***
‘Tis the night before Christmas, and Round Rock is silent,
Especially downtown--no parked cars, no clients
Main Street is dormant, no citizens stirring,
‘Til dawn on that holiday fondly recurring.
With offices, cafes, and ArtSpace all drowsing,
The library's not even open for browsing.
(Though our online resources you always can use
Any day, any hour, to inform and amuse.)
The staff is all home in their festive abodes,
Slumbering on, gifts already bestowed.
For Santa made Round Rock his first stop this year.
He's checked twice, delivered, and then disappeared.
Folks won't, ‘til the dawning light, rise and exclaim
Over Santa's largesse--books, gadgets, and games.
And back at the library, gladly detected,
Is the strange stash of goodies that one soul expected.
Rockssssanne, the library snake, wakes to find
The tastiest tidbits to which she's inclined.
Suffice it to say they're for snakes apropos
But we won't elaborate--you don't want to know!
The tower of treats, brightly gift-wrapped and stacked
Reached so high that it caused the cage top to unlatch
Rocksssanne slithers out, leaves her trove unattended
To pursue an adventure she's oft comprehended.
For once--just this once--she can finally explore
The joys of the top floor unknown heretofore.
Though she cherishes kids and her comfy confinement,
Rocksssanne yearns for novel new views and refinement.
Her journey is trickier than she'd supposed,
With obstacles previously undisclosed:
The stairs are so tall--and someone spilled glitter
That sticks to her skin. But she isn't a quitter.
She propels herself upward, so flush with ambition
The staircase becomes just a blurred apparition.
As she glimpses the stations where patrons compute,
To Rocksssanne, they symbolize forbidden fruit.
Pausing just on the brink of the second-floor landing,
Reptilian intellect quickly expanding,
Rocksssanne spies the shelves and the tall reference desk--
But then hears a sound both aghast and grotesque.
"EEEEEyikes!" cries Michelle, who's come to retrieve
A gift she had purchased and not meant to leave.
She's startled to find both the open snake coop
And, all up the stairs, golden glittering swoops.
"I'm busted!" thinks poor Rocksssanne, hastening home
Already regretting her whimsical roam.
She'd never envisioned a scary invasion
Just a brief promenade on this merry occasion.
The library director gives her a grin
And pats the cage lid, now the python's within.
"No harm done," she says, "All that great information
Is meant to lure minds out of dull hibernation."
Keying in the alarm code, she stops to express,
"I admire your example, I freely confess.
For folks here in Round Rock--kids, grownups, and ‘tweens--
Let's all seek discoveries in 2014!"
What do you get when you mix a trendy (once upon a time) yellow and chrome dinette, sleek-fronted white cabinets, your grandmother's canister set, and gaudy, what-were-they-thinking wallpaper? It was simultaneously a kitchen and a Sparkling Sixties time capsule.
But the restaurant-grade stove had produced dinners for visiting heads of state, celebrities, and the family of the President of the United States.
The dozen or so folks in our tour group at LBJ's Texas White House ambled about thoughtfully, intent on the sights and insights offered by our guide. Someone pointed out the pie on the stovetop.
Yes, our guide confirmed, it was pecan. Background: President and Mrs. Kennedy were slated to visit the LBJ ranch following the visit to Dallas and event in Austin on November 22, 1963. Mrs. Davis, the Johnsons' cook, told that Jackie Kennedy had never tasted pecan pie, baked one for the occasion. As she removed it from the oven, the news bulletin flashed from Dallas. Staff and Secret Service men huddled together following the tragic proceedings via the small TV atop the fridge. The kitchen's clock registers 1:00 P.M.
The room fell silent we gazed at two unremarkable items--one on the wall and one in a pie tin--elevated from objects to icons because now they tell a story.
Along with the host of recent JFK publications, I've been especially attentive to new sources of iconic imagery this week. These all demonstrate wonderful visual shorthand:
Earth: The Definitive Visual Guide (2nd edition) DK Publishing, known for excellent graphics, collaborated with the Smithsonian Institution for this gorgeous volume. Science, geography, and history are so compellingly depicted that even those not usually drawn to these subjects should find this hefty tome a page-turner.
The Civil War in 50 Objects by Harold Holzer. For the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, Holzer (Kirkus Reviews terms him "a modern dean of Civil War studies") selected fifty artifacts incisively reflecting the forces leading up to the war, the battles, and the aftermath. Quotations, anecdotes, and narrative accompany each photo; great for history and Civil War buffs.
ARKive. Judged "an awe-inspiring record of life on Earth" by Scout Report, this site features vibrant visuals and data on over 15,000 species, with content for educators and children.
Moments That Made the Movies by David Thomson. This one just came in; I'm not so patiently waiting for it to be processed. The title says it all; Publishers Weekly calls it "eminently browseable".
Kodachrome Memory: American Pictures 1972-1990 by Nathan Benn. It's still on order, but we're in for a treat. Wall Street Journal judges the images produced by the former National Geographic photographer "both timeless and particular".
Life in Color: National Geographic Photographs. This stunning collection reminds us that color produces its own emotional climate. In the foreword, Jonathan Adler cautions readers to "prepare for sensory overload." You'll see why.
Wouldn't these selections make marvelous holiday gifts?
During December, you'll see these and other present-worthy publications featured on the second floor book tower.
If two people in your workplace showed up outfitted in superhero costumes (it's not Halloween) how surprised would you be?
My sighting at the library did occur within a few days of trick-or-treat time. But the main point is that when I observed two Youth Services librarians thus attired, what first caught my notice were Janette's nifty earrings and Andrea's cute new glasses frame. The capes, logos, belts, etc. registered only on a secondary level.
Well, children's librarians are known for amazing exploits of programming and entertainment; their outfits were in character. Super people make difficult undertakings look easy.
It's fair to say that others we encounter on a daily basis could justifiably include flashy costumes in their wardrobes. Instead of Casual Fridays, we could have Cape Fridays...
Library colleague Tricia noted how unusual it is for a poetry book (Billy Collins' Aimless Love) to make the New York Times Bestseller list. This recognition--for producing selections so polished and accessible that thousands of Americans can overcome the perception that they aren't poetry readers--spotlights how heroic the literary gift for thought-distilling really is. Reading Billy Collins, you'll not only smile or sigh at the aptness of his phrasing--you'll want to try writing poetry yourself (this will only enhance appreciation for his effortless style). This Library Journal article notes other contemporary poets whose work you might also enjoy.
During Halloween festivities, we glimpsed some young customers flaunting super-heroic garb, but we all judged their parents to be the most cape-worthy. Juggling books, strollers, craft projects, schedules, and everything else on that day's agenda with aplomb, these multitasking moms and dads managed to appear calm and good-humored amid the chaos. That's no simple feat.
And those of us who work at the Reference Desk upstairs would definitely award volunteer Jacquie Wilson a cape embellished with a jewel-encrusted "GA" (the gems would have to be fake, the library craft closet is our only procurement resource). Jacquie is known as Genealogy Advisor--a role as day-saving as anything Marvel Comics ever dreamed up. Imagine: someone willing to listen raptly to your clan's history, then prescribe where and how you can fill in the missing twigs on your family tree. Like those Ancestry commercials that give the impression of instantaneous family tree discovery, Jacquie's searches tend to prove themselves fruitful more quickly than happens for lesser mortals.
Family history researchers will rightfully contend that genealogy is not for sissies. As Samuel Johnson observed, "What is easy is seldom excellent."
Another stalwart crew of aspirants--authors in the throes of National Novel Writing Month--would second Robert Kiyosaki's contention: "You have to be smart. The easy days are over." I'm sitting out this NaNoWriMo year but as a two-year veteran can attest to one of the great rewards of NaNo participation: after producing a 50,000 word novel in one sleep-deprived month, in December you'll certainly believe that easy days are here again.
"You were right!" I told my husband Monday evening. "You're not the only person in the world who thinks Buckaroo Bonzai is a great movie. I met the other guy today."
That would be Ernest Cline, author of the acclaimed Ready Player One, October's discussion choice for the Round Rock New Neighbors (Barnes and Noble) book group. Cline's ebullient commentary about his genre-bending novel, screenwriting, the cult film Fanboys (which he authored), publisher bidding wars, 80's pop culture, and the writing life in general kept attendees vastly entertained. Cline's appearance would have earned raves even had he not brought his DeLorean for attendees to explore and photograph themselves with--but he DID.
My enjoyment of this phenomenal author visit wavered just momentarily. Claudia, who nominated Ready Player One in the first place, mentioned that Wil Wheaton read the audiobook--which, I realized to my horror, I’d overlooked when selecting titles for the library (we have the print version, of course). Thanks to second chances and product inventory, both CD and Playaway versions are now on our October order lists. (Mr. Cline will also appear at the library’s International Games Day festivities.)
Also worthy of a re-think: Just A Pinch, an online recipe trove forwarded by City Communications Director Will Hampton. It seemed a nice enough recipe finder at first; then I tried several searches to appreciate its useful social networking functions as well (over 3.6 million site visits per month, more than 250,000 entries). The chicken recipe that Will found there and home-tested is one that my own family would love. I even found the exact brownie recipe -- Speedy Brownies -- that I swear by. It produces perfect texture every time and invites all manner of experimentation with toppings (try Andes Mint chips). The startling but endearing Halloween Spider Cookies were also "pinched" from Just A Pinch.
Which reminds me (you'll see why) of this overlooked and under-appreciated endeavor: Friends of the Round Rock Public Library. If you read that FOL is “an independent non-profit 501 (c) (3) corporation that supports the city-funded library”, you’ll be administratively enlightened without any sense of the fun and energy embodied by this crew.
You’ve likely enjoyed some FOL-funded features at the library: teen room shelving, the eye-catching Children’s Desk, traveling exhibits, special adult programs, summer reading program prizes, etc. Customers brag about the fabulous bargains they discover on second floor at the Book Nook—organized, re-stocked, and administered by FOL. Recycling at its best, Book Nook enables volumes to find new homes while generating profits to spend enhancing library users’ experiences.
We staffers love encountering Friends as they sort, stock, sell, strategize, and generally do amazing work. Precisely the kind of folks you’d want to hang out with, they are seeking talents you may possess—including but not limited to technical expertise for the website and assistance with Mystery night. Their special membership meeting, featuring Paige Morgan of Paige’s Bakehouse in Round Rock (she’ll demonstrate how to make and decorate holiday cake pops!) is coming up on November 12 at 7 p.m.Come take a look (or two).
No disrespect implied, but I've left witches and pumpkins behind, forging ahead to Thanksgiving mode this week. It's all due to Daniel Woodrell.
The Maid's Version, his brief but masterfully done novel, was on my Don't Return Home Without It list at Book Expo last spring. Alas, I came up empty-handed on that score--lots of Woodrell fans (the film Winter's Bone, with Jennifer Lawrence, was based on a Woodrell tale) at BEA.
But, thanks to a just-arrived review copy of the audio, I spent Saturday afternoon under the spell of Woodrell's memorable, tragic story: 42 citizens of a small town--including its most promising young folk--perish in a dreadful dance hall fire and explosion in 1929. Woodrell based his fictional rendition on an actual incident that occurred in 1928, resulting in approximately 30 deaths.
Four hours' worth of small-town intrigue (nice rural accents by the narrator, too) elapsed in a blur. I'm still thinking about that story with appreciation, melancholy scenarios and gory details included--and I find TV crime shows too disheartening to watch.
It's not just English-major respect for fine literary craftsmanship. It's the season. Along with the more obvious bounty of brisk air, family gatherings, and turning leaves, autumn carries an elegiac, somber sense of cyclical balance that humans probably require in regular doses, like vitamins.
Tragic episodes, like autumn, remind us what is important and what we're made of.
A survey of Book Movement ("The Insider's Guide to What Book Clubs are Reading Right Now") lists five great examples in its current Top 100--historical fiction and nonfiction--attesting to popularity of devastating themes: Allan Brennert's Molokai (leper colony); Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City (serial killings during Chicago World's Fair); debut author Hannah Kent's Burial Rites (accused murderer in Iceland); Jung Chang's Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China (political regimes); Geraldine Brook's Year of Wonders (plague in 1666).
I can vouch for all five. But this selection was new to me: The Lives They Left Behind: Suitcases from a State Hospital Attic. The title says it all. It's on order for the library.
Tragic stories aren't merely sad; literary definitions of "tragedy" include an element of human failing--moral weakness; character flaw; being overwhelmed by circumstance and demonstrating uncharacteristically poor judgment. Tragedies aren't so much rooted in evil as in humanity.
Consider these riveting real-life accounts from Round Rock Public Library's nonfiction shelves: Curse of the Narrows by Laura M. MacDonald (1917 Halifax explosion/tsunami/blizzard); City on Fire by Bill Minutaglio (1947 Texas City explosion); Dark Tide: The Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919 by Stephen Puleo; Gone at 3:17... by David M. Brown (New London, Texas, school explosion); Isaac's Storm by Erik Larson (Galveston hurricane); The Immortal Ten: The Definitive Account of the 1927 Tragedy... by Todd Copeland (train-bus collision in Round Rock).
All demonstrate that catastrophe elicits bravery, selflessness, and concrete measures to prevent similar incidents in the future. Amazing events, unforgettable lessons.
Wish someone had caught this on camera for Youtube.
Scene related by reliable witness: an attentive mother and two children (daughter a couple of years older than the son) indicated the selection of puppets available for checkout at the library. "Which one do you choose?" she asked both. The young man didn't wait for his sister's preference before declaring, "I want the one she wants!"
Was the little boy so certain of his sister's astute taste that he knew he'd covet her choice? Or is he, even at that tender age, already convinced of the joys of sharing? Does it matter?
Either way, the wisdom of children again illuminates adult life. Modeling oneself after an exemplar; enjoying communal experience--both are so rewarding.
Had it been published online, this scenario could have invited footnoting in consumer behavior studies. Trolling the library's Academic Search Complete database for the subject, you'd note how frequently terms like "confidence", "loyalty", "narcissism" and "dissatisfaction" describe content, along with the expected "market analysis", "green marketing", "brand", and so forth.
Product selection is as emotional as it is intellectual, partly because we're offered a mind-boggling array of choices. "I'll have what she's having" is a practical solution.
Word of Mouth Marketing or WOMM (which to me sounds like Luke Skywalker's lightsaber) doesn't just inhabit business literature. At the library, it's a favorite customer service strategy. The overwhelmed patron confronted with banks of shelving can note with relief our approachable book "towers" with a few hand-selected titles. If that month's topic proves not to be a favorite, at least it's clear that focus and assistance are obtainable. The reference desk slideshow of What We're Reading Now highlights a dozen or so options; we offer handout lists narrowed to recommended Christian fiction, Sci-Fi classics, critics' choices, readalikes, etc.
More library WOMM:
Fondly recalling a novel read years ago, the customer had wished to re-connect with it for a long time-- difficult without knowing title and author. "It's about a Confederate hero," she remembered, "actually, no, more about his wife...." That's all I needed to hear. I'd seen a review of Allan Gurganus' forthcoming Local Souls earlier this week, so his 1989 The Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All (I loved it, too) immediately came to mind. Anyone passing by the ref desk and hearing us gush about it received a massive dose of WOMM.
Hoping to locate the book inspired by Beth Terry's My Plastic Free Life blog, another patron was delighted to find Plastic Free: How I Kicked the Plastic Habit and How You Can, Too available. She also recommended Rick Smith's Slow Death by Rubber Duck: The Secret Danger of Everyday Things.
Customer enthusiasm for PBS' Call the Midwife series on DVD inspired a favorite viewing experience at my house. So here's a WOMM prompt for other Midwife fans fascinated by depictions of British life in the 1950s: David Kynaston's wonderfully informative Austerity Britain, 1945-51; Family Britain, 1951-1957; and Modernity Britain: Opening the Box, 1957-59.
If you're a grownup (especially thirty-plus and a parent/guardian/aunt or uncle) you, too, may have savored a sandwich meal involving no sandwiches.
A recent lunch--if that's what you call chugging a homemade smoothie--found me checking emails on my iPad. My daughter had inquired about supplies for the curtains I was sewing for her; my mother reported that that the Etsy gift card we'd sent for her birthday was yielding mixed results (wonderful merchandise, yes; easy credit redemption process, no).
Ultimately, the curtains turned out as hoped; the Etsy snag was resolved and the desired product delivered. For those of us in the Sandwich Generation, these are
the problems we'd choose to sort out--happy ones, easily within one's capability.
Questions we're asked at the reference desk remind us that life in the Sandwich lane often involves weightier issues, such the one advised by U.S News & World Report's nursing home assessment, Medicare's Nursing Home Compare, and the Administration on Aging's Eldercare Locator. And the oft-heard "how can my son/daughter and I speak the same language and still not communicate?" can be addressed with, among other options, the annually eye-opening Beloit College Mindset List.
Sandwich people feel doubly responsible, but on good days we celebrate successes on two fronts.
Another bonus: tips and memorable anecdotes from two diverse vantage points. My daughter recommends films and apps that I wouldn't discover soon (or
ever). And as for the parent angle, you know how a chance remark can trigger the unspooling of a dramatic episode starring you but previously not on your radar screen due to your very young age when it occurred. Chatting with my mom recently, I observed that whooping cough is on the rise again. Her resulting memory suggests that I was one those rare children scarier as an infant than as a teen.
And that incident pales in comparison to distant ancestors' travails. As this Bloomberg article observes, the release of 1940 census information hasn't merely attracted researchers; it has created a volunteer bonanza. Because the initial census format is not generally searchable by name (yet), thousands of volunteers are assisting with indexing. Whether motivated by altruism or the chance of winning an iPad or Kindle, participants demonstrate massive multigenerational power.
Also at their best: favorite authors with new or soon-to-be-released family sagas. Philipp Meyer's The Son, termed "heartstopping", "magnificent", "stunning", "volcanic", and "masterly" by critics, also garnered raves from readers at last month's Barnes & Noble (Round Rock New Neighbors) book discussion. Amy Tan's The Valley of Amazement (coming in November) rises to Tan's previous standard--high praise.
One of many readers who loved Leila Meacham's Roses and Tumbleweeds, I think that Meacham gets better with each new title (watch for Somerset, prequel to Roses in February). Jhumpa Lahiri's much-anticipated The Lowland will be released on September 24; The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love), deemed "sweeping" and "rich", comes out in October. Jonathan Lethem's "illuminating" and "provocative" Dissident Gardens has just arrived at the library.
Why not represent the first generation in your clan to get your hands on these?
Suspense fiction fans love to encounter surprises and mystery in books they've chosen.
But not like this. Co-worker Carolyn handed me a still-new copy of a popular thriller, outlining the customer complaint: someone had taken it upon himself/herself to cross out and "revise" phrases throughout. Surprise!
Not that it matters, but the grammatical edits weren't even correct. And the mystery was, as Chip put it, "what would possess anyone to think that was a good idea?"
Still muttering over the disruptive markups, I spotted one of our regular customers strolling by the reference desk. What a great opportunity to share my little outrage!
But this patron hadn't received the Scribbling is Bad memo. He curiously flipped pages, assessed the inky text interruptions, and grinned. "I have to disagree", he shrugged, "Ever since Gutenberg, print has been one-dimensional and non-participatory. And now someone has made this copy interactive."
Fine. Customer approval always makes our day. But I still can't bring myself to equate a defaced library book with "interactivity"--especially when September, promising fall and its beloved festivities (even beyond football, I mean) is nearly here. Mingling in outdoor vistas, sampling new delicacies, marveling at creative talent: now that's interaction.
The State Fair of Texas opens this year on September 27. Check out SFT's timeline for an enlightening scan of innovations, celebrities, and organizational changes reflecting a microcosm of Texas life. But you'll have to wait until September 2 to learn whether deep fried versions of Nutella, Thanksgiving dinner, King Ranch casserole, or another crispy delight/cardiac health threat snagged this year's coveted Big Tex Choice Award.
This week's Scout Report sported--in addition to its always-impressive slate of educational links like Pew Internet's Infographics and American Biology Teacher--a feature devoted to that notorious annual phenomenon: the national buffet of state fair fried food specialties (try saying that three times fast).
Atlantic Wire's photo spread of trendsetting fair fare may leave you wondering how many more iterations of the corn dog are possible (also how you, too, can get your hands on Cocoa Cheese Bites). The Scout Report staff even highlighted this portal for state-fair-winning recipes. Compared to the Deep Fried Hot Dog Wrapped in French Fries, pie sounds like health food.
You should award Round Rock Arts Council's popular Chalk Walk (a feast for your eyes) a spot in your calendar for October 4-5. Texas Book Festival will crown the October 26-27 weekend. Stay tuned for soon-to-be-revealed announcements of author appearances and events, but you can go ahead and contribute to the cause or register to be an event volunteer now.
Even before these rewarding events, there's another chance to engage in a mass effort--remotely. Work From Home Day (9/10/13) challenges Austin-area esidents to improve air quality by "removing 20,000 cars from city roads" for one day. Round Rock Public Library's online resources stand ready to support our cardholders in that effort.
And, to prepare for the later festivities, why not accessorize your green telecommute with a verdant, leafy lunch?
That message had no business landing in work email in the first place. I would delete it, but it represents a career path of potential interest to the library's job seekers and vocational explorers.
OK, so I'm rationalizing; I kept it because it intrigues me personally.
Sent by Onlocation Casting, recruiting local extras for the NBC television series Revolution ("filming in Austin, TX and various surrounding areas") the notice asks us to publicize their casting call. Links (further details, Facebook page, an application) accompany the letter.
Applicants are encouraged to complete the form and cautioned not to pay for unnecessary "active" upgrades. I found that tip even more interesting than the promise of free snacks and references to other company projects: Friday Night Lights, Crazy Heart, Titanic.
But why would an introvert like me find this opportunity even remotely appealing?
Certainly not my prior film career: the highlight was a close-up on a local TV children's show years ago. The camera panning the row of seven-year-olds in Blue Bird vests caught my freckled nose and wide grin then devoid of two front teeth and zoomed in.
And last summer, what might be my shoulder is visible in audience sweeps on The Colbert Report and The Daily Show.
Aha. Now I remember the lure of "extra" work: behind-the-scenes access. For the price of waiting in several consecutive queues, I discovered how much smaller the Colbert set is in real life than it appears on television and how Colbert interacts out of character (just as funny, but really charming).
Studio audiences also see how glitches are managed. Singer Regina Spektor flubbed a couple of notes--she was the only one who thought so--and requested a do-over. The intro was repeated, the built-in time lag covered the re-shoot, and an apparently seamless musical segment was broadcast. But Spektor's grace under pressure and warmth lent our onsite perspective added value.
On a film set, in costume and in close proximity to actors, directors, and whatever unscripted goings-on transpire, an extra witnesses the good, the bad, and the ugly. For me, that (and the $8 per hour) would represent a nice payoff for filling out the application, waiting in more lines, and devoting a vacation day or two to the project.
Cinema fans who are Round Rock Public Library cardholders now have a new way to participate: RRPL's new Indieflix resource (accessible 24/7 with your library barcode) allows our patrons to stream thousands of independent films, including documentaries and shorts.
Because Indieflix was founded by filmmakers and assembles the best (or, as their FAQ page notes, "possibly the weirdest, depending on your taste") offerings from film festivals, you not only provide worthy productions with an audience, you help to fund future creations and innovations. IndieFlix shares revenues with filmmakers and even invites film submissions.
Important notes: (1) To view Indieflix for free as a cardholder, always start from the library's homepage to log in. (2) After you're "discovered" on the Revolution set or presented with a statuette for your film, please tell the Academy that you owe it all to the library!
Ah, summertime at the place across from the Main Street Plaza fountains. We're also known as Rocksssanne's home or the library, where incidentally, you can still enter the adult summer reading program if you hurry, and where we daily witness the joys of vacation time.
Joy, yes. Leisure, no.
Summer reading program stats for all ages are soaring. So, too, are mountains of materials to be checked in and re-shelved. More visitors with more genealogy questions, teachers happily loading up on books they typically don't have time to enjoy, young customers with hours to fill: all demonstrate why folks around here view the library as a top summertime destination.
We like to think that the vibe on the other side of the service counter feels relaxed. It appears so: flip-flips softly thunking as they convey patrons with bags of beach reads, smiling parents shepherding kids back out to the car, cognizant that the contents of the program just attended will be rehearsed all the way home.
A popular question these days concerns hours for the Main Street Plaza fountains. (Other timely, albeit less entertaining, water wisdom can be viewed on City of Round Rock's Water Conservation pages.)
We're never too busy to enjoy reactions of triumphant grownups scouting for the Pop-Up Prize sign with an accompanying giveaway at the reference desk. (Hint: This being the last week of Summer Readers' Bonanza, we're putting out more frequent freebies). Yesterday, a savvy reader spotted a prize from clear across the room and squealed, "Yesssss!" to the amusement of onlookers.
Water and prizes aren't the only elements appealing to one's inner child. Sharing (a year-round challenge) is a principle we encounter early on and never cease considering.
In a recent related chat, a library patron recommended a substantial policy change, then listened patiently while I extolled the values of the procedure in place.
The issue: study rooms. Check into a library study room (no reservations-first come, first served, one turn per day) and it's yours for an hour. That's the minimum; if no one else is waiting, you can stay on. But on high-traffic days, we'll need to re-assign the room as others queue up for a turn.
Given a population of over 100,000 and only five study rooms, this scheme works very well. The nicely-spoken gentleman agreed with nearly all of it.
The inconsistency he highlighted: some folks (if they're lucky and study room traffic dissipates after they check in), may get more than an hour. To be perfectly fair, he suggested, we should kick everyone out after their hour.
Acknowledging his excellent point, I explained that we've chosen to err on the side of chance and generosity, so that everyone gets fairness at minimum and will likely benefit from fairness-plus sometimes. Nobody ever claimed that sharing was easy.
The discussion ended pleasantly. It's easier to be gracious when you believe you're in the right (and we both did).
And perhaps we were subconsciously soothed by the distant splashing of the fountains...
Ever worked a customer service desk? Then you're familiar with the Conflicted or I Hate to Bother You, But... Complaint. This nice library patron was even conflicted about the reason.
With hands apart, palms up (the universal "this is probably futile" signal), she reported that a clearly audible cell phone chat from two rows back had jolted her out of fiction-browsing mode.
Mind you, this was on second floor, AKA The Quiet Floor. As if being reluctantly cast in the role of tattletale weren't enough, the customer couldn't decide which seemed more unfair: the interruption or the extreme non-urgency of the conversation.
The disturbance, we agreed, was unfortunate--also unintentional. Those tall shelving units look awfully substantial, perhaps capable of preventing sound transmission. But not even in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section do collected volumes assume Sonic Deflection Shield capability.
If such issues don't resolve themselves quickly (which happened even as we discussed this one), a gentle reminder does the trick. It's easy to forget that cell phoning isn't appropriate everywhere.
Our customers tend to be demonstrably polite, evidenced by responses to our Summer Readers' Bonanza. We offer several "pop-up prizes" each week at the reference desk. At random intervals and without fanfare, the "It's a Pop-up Prize!" sign appears on the reference desk with a book or bag from Book Expo America.
Whoever spots the prize first may take it. (Think of the King Arthur legend: you're Arthur and the prize is Excalibur. Go for it.)
We've been surprised to see library customers look right past the sign and charmed to witness folks who see it but can't bring themselves to take the prize. Some customers track back and forth a time or two. They might stop, gingerly touch the item, then replace it, needing the assurance of a staffer's smile, nod, or thumbs-up before claiming it.
Also, there's this: Unlike the King Arthur story, our prizes aren't pre-ordained for accessibility only to the perfect match.
Some pop-ups ultimately claimed by ecstatic winners were first caught and released by well-mannered readers rightly viewing them as Not My Type. The man who spied Sylvia Day's Entwined With You briefly surveyed the contents, commenting, "some woman will be thrilled to have this; I'll leave it for her." What a gentleman. And he was correct.
To demonstrate that I, too, was raised right, I brought back my advance copy of Charles Belfoure's The Paris Architect (mentioned last week, now finished) for pop-up sharing. Unlike the other pristine giveaways, it's had one reader but is a terrific find for grown-up readers of both genders.
Some upcoming pop-ups might be deemed "chick books", but we'll also offer DK's The Conquest of the Ocean, Filip Bondy's Who's on Worst: The Lousiest Players, Biggest Cheaters, Saddest Goats and Other Antiheroes in Baseball History; Don J. Snyder's Walking with Jack: A Father's Journey to Become His Son's Caddie; Robert Boswell's Tumbledown; James R. Hannibal's Shadow Catcher; and Michael Paterniti's The Telling Room: A Tale of Love, Betrayal, Revenge, and the World's Greatest Piece of Cheese.
And it would be downright rude not to mention this "Books for Dudes" list from Library Journal Online.
Last week was a vacation--and not. True, I was immersed in three vacation-y pursuits: inspiring view; regimen of pampering/rejuvenation; even a whimsical lapse of judgment best second-guessed in retrospect.
Translation: I didn't go anywhere. Activities included re-doing the sewing/exercise/whatever room and coordinating prescriptions, care, and vet visits for a post-operative Scottie dog.
And my Big Regret was deciding a while back that pet insurance would be advisable but not actually signing up for it. (We've considered re-naming the patient Princess Cruise.)
On the plus side, Kenna, our little terrier, is again bouncing around, striking fear into squirrels' hearts--also behaving as a poor but fun role model for Robert, our larger, moodier Scottie. The made-over room looks wonderful; I haven't skipped a day on the elliptical machine since the place took on a classier tone.
Luckily, a library copy of Edward Rutherfurd's new 800-page Paris: The Novel turned up just in time for the week off. What is vacation if not the chance to consume several hundred pages at a time without sacrificing a night's sleep?
All of which resulted in clarity about future vacations. Rutherfurd's latest saga accomplished what Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, Adam Gopnik's Paris to the Moon, Diane Johnson's Le Divorce, and numerous other excellent novels and accounts of life in Paris only tempted me to do. Post-Rutherfurd, I'll finally confess my latent ambition to be Yet Another Paris Tourist.
Admittedly, moving Paris to the top of the wish list earns one zero points for originality. And those clichéd images of the Eiffel Tower, baguette-toting natives, the Belle Epoque lamp posts? Yes, they're ultra-commercial. But those ubiquitous graphics powerfully evoke the spectrum of individual interests in Paris: history, architecture, cuisine, fashion, performing arts, graphic arts, religion, politics...
As with Sarum, New York, London, etc., Rutherfurd unfurls an ambitious tapestry of several centuries' urban evolution. The threads, individual characters of varying classes, strive for the best possible existence as they currently discern it. But only you, the reader, can perceive the ultimate pattern, whole-cloth evidence that some ancestors' dreams were not worth pursuing. Other forebears die convinced of having lost a struggle in which their descendants eventually triumph. Endurance is the key.
There's nothing like a big-picture historical saga to bestow appreciation for the relative insignificance of one's own obstacles or ambitions. These epics also portray the advance of progress founded on small but persistent increments of goodwill and creativity.
View Paris' Roman ruins and churches, and you're reminded that cultures succeed or not on both merit and adaptability. Hop on the Eiffel Tower's elevator, and you're conveyed aloft a structure originally designed for showstopper visual appeal and meant to last twenty years.
Over 100 years later, hordes of visitors are confidently making that ascent.
I wouldn't hesitate, either. Until then, I'll recommend Goodreads' Books About Paris list. In October, watch for Charles Belfoure's The Paris Architect. I'm reading the advance copy of this intriguing historical fiction/thriller set in German-occupied Paris--and already added it to the library's order list.
Oh, good. The annual Triple Digit Temperature Anticipation is over. We can proceed to more vital topics, say, air conditioning and novels.
On weekends when I interrupt yard work at intervals to duck inside for a hat or water, to check on the dogs or whatever (because overtly preventing heat exhaustion sounds wimpy) I appreciate the cool respites. I also resent adding minutes to the completion timeline.
Only when finished do I allow myself to open one of those tempting ARCs from Book Expo America.
Compelling novels and AC are optimizers of sorts. Climate control sustains us so we accomplish more; great stories broaden our experience so we understand each other better.
And these three just-read forthcoming picks are superior; I recommend them for richly developed characters and distinctive points of view. They're for grownups, particularly the latter two:
The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion (October 1), observes its most revelatory scenes not in iconic terrain (it's set in Australia) but in contemporary urban venues--academic conferences, restaurants, apartment balconies, habitats of brilliant thirtysomething genetics professor Don Tillman. Don (Big Bang Theory fans, think Sheldon), variously termed "almost robotic", "socially inept", and "awkwardly charming", appears capable of greater interpersonal sensitivity, but even he would set that bar low.
Unlike Sheldon, Don has prioritized the acquisition of a life partner. The obvious approach (if you're Don): precisely calibrated criteria packaged in a lengthy application--The Wife Project. Ah, romance.
Don's unvarnished (and oft-mistaken) impressions are relayed in terms meeting his high standards for factuality--and yours for poignancy and comedy.
Amy Tan's The Valley of Amazement (November 5) also views proceedings indoors--at first: the elegant confines of a courtesan establishment. At BEA, Tan shared the story's genesis: her discovery that the ensemble worn by her grandmother in a favorite photo matched styles in pictures documenting turn-of-the-century Chinese courtesans.
Tan's latest revisits themes prized in The Joy Luck Club: legacies of mothers and daughters, resourcefulness and persistence in the face of transplantation, explorations of ethnic identities and boundaries. Spanning fifty years from San Francisco to Shanghai, Valley fascinates even before it ventures outdoors into truly amazing territory.
Charles Palliser's Rustication (Nov. 4) involves none of the calm, bucolic, self-directed existence you'd expect. This Gothic with a Capital G tale denotes the more specific (British) term for suspension from school. In the mid-1860s, 17-year-old Richard Shenstone finds himself "rusticated" from Cambridge (sadly, not his chief worry). Having learned of his father's death via the newspaper--though mother and sister are alive and well and could have written--he's entertaining apprehensions about what and why he wasn't told more.
Arriving "home" to his family's recent relocation, a dank, creaking outpost whose closest neighbor is a quagmire (literally), Richard encounters villagers seething with gossip and ill will, a depraved series of threatening letters, and all manner of unwholesome goings-on.
Poor Richard has no idea whom to believe, nor will you. Your only recourse is to keep reading...
Guess what we figured out? People of all ages appreciate free stuff (interesting, high-quality free stuff). Who knew?
The library's youth summer reading programs have long been identified with favorite performers, activities, story times. Oh, and prizes, prizes, prizes.
Adults, we reasoned, didn't require as much incentive to read.
We weren't incorrect. We hear daily about our grownup customers' impressive reading portfolios. However, they are busy people. Taking time to document preferences and list which library activities and databases they find relevant--that's what demands recognition AKA prizes.
We now have really nice drawing prizes (two words: iPad Mini) for our Brain Food campaign for adult cardholders. Our Summer Readers' Bonanza (which all grownups can enter, regardless of cardholder status) features an enviable drawing prize and several spontaneous giveaways each week through August 5. Acquisition of these perks was achieved thanks to Friends of the Round Rock Public Library, the good fortune of collecting publicity items at Book Expo America, and the aid of publishers (a box of new giveaway donations, including Inferno, arrived from our Random House rep just yesterday. Thanks, Robert!).
We acknowledge the irony of this lesson. Who in Round Rock enjoys closer proximity to the latest books and articles on motivation? Even if we were tardy in making the adult reader-prize connection, we knew all along that this topic, particularly relating to the workplace, greatly interests local business owners, managers, and savvy employees.
A quick search of the library catalog with "motivation" or "employee motivation" yields so many titles that everyone will relate personally to one: The Power of Consistency: Prosperity Mindset Training...; The Five Languages of Appreciation in the Workplace; The Wisdom of Bees: What the Hive Can Teach Business about Leadership and Growth; The 20% Doctrine: How Tinkering, Goofing Off, and Breaking the Rules at Work Drive Success in Business; All In: How the Best Managers Create a Culture of Belief and Drive Big Results; and many more.
You can mine current articles about motivation from our online resources: Masterfile, Academic Search Complete, Business Source Complete, for starters.
I haven't encountered a motivational trend yet that couldn't claim merit to some degree. But these approaches are numerous and frequently contradictory. No wonder commercial wall art illustrating easily-recalled nuggets of encouragement sells so briskly; adhering to a personal mantra enables one to assimilate the best of the best.
But why purchase a slogan when World Book Encyclopedia and popular culture already yield these gems?
- Oklahoma state motto: "Labor conquers all things."
- North Carolina: "To be, rather than to seem."
- For anyone whose work culture operates in a continual state of flux, consider Connecticut's motto: "He who is transplanted still sustains."
- Classic C&W song "The Gambler": "You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em..."
- Bumper sticker for Longhorn Rentals: "Roll with us."
Finally, from the theme song on the Crazy Heart soundtrack: "This ain't no place for the weary kind. This ain't no place to lose your mind..."
"Such an amazing place," the customer observed dreamily. "But I don't suppose I could ever get in."
Nice to know that the Book Expo America photos I posted online conveyed the energy and special-ness of the event--noted authors by the score, acclaimed presenters, book giveaways, direct access to publishers. But (except for the new Power Readers option on the last day) you must be in the book trade to get in.
"For a serious reader," I confided to the library patron, "BEA is pretty much like Heaven."
I should note that BEA's venue, the Javits Center, lies solidly within the confines of Hell's Kitchen (explanations for the district's name abound). Newer appellations for the area--"Clinton" or "Midtown West"--just sound namby-pamby, don't they?
My accommodations were also located in HK. Frankly, I reveled in the opportunity to begin each day descending 51 floors by elevator, thanking the doorman for his aid (God forbid I should have to open the door), scooting into the Starbucks next door, and embarking on a ten-minute stroll to Javits with my favorite sissy beverage.
But somehow, claiming that I daily traversed half of the breadth of Hell's Kitchen on foot--alone--still sounds a little tough. Grit credit would be as undeserved as my dumb luck in having lovely relatives with a spiffy Manhattan condo.
But good fortune doesn't count toward Heaven. And a few other aspects of BEA align with the earthly realm, as well:
You can take it with you. You have to; of all the amenities offered by the huge convention center, none include secure, free places to leave your handbag or briefcase while you stuff tote bags with advance copies and other swag. You'll juggle three or four carryalls and the iPad or smartphone you're using to snap photos. If your arms aren't stretched a couple of inches longer after a day at BEA, you're just not trying.
Controversy is encouraged (if it's literary). Former U.S. Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky drew spontaneous applause several times during the Poetry Opens Doors panel discussion. His most memorable observation was provoked by earnest suggestions from librarians exhorting others to "push" poetry at every conceivable opportunity (e.g., displays at checkout stations in the manner of National Inquirer stacks at the grocery checkout). Pinsky objected, challenging the notion that poetry is "something to take care of as if it were sick."
Covetousness is (if not admired) part of the fun. Tote bags are serious business at BEA (check out one clever blogger's 2013 BEA Book Bag Awards--June 3). At some point, most attendees succumb to Bag Envy. The array of distinctive giveaways--massive red leatherette carriers, elegant black Hobbit bags adorned with a stylized dragon (I got one; it's a summer drawing prize), limited edition carryalls channeling LL Bean--is noteworthy. Even when you've acquired enviable bags yourself, your eye wanders to The One That Got Away.
Round Rock Public Library's Summer Readers' Bonanza begins Monday, June 17 (details available then), and you, too, might claim one of our divine BEA swag giveaways!
More Posts Next page »