We had our first snowfall last night. Here in the Augusta area we got about two inches, so definitely more than a dusting. To my mind, early; last year the first snowfall was a whole month later (Nov. 26). The year before we had what I called a mini-snowstorm on Nov. 6th (See Note of Nov. 9, 2009), and I declared I wasn't ready then. So needless to say I'm not ready on Oct. 30th to wake up to snow on my lawn, my car, the back deck railing. But of course Mother Nature (don't you think it's interesting that humankind made God male, but Nature female?) couldn't care less who's ready and who's not. Just as she doesn't care how many people are living in paper houses above a fault line, or on the hillsides below a volcano.
What's really strange is that, since there were still leaves on the trees, and the snowfall was accompanied by wind, my snow-covered lawn is also pockmarked with yellow-brown leaves. It looks almost like a white quilt, with a leaf pattern.
Yesterday we had what has become our annual Kids' Halloween Party at the library. One of those events I HATE putting together. Librarian as Social Director; as we all know by now, my least favorite role as a public librarian. Thank God I have had a Program Coordinator for the past year and a half (we hired him when I went to reduced hours), who takes care of most of the details for most of our programs now. But this party required a lot of input from me. Ideas -- e.g., we've had Pin the Wart on the Witch for three years running now, what other, similar game could we have [answer: Pin the Tail on the Cat, with the tails proving to be much easier for the little kids to handle than the oversized warts were) -- running to the store for this, that and the other thing, mainly prizes for the various games, as well as for Most Beautiful, Cutest, Scariest and Most Original costume, which I also had to decide on. I performed this last task by wandering through the Halloween Spirit store that magically appears every year at this time, and the Dollar Tree, and Reny's Department store (the wonderful throw-back to a different era that can be found in several Maine towns -- it's actually more like an upscale Woolworth's than a Macy's, with, often, some really good bargains) hoping something would leap out at me. And things did, slowly but surely.
I also had to come up with clues for the Build a Skeleton Scavenger Hunt. I tried to delegate this task, but the only staff person who got into it produced a lot of clever clues that would have been a challenge for adults. So I had to do a lot of refining, then type the final product up and run off on appropriately orange paper with an appropriate skeleton on it. (And yesterday, as people were starting to arrive for the party, I was still running around tucking plastic skulls under dictionaries and plastic backbones under sofa cushions.)
During the party I was busy making sure things were going smoothly at all the various venues: besides the Pin the Tail on the Cat area, where two members of our Friends organization were writing names on construction paper tails and turning blindfolded kids around so that they would end up attaching their tails to the cat's legs, there was the dunking-for-apples spot, with the newest member of our Board of Trustees nobly providing guidance and towels to the eager young dunkers, the Mystery Box, where the president of our Board, who had also volunteered her services, oversaw children trying to guess what items were in the box by touch only, including such things as a pumpkin, a witch's hat ('wizard's hat' would also do), and a severed hand (all they had to guess was 'hand'). Kids who guessed everything got a festive badge that declared "I Guessed Everything in the Mystery Box," while those who were less successful got one that said "I Guessed Almost Everything in the Mystery Box."
There was the crafts table in the Children's Room which enjoyed a steady business in kids making bats and decorating construction paper jack-o-lanterns. Stacie, my intrepid helper every Wednesday when I do the Children's Story & Craft, was stuck there practically the entire length of the party, because the demand was so much greater than we'd expected, and she kept having to churn out pumpkins and bat wings and bodies. In the main reading room, beside a sign that said Make a Spooky Halloween Picture for our Wall, we also had black and orange paper, with sidewalk chalk for the former and colored markers for the latter, and this area did a brisk business as well. The lady from the Friends who was minding the nearby refreshments table would help the kids tape their pictures to the wall when they'd finished.
There was also a Ghost Walk, which I found myself having to oversee whenever I had a free moment, because there was no one else to do so. This game was another clever idea of Stacie's. Stacie is an absolute whizz at coming up with ideas for craft activities -- which I sometimes have to modify, to be within the capabilities of 2-3 year olds, but still -- and she's even more of a whizz at producing the prototype we always make so the kids will know what to aim for. Anyway, it was her idea to blow up a balloon, draw a ghost on it, put the "ghost" on a paper plate, and have the kids walk a certain course without the ghost flying away. Turned out to be a very popular activity, and whenever I would see a child looking at loose ends I would say, "Have you done the Ghost Walk yet?"
The Grand Finale was my "spooky story," the beginning of which I'd made up in my head while having lunch, before leaving for the library (the party started at 2 p.m.) I told the kids gathered around me that at different points in the story they would have to help me, by providing the next thing that would happen, when I pointed to them. So I had the bored twins, Troy and Tracy, who couldn't go Trick-or-Treating on Halloween night because it was too windy and rainy, deciding to go explore that big old empty house next door instead (they hadn't done this before, because they'd just moved into the neighborhood the week before). When they finally get the front door open, and Troy shines his dad's flashlight inside what should they see but (point, pause while surprised child thinks, then) "a ghost!" Yes! A great big ghost, hovering there in the dark. Tracy screamed. Troy screamed and dropped the flashlight...
And on we went. It was fun, and afterwards all the grownups who had gathered to listened as well were saying 'that was a great story!' and 'you're a born story-teller!', and I was thinking, yes, yes, I have all sort of talents you have no idea about because what you see me do is this job, which has almost nothing to do with any of my real talents.
But ah, well. Everyone seemed to have a good time, and now IT'S OVER FOR ANOTHER YEAR.
Showing posts with label library programs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label library programs. Show all posts
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
An unexpected pleasure
A few months ago, after a couple of people had asked me if the library had a book club, and I had had to reply in the negative, I decided to survey our public, to see if there might be additional interest in starting one. I had done this several years ago, and got all of two positive responses, so that was the end of that. But this time, eight people indicated an interest. So I then went through the process of trying to determine when all or most of those people could get together, both in terms of time of day -- days? evenings? -- and day of the week. Phone calling, emailing. Finally determined that the third Tuesday of the month, at 6 p.m. would work best for everybody. So I scheduled the first meeting, and suggested that for that first meeting, everyone come prepared to talk about a book they'd read recently that they really liked.
Mind you, I had no interest in being part of a book club. But this points up one of the curses of my upbringing: my mother instilled in all five of her children the...not idea...imperative...that when doing a job you not only did whatever had to be done, but what should be done. And always to the best of your ability, it goes without saying. So seeing that there was a demand among the library's patrons for a book club, I knew I had to give them a book club. I had a vague hope that after a meeting or two it would be possible to slide the running of the club onto someone else's shoulders. One of my staff was actually interested in participating, so the possibility of her taking over existed, and even if not, she could at least serve as the library's "presence," letting me off the hook.
To my surprise, I found the first meeting quite enjoyable, as I have the two subsequent ones. I find I love talking about books with others who also love talking about books. And the selections agreed on by the group have "forced" me to read books I doubtless would never have read otherwise -- my reading for some time now has been, to a shocking degree, limited to mysteries -- but which have proved to be, at the very least very well-written (and, indeed, have made me despair of ever being able to write so well); and in two cases have turned out to be books I loved. It is truly one of the supreme pleasures of life to discover an artist -- whether a writer, a painter, an actor, a singer or musician -- whose work leaves one moved and impressed.
Our first group choice was Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout, a best seller that I found so depressing I didn't even finish reading it. (I have happily reached that point in life where I no longer feel compelled to finish a book just because I've started it.) But even that book, with its very unlikable main character, is wonderfully written. As I commented to the group, you could see every person she described, every scene, and she managed this without a lot of description! A sample scene: (characters: sweet, hen-pecked Henry, his too-often bitch of a wife, Olive, and their son Christopher)
The thing is, there are endless bad things like this that happen, endless everyday occurrences that demonstrate how disappointing and downright bleak life ends up being for so many people As one of the members of our club said, "It's too real." The characters are small-town folk in Maine, but they could be anywhere, leading their lives of quiet desperation.
So I came away from reading this book thinking that Elizabeth Strout is a really excellent writer -- and maybe I should give another of her books a chance -- but this one is a well-written downer.
I'll tell you about our other reads later, but in the mean-time, if you like reading, and talking about what you read...find a book club.
Mind you, I had no interest in being part of a book club. But this points up one of the curses of my upbringing: my mother instilled in all five of her children the...not idea...imperative...that when doing a job you not only did whatever had to be done, but what should be done. And always to the best of your ability, it goes without saying. So seeing that there was a demand among the library's patrons for a book club, I knew I had to give them a book club. I had a vague hope that after a meeting or two it would be possible to slide the running of the club onto someone else's shoulders. One of my staff was actually interested in participating, so the possibility of her taking over existed, and even if not, she could at least serve as the library's "presence," letting me off the hook.
To my surprise, I found the first meeting quite enjoyable, as I have the two subsequent ones. I find I love talking about books with others who also love talking about books. And the selections agreed on by the group have "forced" me to read books I doubtless would never have read otherwise -- my reading for some time now has been, to a shocking degree, limited to mysteries -- but which have proved to be, at the very least very well-written (and, indeed, have made me despair of ever being able to write so well); and in two cases have turned out to be books I loved. It is truly one of the supreme pleasures of life to discover an artist -- whether a writer, a painter, an actor, a singer or musician -- whose work leaves one moved and impressed.
Our first group choice was Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout, a best seller that I found so depressing I didn't even finish reading it. (I have happily reached that point in life where I no longer feel compelled to finish a book just because I've started it.) But even that book, with its very unlikable main character, is wonderfully written. As I commented to the group, you could see every person she described, every scene, and she managed this without a lot of description! A sample scene: (characters: sweet, hen-pecked Henry, his too-often bitch of a wife, Olive, and their son Christopher)
A Saturday at home: Lunch was crabmeat sandwiches, grilled with cheese. Christopher was putting one into his mouth, but the phone rang, and Olive went to answer it. Christopher, without being asked, waited, the sandwich held in his hand. Henry's mind seemed to take a picture of that moment, his son's instinctive deference at the very same time they heard Olive's voice in the next room. "Oh you poor child," she said, in a voice Henry would always remember -- filled with such dismay that all her outer Olive-ness seemed stripped away. "You poor, poor child." [It was the young woman who worked at Henry's pharmacy, calling to tell him that her husband had just been killed in a hunting accident.]
The thing is, there are endless bad things like this that happen, endless everyday occurrences that demonstrate how disappointing and downright bleak life ends up being for so many people As one of the members of our club said, "It's too real." The characters are small-town folk in Maine, but they could be anywhere, leading their lives of quiet desperation.
So I came away from reading this book thinking that Elizabeth Strout is a really excellent writer -- and maybe I should give another of her books a chance -- but this one is a well-written downer.
I'll tell you about our other reads later, but in the mean-time, if you like reading, and talking about what you read...find a book club.
Friday, July 8, 2011
The joys of librarianship
On Wednesday, even though I was officially on vacation, I went in for an hour and a half (which ended up being two hours), in order to put on the show that is our weekly Children's Hour. Any time over the past year I could have just left this to my assistant, who can certainly read a simple story and oversee a simple craft for two or three, or even four children. Which is how many kids we've been getting for the past year. Demographics were at play here: all the little kids who had been coming regularly suddenly graduated to pre-school or kindergarten, and there was not a new batch of children of the right age to replace them.
However, week before last we were inundated with children! Not two or three or four, but sixteen! It was like the old days. Which was nice, but we weren't prepared. We didn't have enough of the needed supplies for the craft we had planned. So Stacie and I had to do some quick thinking, to come up with an alternative. And, clever ladies that we are, we did.
We had to assume we would be getting about the same number of children this week, and I knew Stacie could not handle sixteen children by herself, however simple we made the craft. So I made the decision to go in, just for that time period. What the heck, it wasn't like I would be interrupting my Bermuda cruise. I would just be driving the 15 minutes from my house in Gardiner to the library in Hallowell, reading a story, getting however many kids showed up through a craft, and then splitting for my air-conditioned home once more.
However. We had been thinking: decorate rocks if it rains, paint on the long roll of white paper taped to the wall outside if it's dry. It was dry, and also very warm. The library was very warm. Painting really seemed the best option. But before the children could paint, Stacie and I had to attach a big piece of plastic to the wall outside, then tape the paper onto that. The wall is made of large, rough blocks of granite, not the best surface to be painting on, which was why the plastic needed to go on first.
But what a trial getting that plastic onto the wall proved to be! We did this one time before, a few years ago, and it surely was not so difficult then. The roll of clear "packing" tape I'd taken out would not stick to the wall. Stacie had brought out the almost defunct roll of masking tape, which worked better, but Stacie's hands shake even more than mine do (for a different reason), so she had trouble peeling the tape from the roll, then tearing it off (she'd forgotten to bring out scissors), then attaching it smoothly and securely to the plastic. My impatience couldn't tolerate her fumbling long -- keep in mind that we were not able to do this in a leisurely fashion, because Stacie only arrives at the library about 20 minutes before story time -- so I took over the taping, while Stacie held first the plastic, then the paper in place. There was also a fairly good breeze, which complicated matters. And I kept fuming, "I don't even have a book yet."
I'd actually spent some of the time before Stacie arrived looking for/trying to think of a good book to read. Normally I have this done by the day before, but of course I hadn't been in on Monday or Tuesday. I did go in for 3 1/2 hours on Sunday, partly to get some things done that needed to be done, partly to insure that my paycheck this pay period wouldn't be too pathetically paltry (since I went on reduced hours last year I am paid by the hour, rather than having a fixed salary as I did before). But on Sunday I was thinking 'decorated rocks', rather than painting, so what little time I spent looking for a book was spent looking for something having to do with rocks (and finding nothing). We try to connect the story to our craft, though that isn't always possible.
Selecting a book is always something of a challenge anyway. Our usual audience is made up of 2-4 year olds, and you can't challenge their limited attention span with too long, too complicated, or too abstract, a story. They want something to happen, and in a fairly short amount of time. And there have to be good illustrations to show them.
The situation is complicated still further when you have older children as well, which we now did. Part of our new influx of children included a private day care center (containing only six children, thank god) with ages ranging from 3 to 8. So what to read, what to read.
When I got back inside, hot and harried, it was 10:45, the time I usually sat down with a book and started to read. No time to find a book now. So what the heck, I'd tell them a story. Which I did. Not really hard at all for me...I am, after all, a writer! And as I've mentioned in these Notes before, I used to entertain my siblings with stories when the family would travel. I very cleverly included the children gathered around me in the story -- whenever I pointed at them they were to say their names. Thus I could begin my story, "Once upon a time there was a brother and sister named..." (point) "Sam!" "and..."(point) "Lily" (said very shyly, but said). I had Sam and Lily walking through a big forest that got darker and scarier as they walked, and they were starting to get a little nervous when all of a sudden they met... (point) "Corrina." And on we went, looking for the Ice Cream House, where they had such good ice cream, and meeting lots of children along the way.
So once again the human brain problem-solved in a pinch. And then we went out and painted.
However, week before last we were inundated with children! Not two or three or four, but sixteen! It was like the old days. Which was nice, but we weren't prepared. We didn't have enough of the needed supplies for the craft we had planned. So Stacie and I had to do some quick thinking, to come up with an alternative. And, clever ladies that we are, we did.
We had to assume we would be getting about the same number of children this week, and I knew Stacie could not handle sixteen children by herself, however simple we made the craft. So I made the decision to go in, just for that time period. What the heck, it wasn't like I would be interrupting my Bermuda cruise. I would just be driving the 15 minutes from my house in Gardiner to the library in Hallowell, reading a story, getting however many kids showed up through a craft, and then splitting for my air-conditioned home once more.
However. We had been thinking: decorate rocks if it rains, paint on the long roll of white paper taped to the wall outside if it's dry. It was dry, and also very warm. The library was very warm. Painting really seemed the best option. But before the children could paint, Stacie and I had to attach a big piece of plastic to the wall outside, then tape the paper onto that. The wall is made of large, rough blocks of granite, not the best surface to be painting on, which was why the plastic needed to go on first.
But what a trial getting that plastic onto the wall proved to be! We did this one time before, a few years ago, and it surely was not so difficult then. The roll of clear "packing" tape I'd taken out would not stick to the wall. Stacie had brought out the almost defunct roll of masking tape, which worked better, but Stacie's hands shake even more than mine do (for a different reason), so she had trouble peeling the tape from the roll, then tearing it off (she'd forgotten to bring out scissors), then attaching it smoothly and securely to the plastic. My impatience couldn't tolerate her fumbling long -- keep in mind that we were not able to do this in a leisurely fashion, because Stacie only arrives at the library about 20 minutes before story time -- so I took over the taping, while Stacie held first the plastic, then the paper in place. There was also a fairly good breeze, which complicated matters. And I kept fuming, "I don't even have a book yet."
I'd actually spent some of the time before Stacie arrived looking for/trying to think of a good book to read. Normally I have this done by the day before, but of course I hadn't been in on Monday or Tuesday. I did go in for 3 1/2 hours on Sunday, partly to get some things done that needed to be done, partly to insure that my paycheck this pay period wouldn't be too pathetically paltry (since I went on reduced hours last year I am paid by the hour, rather than having a fixed salary as I did before). But on Sunday I was thinking 'decorated rocks', rather than painting, so what little time I spent looking for a book was spent looking for something having to do with rocks (and finding nothing). We try to connect the story to our craft, though that isn't always possible.
Selecting a book is always something of a challenge anyway. Our usual audience is made up of 2-4 year olds, and you can't challenge their limited attention span with too long, too complicated, or too abstract, a story. They want something to happen, and in a fairly short amount of time. And there have to be good illustrations to show them.
The situation is complicated still further when you have older children as well, which we now did. Part of our new influx of children included a private day care center (containing only six children, thank god) with ages ranging from 3 to 8. So what to read, what to read.
When I got back inside, hot and harried, it was 10:45, the time I usually sat down with a book and started to read. No time to find a book now. So what the heck, I'd tell them a story. Which I did. Not really hard at all for me...I am, after all, a writer! And as I've mentioned in these Notes before, I used to entertain my siblings with stories when the family would travel. I very cleverly included the children gathered around me in the story -- whenever I pointed at them they were to say their names. Thus I could begin my story, "Once upon a time there was a brother and sister named..." (point) "Sam!" "and..."(point) "Lily" (said very shyly, but said). I had Sam and Lily walking through a big forest that got darker and scarier as they walked, and they were starting to get a little nervous when all of a sudden they met... (point) "Corrina." And on we went, looking for the Ice Cream House, where they had such good ice cream, and meeting lots of children along the way.
So once again the human brain problem-solved in a pinch. And then we went out and painted.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
With a little imagination...
The ornaments I hang on my Christmas tree are nothing if not original. Many have been made by various friends over the years, out of Styrofoam balls, glitter and beads. It all started with the first Christmas my husband and I shared, in 1968, the year we were married. We were living in Los Angeles at the time -- with me chaffing because it was in the 70s, and it was Christmas -- and I invited my friends Grace and Joe up from Long Beach to a tree-decorating party. Which first involved making the decorations. And later when I was living in Boston, I coerced my Boston friends into participating in another such party. And off and on over the years, whenever somebody would visit me at Christmas time, I would have him or her make at least one ornament.
Some are quite lovely -- the one covered completely in blue glitter, for example -- some are very clever (e.g., the globe of the world with glitter continents by Boston friend Robert), some are amusing (friend Rick's The Phantom Frog Strikes Again, with its grinning masked "action figure"). One that my mother made demonstrates her patience in producing a craft: what must easily be a hundred green sequins topped by a gold star, and pinned to the Styrofoam with gold headed pins, forming a "cap" above the face she had colored in. Another face that someone else did -- friend Meaghan? (who was formerly friend Grace) -- comes complete with eyeglasses. There's a snowman, complete with three segments and a black top hat. Don't know how whoever did that one -- I think it may have been Micheal -- came up with that particular accouterment.
I've done the same thing with the Christmas tree we put up at the library: each year, we put out the Styrofoam balls, the glitter, the glue, the what-have-you, and invite and encourage people to "Make an Ornament for our Tree." And they do, little kids and grown-ups alike. Here again, some real artistic talent is revealed. But mainly it's a way to give people an investment in the tree. It's not just one we put up and decorate for them to look at, it's one they've contributed to. And we save the decorations from year to year, just as I do mine at home, which has imparted a sense of tradition to the tree.
This is the kind of thing that makes Christmas meaningful to me: people coming together to share various kinds of traditions, which give them a sense of continuity, while making the world colorful and festive (or delicious) for a while.
So Merry Christmas, already.
Some are quite lovely -- the one covered completely in blue glitter, for example -- some are very clever (e.g., the globe of the world with glitter continents by Boston friend Robert), some are amusing (friend Rick's The Phantom Frog Strikes Again, with its grinning masked "action figure"). One that my mother made demonstrates her patience in producing a craft: what must easily be a hundred green sequins topped by a gold star, and pinned to the Styrofoam with gold headed pins, forming a "cap" above the face she had colored in. Another face that someone else did -- friend Meaghan? (who was formerly friend Grace) -- comes complete with eyeglasses. There's a snowman, complete with three segments and a black top hat. Don't know how whoever did that one -- I think it may have been Micheal -- came up with that particular accouterment.
I've done the same thing with the Christmas tree we put up at the library: each year, we put out the Styrofoam balls, the glitter, the glue, the what-have-you, and invite and encourage people to "Make an Ornament for our Tree." And they do, little kids and grown-ups alike. Here again, some real artistic talent is revealed. But mainly it's a way to give people an investment in the tree. It's not just one we put up and decorate for them to look at, it's one they've contributed to. And we save the decorations from year to year, just as I do mine at home, which has imparted a sense of tradition to the tree.
This is the kind of thing that makes Christmas meaningful to me: people coming together to share various kinds of traditions, which give them a sense of continuity, while making the world colorful and festive (or delicious) for a while.
So Merry Christmas, already.
Friday, March 26, 2010
A little touch of Greece
Well, it had been too long since we had a program at the library, so I again made a suggestion to the Friends, and in fact offered myself up as a sacrifice. I would give a slideshow presentation on the two trips I made to Greece in the early 90s. Of course, the early 90s is now a long time ago, but as I said to the group when I gave my presentation (last night): Greece is eternal. It doesn't change all that much from decade to decade. The historical sites are still the same, the islands are the same, Athens is basically the same, the people are still the same.
Getting the slideshow made was a challenge. I had a bunch of slides, which one of our Board members, who is also the city's historian, and an invaluable source of information for the library, said he would burn to a CD for me. However, I didn't have slides for all the pictures I wanted to include; in some cases I had only prints. So Sam had to figure out how to do slides interspersed with the occasional print. But he did it. Now I had to figure out how to get the pictures into the laptop we have at the library, since I would be using the laptop, connected to our LCD projector, to show the slides. Fortunately, one of the local activists -- he's a never-still member of the Hallowell Area Board of Trade, was the guiding force behind the city obtaining a grant for a project to put a bunch of the library's old photos online (the Maine Community Heritage Project), and so much else besides -- offered to help me get the pictures into presentation mode.
We (I should say he) tried a couple of different things, but nothing worked reliably, and then we discovered that our little MacIntosh ibook did have PowerPoint already installed in it. The procedure for getting the pictures into PowerPoint was time-consuming and tedious (there were 51 photos), but Bob did the first few, hovered at my elbow while I did a few, and I was then able to take the computer home and finish inserting the pictures over the weekend. Mission accomplished.
But what to say? I knew I needed to plan that, if for no other reason than that discussion of 51 pictures needed to fit into an hour's time. But in typical Melody fashion I kept avoiding the task, until late Wednesday afternoon -- the day before the program -- when I sat down with the computer on my dining table, and began rehearsing what I was going to say for each picture. I was still at it at 11:30 that night (I did take time out to watch Human Target on the Fox channel. The hero has an unfortunate, whimpy voice, but my, is he good-looking.) One reason for how long it took was that I kept having to check my facts -- digging out all my Greek guidebooks (whenever I travel anywhere I find it all but impossible to avoid buying the color guidebook that is available for sale at virtually every tourist attrac-tion), riffling through the pages -- I know it's here somewhere -- checking some things online.
Sometimes I would be rattling along -- expounding to the pictures of my father, my paternal grandparents, and their parents, which adorn the wall over my dining table -- and I would realize I was just going to have to cut some of the information I was pouring out. There simply wasn't going to be enough time. And in some cases I realized I really should have pictures to support some of the things I was saying -- and I did have them, but not included in this presentation -- so I was just going to have to cut. It was just like writing! What to leave in, what to leave out.
I was very nervous about the program. As always there was the question, would enough people show up, though I was a little less concerned on that point than I usually am, since I've learned talks about foreign places are generally pretty good draws. But would I remember everything, the correct pronunciation for everything, would the machines work o.k. and blah, blah, blah. In other words, I had good old-fashioned stage fright, as I always do, as most of us do, when having to "perform." In the event there was a problem with the focus -- on about picture three it occurred to me that the pix were a little fuzzy, and I said, right out loud, "I wonder if we can improve the focus on these -- does anyone know how to do that?" And somebody in the audience did, and then the program went without a hitch, and the Greek food one of the Friends had brought as refreshments were a big hit, and everyone said it had been a great program, and several people expressed amazement that I'd been able to remember all that.
So, I put on a show, with a little help from my friends. And thank God it's over.
Getting the slideshow made was a challenge. I had a bunch of slides, which one of our Board members, who is also the city's historian, and an invaluable source of information for the library, said he would burn to a CD for me. However, I didn't have slides for all the pictures I wanted to include; in some cases I had only prints. So Sam had to figure out how to do slides interspersed with the occasional print. But he did it. Now I had to figure out how to get the pictures into the laptop we have at the library, since I would be using the laptop, connected to our LCD projector, to show the slides. Fortunately, one of the local activists -- he's a never-still member of the Hallowell Area Board of Trade, was the guiding force behind the city obtaining a grant for a project to put a bunch of the library's old photos online (the Maine Community Heritage Project), and so much else besides -- offered to help me get the pictures into presentation mode.
We (I should say he) tried a couple of different things, but nothing worked reliably, and then we discovered that our little MacIntosh ibook did have PowerPoint already installed in it. The procedure for getting the pictures into PowerPoint was time-consuming and tedious (there were 51 photos), but Bob did the first few, hovered at my elbow while I did a few, and I was then able to take the computer home and finish inserting the pictures over the weekend. Mission accomplished.
But what to say? I knew I needed to plan that, if for no other reason than that discussion of 51 pictures needed to fit into an hour's time. But in typical Melody fashion I kept avoiding the task, until late Wednesday afternoon -- the day before the program -- when I sat down with the computer on my dining table, and began rehearsing what I was going to say for each picture. I was still at it at 11:30 that night (I did take time out to watch Human Target on the Fox channel. The hero has an unfortunate, whimpy voice, but my, is he good-looking.) One reason for how long it took was that I kept having to check my facts -- digging out all my Greek guidebooks (whenever I travel anywhere I find it all but impossible to avoid buying the color guidebook that is available for sale at virtually every tourist attrac-tion), riffling through the pages -- I know it's here somewhere -- checking some things online.
Sometimes I would be rattling along -- expounding to the pictures of my father, my paternal grandparents, and their parents, which adorn the wall over my dining table -- and I would realize I was just going to have to cut some of the information I was pouring out. There simply wasn't going to be enough time. And in some cases I realized I really should have pictures to support some of the things I was saying -- and I did have them, but not included in this presentation -- so I was just going to have to cut. It was just like writing! What to leave in, what to leave out.
I was very nervous about the program. As always there was the question, would enough people show up, though I was a little less concerned on that point than I usually am, since I've learned talks about foreign places are generally pretty good draws. But would I remember everything, the correct pronunciation for everything, would the machines work o.k. and blah, blah, blah. In other words, I had good old-fashioned stage fright, as I always do, as most of us do, when having to "perform." In the event there was a problem with the focus -- on about picture three it occurred to me that the pix were a little fuzzy, and I said, right out loud, "I wonder if we can improve the focus on these -- does anyone know how to do that?" And somebody in the audience did, and then the program went without a hitch, and the Greek food one of the Friends had brought as refreshments were a big hit, and everyone said it had been a great program, and several people expressed amazement that I'd been able to remember all that.
So, I put on a show, with a little help from my friends. And thank God it's over.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Adopt a Greyhound
A few months ago my library had a program that was almost enough to turn me into a dog owner. A woman from the Augusta area Greyhound Placement Service came to talk about their Adopt a Greyhound program, and about greyhounds in general. She brought her own two dogs, who were beautiful, and beautifully behaved. They let us pet them to our hearts' content, which Beverly said is typical of them, and which is also very soothing. I can see why one of the people who posted an entry on the organization's web site talked about taking his greyhound with him when he went to work at a summer camp. The dog serves as dog therapy for homesick kids.
Since it was a cold January evening, Beverly's two serene beauties arrived wearing their winter coats. I used to think people were foolish, putting clothes on dogs, but now I understand that for some dogs it is a real kindness, since they have very thin natural coats. And greyhounds really are to a large extent "skin and bone," with very little protective fat.
The dogs to be found at the Placement Service, as at similar organ-izations throughout the country, are racetrack retirees, looking for a good home in which to grow old. They are thus not frisky puppies, but calm senior citizens.
On the other hand, one of the interesting – and daunting – things Beverly mentioned is that when you contract to take one of their dogs, you have to sign an agreement to keep it on a leash whenever you take it out. She used a term I'd never heard before – sighthound – to describe the greyhound's nature, which means if it sees something it identifies as "prey", i.e., something moving fast, it's going to take off after it. At the kind of speeds that make it so impressive on the race course. I'm sitting there thinking, 'And little old me holding onto a leash is going to keep it from taking off like that?' I had a cartoon-like mental image of a fat, balding man flying through the air at the end of a leash behind a fang-baring greyhound, in pursuit of a kitty cat.
My brother and sister-in-law in Texas had a greyhound for years, and I always thought having such a large dog gallumping around the house would be a drag. Well, certainly in my tiny house it would be, but apparently a normal-sized house is quite enough room for most greyhounds who are, after all, accustomed to spending much of their time, when not racing, inside kennels. I had also been rather ap-palled by the large "cage" (my word – I think crate or kennel is what they're usually called) the dog was consigned to when Steven and Loretta left the house, and at night. But, again thanks to Beverly, I have learned that these are not cruel doggy prisons, but places where the animals feel safe, and which they know they must not "dirty."
Actually, the issue of "going" was one of the more amusing that came up. Beverly said you often have to encourage greyhounds to go out to do their thing, because they don't necessarily let you know when they need to. Do not scratch the door, bat your leg or whine, etc., like other dogs.
As I've mentioned before, I'm not really a dog person, at least not in terms of owning one myself. But if I were to change my mind -- and if I had the necessary $175 "donation" -- I think it would be for one of these graceful, gentle, doe-eyed creatures – that almost never bark! (Barking being one of the things I don't like about dogs.)
Since it was a cold January evening, Beverly's two serene beauties arrived wearing their winter coats. I used to think people were foolish, putting clothes on dogs, but now I understand that for some dogs it is a real kindness, since they have very thin natural coats. And greyhounds really are to a large extent "skin and bone," with very little protective fat.
The dogs to be found at the Placement Service, as at similar organ-izations throughout the country, are racetrack retirees, looking for a good home in which to grow old. They are thus not frisky puppies, but calm senior citizens.
On the other hand, one of the interesting – and daunting – things Beverly mentioned is that when you contract to take one of their dogs, you have to sign an agreement to keep it on a leash whenever you take it out. She used a term I'd never heard before – sighthound – to describe the greyhound's nature, which means if it sees something it identifies as "prey", i.e., something moving fast, it's going to take off after it. At the kind of speeds that make it so impressive on the race course. I'm sitting there thinking, 'And little old me holding onto a leash is going to keep it from taking off like that?' I had a cartoon-like mental image of a fat, balding man flying through the air at the end of a leash behind a fang-baring greyhound, in pursuit of a kitty cat.
My brother and sister-in-law in Texas had a greyhound for years, and I always thought having such a large dog gallumping around the house would be a drag. Well, certainly in my tiny house it would be, but apparently a normal-sized house is quite enough room for most greyhounds who are, after all, accustomed to spending much of their time, when not racing, inside kennels. I had also been rather ap-palled by the large "cage" (my word – I think crate or kennel is what they're usually called) the dog was consigned to when Steven and Loretta left the house, and at night. But, again thanks to Beverly, I have learned that these are not cruel doggy prisons, but places where the animals feel safe, and which they know they must not "dirty."
Actually, the issue of "going" was one of the more amusing that came up. Beverly said you often have to encourage greyhounds to go out to do their thing, because they don't necessarily let you know when they need to. Do not scratch the door, bat your leg or whine, etc., like other dogs.
As I've mentioned before, I'm not really a dog person, at least not in terms of owning one myself. But if I were to change my mind -- and if I had the necessary $175 "donation" -- I think it would be for one of these graceful, gentle, doe-eyed creatures – that almost never bark! (Barking being one of the things I don't like about dogs.)
Monday, December 29, 2008
Christmas in Old Hallowell
The little town (actually, it’s officially a city, the smallest city in the state of Maine) of Hallowell works hard to come up with events – fesitivals, etc. – to attract visitors, and business. One of those events is Christmas in Old Hallowell Day, usually held on the second Saturday of December.
My favorite aspect of CIOH is the Mouse Hunt. Kids pick up a list of participating businesses (and one public library), then go to those places and try to find the mouse hidden somewhere in the window display. The library has no display windows, but until this year we had a large, old-fashioned display case in which we would arrange a Christmas-themed display, with the tiny grey mouse tucked away somewhere. This year, having moved the display case to the basement to make room for a third computer (technology displacing everything in its path), we had to make do with the top of the one of the lower bookcases. Anyway it’s fun setting up the display, figuring out a good place to hide the mouse, then watching as kids come trouping through throughout the day, Mouse Form in hand. They peer and peer – sometimes they require a helpful hint – then it’s Eureka – they write it down – and off they go to the next place.
The library had never participated in the Mouse Hunt before I came, but I thought it would be good for us to be a part of this community activity, thought it would be a good way to get kids, with accom-panying parents, into the library.
The other major event for us on CIOH is our Christmas Carol Sing-along. This also dates from my first year at the library. I just thought it would be a cool thing to do. Again, invite the community in. The first year there was a very small turnout, the second year quite an impressive turnout – there was even a representative of the press there, so we got written up in the newspaper – the third year it was back to being small (and the keyboard that was being used literally blew up at about the third song, so the rest of the singing was done a capella), this year it finally reached a decent size, by about the mid-way point. I always agonize over whether enough people will show up, just as I do for every program we put on. Obviously I could never have been a Broadway producer.
Last year we also put out styrofoam balls, glue and glitter, and encouraged people to make decorations for our (fake, but quite nice) tree. And quite a few folks did. This idea sprang from the fact that for years homemade ornaments were the norm in my own household. Starting with my husband’s and my first Christmas together, when we were living in Los Angeles and had a friend of mine and her partner up from Long Beach to help us make decorations and trim the tree. Every Christmas after that, if I had a tree, I would have who-ever walked trough my door during the holidays make at least one decoration, despite any protestations about having no artistic ability. Believe me, I have some very interesting ornaments.
But ornament making, especially with children involved, can be very messy, and a lot of work, and I simply did not feel like dealing with all that again. We had plenty of ornaments left over from last year anyway.
Something different we had this year was Hanukkah at the Hubbard, for kids, suggested by one of the mothers who used to bring her small children to our regular Children’s Hour on Wednesday mornings (until they graduated to pre-school). I was very relieved that Stacy essentially handled everything herself – two crafts, a story-with-song, refreshments – since I was pretty well worn out by the time 3:30 rolled around, which was when Hanukkah at the Hubbard began. This was not actually a library program; they were basically just using us as a venue. But I was very glad Stacy had suggested doing this, since there is a substantial if not large Jewish population in the area, who are “left out in the cold” in terms of any notice being taken of their special holiday.
The city has a parade – for every occasion the city has a parade – then there were fireworks. But this girl cleaned up her little library, went home, and made herself a bourbon and coke. Another Christmas in Old Hallowell gotten through.
My favorite aspect of CIOH is the Mouse Hunt. Kids pick up a list of participating businesses (and one public library), then go to those places and try to find the mouse hidden somewhere in the window display. The library has no display windows, but until this year we had a large, old-fashioned display case in which we would arrange a Christmas-themed display, with the tiny grey mouse tucked away somewhere. This year, having moved the display case to the basement to make room for a third computer (technology displacing everything in its path), we had to make do with the top of the one of the lower bookcases. Anyway it’s fun setting up the display, figuring out a good place to hide the mouse, then watching as kids come trouping through throughout the day, Mouse Form in hand. They peer and peer – sometimes they require a helpful hint – then it’s Eureka – they write it down – and off they go to the next place.
The library had never participated in the Mouse Hunt before I came, but I thought it would be good for us to be a part of this community activity, thought it would be a good way to get kids, with accom-panying parents, into the library.
The other major event for us on CIOH is our Christmas Carol Sing-along. This also dates from my first year at the library. I just thought it would be a cool thing to do. Again, invite the community in. The first year there was a very small turnout, the second year quite an impressive turnout – there was even a representative of the press there, so we got written up in the newspaper – the third year it was back to being small (and the keyboard that was being used literally blew up at about the third song, so the rest of the singing was done a capella), this year it finally reached a decent size, by about the mid-way point. I always agonize over whether enough people will show up, just as I do for every program we put on. Obviously I could never have been a Broadway producer.
Last year we also put out styrofoam balls, glue and glitter, and encouraged people to make decorations for our (fake, but quite nice) tree. And quite a few folks did. This idea sprang from the fact that for years homemade ornaments were the norm in my own household. Starting with my husband’s and my first Christmas together, when we were living in Los Angeles and had a friend of mine and her partner up from Long Beach to help us make decorations and trim the tree. Every Christmas after that, if I had a tree, I would have who-ever walked trough my door during the holidays make at least one decoration, despite any protestations about having no artistic ability. Believe me, I have some very interesting ornaments.
But ornament making, especially with children involved, can be very messy, and a lot of work, and I simply did not feel like dealing with all that again. We had plenty of ornaments left over from last year anyway.
Something different we had this year was Hanukkah at the Hubbard, for kids, suggested by one of the mothers who used to bring her small children to our regular Children’s Hour on Wednesday mornings (until they graduated to pre-school). I was very relieved that Stacy essentially handled everything herself – two crafts, a story-with-song, refreshments – since I was pretty well worn out by the time 3:30 rolled around, which was when Hanukkah at the Hubbard began. This was not actually a library program; they were basically just using us as a venue. But I was very glad Stacy had suggested doing this, since there is a substantial if not large Jewish population in the area, who are “left out in the cold” in terms of any notice being taken of their special holiday.
The city has a parade – for every occasion the city has a parade – then there were fireworks. But this girl cleaned up her little library, went home, and made herself a bourbon and coke. Another Christmas in Old Hallowell gotten through.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Touch
Today at the program we had at the library – yes, another one – there were live specimens of a turtle, a corn snake, a bearded dragon (largish lizard), and an alligator. The program was called Scales & Tales, and was presented by the Chewonki Foundation, whose proclaimed mission is to “foster an appreciation of the natural world and of working in community with others.” Both noble goals. The place started as a boy’s summer camp is 1915, still has camp sessions for both boys and girls, but also offers a four-month Maine Coast Semester for high school students, wilderness trips, and outreach programs to schools and libraries, such as the one that came to us today.
Early on a little girl raised her hand and asked the question, “Can we pet the animals?” Doug, our presenter, said that was a very good question, but the answer was no. Why? Because these weren’t really pets; they were “wild” animals. Admittedly they lived in captivity – either as the result of injury, that made it impossible for them to fend for themselves in the wild, or as the result of having been kept as pets (sometimes illegally) and then either abandoned or delivered to the animal rescue arm of Chewonki. They, too, lacked the skills to survive in the wild.
“But they aren’t like your pet dog or cat,” Doug said.
The little girl’s question got me to thinking. We do all want to pet – to touch – animals. I experienced the same thing early this past summer, when I drove out to the farm of the library’s former technical support guy. Bill had sent out email invitations far and wide, inviting people to visit the farm he and his wife have lived on and built up over 20 years. His wife, who is a potter, has a “pottery barn” there. And the couple run a bed and breakfast there as well. In other words, like many Mainers, they do a number of things to survive (note that Bill also has a fulltime job at the Bath Ironworks).
There were two reasons I decided to make the drive out to Windsor. One, it was an excursion, something to do, that would be essentially free, not counting a little gas. And two, the invitation mentioned their sheep, with two new lambs, and their Belted Galloway cattle. The latter are black with a wide white stripe around their middle (the “belt”), which has led to their being referred to as “Oreo cattle.” I have found these animals visually fascinating ever since I first encountered a field of them several years ago. And the idea of seeing new little lambs delighted me.
The cattle proved to be something of a disappointment, as the herd was down to a mere two, who were sitting down in the mud surrounded by flies, but the little lambs were properly adorable. And I wanted to touch them. I asked Bill if I might, indeed, pet one, and he said sure, but at my very slight touch the little one skittered away. None the less, I’d had enough of a feel to know that that curly fleece was rough and wiry, not soft, the way it looks.
But our desire to touch is not limited to animals. There are all those signs at art and other kinds of museums telling us Do Not Touch, because of our penchant to do exactly that. Almost anything that interests us, intrigues us, we want to touch. And I wonder: why is that? Is it that something in us tells us if we touch a thing we will know more about it? Or is it that touching a thing brings us closer to it, makes us feel connected to it? I think of lovers touching, parents touching their children and vice versa. I suppose it could be argued that there are different kinds of touching – wanting to touch a turtle or an alligator might represent the former impulse, wanting to touch a loved one, the latter. But still, we want to feel a thing beneath our finger tips; it is not enough just to see it. What we feel commun-icates with our brain through our nervous system, and we then know more than we did before – what it feels like – and feel more than we did before – pleasure, excitement, horror, disgust, whatever.
So, hooray for the too-often-overlooked tactile sense.
Early on a little girl raised her hand and asked the question, “Can we pet the animals?” Doug, our presenter, said that was a very good question, but the answer was no. Why? Because these weren’t really pets; they were “wild” animals. Admittedly they lived in captivity – either as the result of injury, that made it impossible for them to fend for themselves in the wild, or as the result of having been kept as pets (sometimes illegally) and then either abandoned or delivered to the animal rescue arm of Chewonki. They, too, lacked the skills to survive in the wild.
“But they aren’t like your pet dog or cat,” Doug said.
The little girl’s question got me to thinking. We do all want to pet – to touch – animals. I experienced the same thing early this past summer, when I drove out to the farm of the library’s former technical support guy. Bill had sent out email invitations far and wide, inviting people to visit the farm he and his wife have lived on and built up over 20 years. His wife, who is a potter, has a “pottery barn” there. And the couple run a bed and breakfast there as well. In other words, like many Mainers, they do a number of things to survive (note that Bill also has a fulltime job at the Bath Ironworks).
There were two reasons I decided to make the drive out to Windsor. One, it was an excursion, something to do, that would be essentially free, not counting a little gas. And two, the invitation mentioned their sheep, with two new lambs, and their Belted Galloway cattle. The latter are black with a wide white stripe around their middle (the “belt”), which has led to their being referred to as “Oreo cattle.” I have found these animals visually fascinating ever since I first encountered a field of them several years ago. And the idea of seeing new little lambs delighted me.
The cattle proved to be something of a disappointment, as the herd was down to a mere two, who were sitting down in the mud surrounded by flies, but the little lambs were properly adorable. And I wanted to touch them. I asked Bill if I might, indeed, pet one, and he said sure, but at my very slight touch the little one skittered away. None the less, I’d had enough of a feel to know that that curly fleece was rough and wiry, not soft, the way it looks.
But our desire to touch is not limited to animals. There are all those signs at art and other kinds of museums telling us Do Not Touch, because of our penchant to do exactly that. Almost anything that interests us, intrigues us, we want to touch. And I wonder: why is that? Is it that something in us tells us if we touch a thing we will know more about it? Or is it that touching a thing brings us closer to it, makes us feel connected to it? I think of lovers touching, parents touching their children and vice versa. I suppose it could be argued that there are different kinds of touching – wanting to touch a turtle or an alligator might represent the former impulse, wanting to touch a loved one, the latter. But still, we want to feel a thing beneath our finger tips; it is not enough just to see it. What we feel commun-icates with our brain through our nervous system, and we then know more than we did before – what it feels like – and feel more than we did before – pleasure, excitement, horror, disgust, whatever.
So, hooray for the too-often-overlooked tactile sense.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Soup's On!
Last Thursday, four days after our tea, we had yet another program at the library. Two in one week, my goodness. Whereas for most of this year (since January) we’ve been doing good to have even one in a month.
Programming is my least favorite aspect of public librarianship, and it is simply inescapable. Public libraries are expected to provide fairly frequent programs for their patrons and other members of the community. I’m truly not sure why, particularly in this day when there are so many other sources of entertainment and information. But certainly funding agencies look at number of programs/number of attendees at same, when considering your requests for funding.
Programming requires a great deal of time, energy, imagination, and enthusiasm. First you have to come up with ideas for them (the big question: will the whatever interest people enough for them to come), then there are all the arrangements. If you’re wanting somebody from outside the library to appear (to speak, perform, whatever) you have to call/email them and try to schedule dates and times...this is after wrestling with the decision of what day of the week and time frame will most likely yield the greatest attendance (timing can truly make or break a program)...then you have to stay on top of the publicity. You must make the deadlines for the various media, modifying the text and format of your announcement to suit each, get the information into your monthly newsletter and onto your web site, make signs for the library and to be displayed around town. And you have to make sure that such things as who is bringing what in the way of refreshments is understood by all concerned parties.
I call this Librarian as Social Director, and no part of the process am I able to work up enthusiasm for. And all too often all this work results in a turn-out of 4-11 people (for non-musical events), around 14-20 when there’s music involved. And most of even those numbers are too often members of the Friends’ organization, with loyal spouses in tow, rather than “civilians” from the community, for whom the programs are really intended. I call this Wasted Effort.
Mind you, I don’t have to do all of the work alone. Indeed, theoretically, the lion’s share of it should fall to the Friends, since one of their primary raisons d’etre is to support programs. But the core of my Friends group are a very few, mostly older, ladies. They are all well-meaning, certainly supportive of the library, but I fear energetic young blood and imagination are really needed. Only one lady regularly comes up with ideas, and this year she hasn’t been so productive in that area. I suspect she has just grown weary; she has worked very hard for the library for many years. But no one else has taken up the slack. Too often a meeting will involve considerable discussion of some possible programs – with, for a very task-oriented person like myself, rather too much time given over to glowing adjectives about ideas, and too few to definite plans, assignments -- and, ultimately, no definite action gets decided on. I'll look into that, someone might volunteer, but the next meeting, a month later, it still hasn't been looked into.
So a couple of meetings ago I took the bull by the horns and proposed a program. I have tried to remain essentially a silent presence at these meetings – which I am expected to attend – because I have felt that this was, should be, their show, not mine. But my monthly statistics were looking very bad (too many months with 0 attendees for adult programs), which does not look good for me. So I proposed Soup’s On. People would be encouraged to bring a pot of their favorite recipe for soup/stew/chili, with copies of the recipe to share with their neighbors. Potluck with a difference. And that’s the program we had last night. As usual, most of the attendees were Friends, along with two Board members-with-spouses, but there were a few “regular” people, and all those in attendance really seemed to enjoy themselves. Certainly it was a real treat, getting to sample all of these different soups, some of which were truly delicious. At one point I had six little styrofoam bowls lined up, going from cream of spinach, to haddock chowder with end-of-season vegetables, to potato-with-leek, to curried pumpkin (this won Best of Show in the little vote we had at the end of the evening), to Moroccan stew. Several people told me, “This was a great idea.”
So another program down, but ah, who knows how many more to go. If the library had the money I would certainly hire someone whose primary responsibility was programming. A friend suggested trying to pull in a volunteer, but that's exactly what the Friends are. And note there are far more offical Friends than there are working Friends. If I myself did not have a million other things to do, perhaps arranging programs would not seem so onerous. But there you go, life's little crosses. Below, the recipe for an absolutely delicious soup.
Creamy Curried Pumpkin Soup
Saute 1 small onion, finely chopped, in 1 T. olive oil
Stir in: 1 29 oz can pumpkin
1 14-oz can chicken broth
2 c. water
2 T. brown sugar
¾ t. curry powder, ½ t. salt
Bring to boil; reduce heat to medium-low
Add 4 oz cream cheese, cubed; cook until cheese is completely melted & mixture is well-blended.
For extra flavor, sprinkle each serving with ground nutmeg. Makes 7 1 cup servings
Programming is my least favorite aspect of public librarianship, and it is simply inescapable. Public libraries are expected to provide fairly frequent programs for their patrons and other members of the community. I’m truly not sure why, particularly in this day when there are so many other sources of entertainment and information. But certainly funding agencies look at number of programs/number of attendees at same, when considering your requests for funding.
Programming requires a great deal of time, energy, imagination, and enthusiasm. First you have to come up with ideas for them (the big question: will the whatever interest people enough for them to come), then there are all the arrangements. If you’re wanting somebody from outside the library to appear (to speak, perform, whatever) you have to call/email them and try to schedule dates and times...this is after wrestling with the decision of what day of the week and time frame will most likely yield the greatest attendance (timing can truly make or break a program)...then you have to stay on top of the publicity. You must make the deadlines for the various media, modifying the text and format of your announcement to suit each, get the information into your monthly newsletter and onto your web site, make signs for the library and to be displayed around town. And you have to make sure that such things as who is bringing what in the way of refreshments is understood by all concerned parties.
I call this Librarian as Social Director, and no part of the process am I able to work up enthusiasm for. And all too often all this work results in a turn-out of 4-11 people (for non-musical events), around 14-20 when there’s music involved. And most of even those numbers are too often members of the Friends’ organization, with loyal spouses in tow, rather than “civilians” from the community, for whom the programs are really intended. I call this Wasted Effort.
Mind you, I don’t have to do all of the work alone. Indeed, theoretically, the lion’s share of it should fall to the Friends, since one of their primary raisons d’etre is to support programs. But the core of my Friends group are a very few, mostly older, ladies. They are all well-meaning, certainly supportive of the library, but I fear energetic young blood and imagination are really needed. Only one lady regularly comes up with ideas, and this year she hasn’t been so productive in that area. I suspect she has just grown weary; she has worked very hard for the library for many years. But no one else has taken up the slack. Too often a meeting will involve considerable discussion of some possible programs – with, for a very task-oriented person like myself, rather too much time given over to glowing adjectives about ideas, and too few to definite plans, assignments -- and, ultimately, no definite action gets decided on. I'll look into that, someone might volunteer, but the next meeting, a month later, it still hasn't been looked into.
So a couple of meetings ago I took the bull by the horns and proposed a program. I have tried to remain essentially a silent presence at these meetings – which I am expected to attend – because I have felt that this was, should be, their show, not mine. But my monthly statistics were looking very bad (too many months with 0 attendees for adult programs), which does not look good for me. So I proposed Soup’s On. People would be encouraged to bring a pot of their favorite recipe for soup/stew/chili, with copies of the recipe to share with their neighbors. Potluck with a difference. And that’s the program we had last night. As usual, most of the attendees were Friends, along with two Board members-with-spouses, but there were a few “regular” people, and all those in attendance really seemed to enjoy themselves. Certainly it was a real treat, getting to sample all of these different soups, some of which were truly delicious. At one point I had six little styrofoam bowls lined up, going from cream of spinach, to haddock chowder with end-of-season vegetables, to potato-with-leek, to curried pumpkin (this won Best of Show in the little vote we had at the end of the evening), to Moroccan stew. Several people told me, “This was a great idea.”
So another program down, but ah, who knows how many more to go. If the library had the money I would certainly hire someone whose primary responsibility was programming. A friend suggested trying to pull in a volunteer, but that's exactly what the Friends are. And note there are far more offical Friends than there are working Friends. If I myself did not have a million other things to do, perhaps arranging programs would not seem so onerous. But there you go, life's little crosses. Below, the recipe for an absolutely delicious soup.
Creamy Curried Pumpkin Soup
Saute 1 small onion, finely chopped, in 1 T. olive oil
Stir in: 1 29 oz can pumpkin
1 14-oz can chicken broth
2 c. water
2 T. brown sugar
¾ t. curry powder, ½ t. salt
Bring to boil; reduce heat to medium-low
Add 4 oz cream cheese, cubed; cook until cheese is completely melted & mixture is well-blended.
For extra flavor, sprinkle each serving with ground nutmeg. Makes 7 1 cup servings
Monday, October 20, 2008
Hats and gloves optional
Today the Board of Trustees of my library, along with the Friends organization, held a tea for those who contributed to our 2007-2008 annual fund. The invitations that we sent out said “hats and gloves optional, but wouldn’t it be fun?” and a number of ladies did, indeed, wear hats; some even wore gloves. One lady told me her hat was 50 years old. All of the hats had to have been old, for where on earth can one buy a (formal, not sports) hat these days? Department stores used to have large hat departments, for women and men (one of my first jobs was as assistant buyer in the Men’s Shoes and Hats department of The Hecht Company in Washington, D.C.); but I don’t think they sell hats at all anymore, do they? One woman who attended our tea told me she had bought hers at the local second-hand dress shop, Reappearances, especially for the occasion.
I would have worn a hat, but it’s been a very long time since I owned one. In fact, I think the only time I ever wore a proper hat was as a child, when going to church. (Hah, those were the days, huh? Now people wear their sweat suits to church...)
My contribution to the selection of goodies available was a plate of cucumber sandwiches. I felt that any tea deserving of the name must have cucumber sandwiches, a la The Importance of Being Ernest. Making them was the usual ordeal. Probably because of my compulsion to perfection, preparing a meal when people are coming for dinner is an ordeal, preparing a single contribution for a potluck kind of event is an ordeal. And this particular ordeal began when I sat down at the computer to look for a good cucumber sandwich recipe. Too many choices! One site alone offered 89 possibilities. I ended up using a recipe out of my head – simpler than most of the ones I was reading, less like the cocktail party hors d’oeuvres many of the recipes suggested (on little rye bread rounds, with Italian dressing mixed in and paprika sprinkled on top, for example). My “recipe” consisted of mashing cream cheese and unsalted butter together, mixing a little dill into that – could probably have used more dill, but was afraid of there being too much – with a thinly sliced cucumber on each half sandwich. I removed the crust from the bread I used (naturally!), then sliced the sandwiches in half diagonally, producing little triangles. Each triangle had a cucumber.
After finally deciding how I was going to do the sandwiches, I went to the supermarket to get the ingredients, and had trouble deciding if an 8-oz package would be enough, or should I get the bigger package. After finally settling on 8 ounces (which made 20 of the little half sandwiches, for those with a party coming up), I proceeded to have trouble deciding what kind of white bread to get. Was planning on using the rest of my loaf of Country Kitchen Scotch Oatmeal for the brown sandwiches, but knew I had to have some white ones too, both for color and texture variety, and because some people, yes, even in this enlightened day and age, do not like whole grain bread. After I’d finally decided on Country Kitchen Unseeded Italian – which I probably would not go with again, because the texture was a little too flabby – I couldn’t decide whether I should buy one cucumber or two! Oh, good lord. I bought two, used only one.
And then, when it came time to actually make the sandwiches I found that, as so often happens, I had underestimated how long it would take, and was hyperventilating while frantically smearing cream-cheese-and-butter, knowing that I needed to be leaving in five minutes at the latest, in order to get to the library in time to let the ladies from the Friends in so they could set up.
But I made it in time, the sandwiches were fine, and popular, the tea was actually a very nice event, that everyone seemed to enjoy. A little girl, daughter of two of our patrons (and biggest contributors) played the violin. The child is only ten, but amazingly good; it was not embarrassing having her play. Of course, all the men present, with the exception of the two male Board members who showed up (five female members put in an appearance), had been dragged there by their wives. A tea simply is not a guy thing. In all honesty, I can’t say it’s my kind of thing either, not in the traditional sense. That “sense” involves a bunch of women sitting around talking about boring things like their health, babies, diets, with the talk possibly dipping into gossip of the cattier sort. This tea was nothing like that; talk was much more general; there was a lot of movement among groups. Actually, it was more like a cocktail party, but with the “cocktail” consisting of coffee or tea. And our Board president, who is himself a poet, read several rather charming poems that, in one way or another, had to do with libraries, or at least books. So there you go.
I would have worn a hat, but it’s been a very long time since I owned one. In fact, I think the only time I ever wore a proper hat was as a child, when going to church. (Hah, those were the days, huh? Now people wear their sweat suits to church...)
My contribution to the selection of goodies available was a plate of cucumber sandwiches. I felt that any tea deserving of the name must have cucumber sandwiches, a la The Importance of Being Ernest. Making them was the usual ordeal. Probably because of my compulsion to perfection, preparing a meal when people are coming for dinner is an ordeal, preparing a single contribution for a potluck kind of event is an ordeal. And this particular ordeal began when I sat down at the computer to look for a good cucumber sandwich recipe. Too many choices! One site alone offered 89 possibilities. I ended up using a recipe out of my head – simpler than most of the ones I was reading, less like the cocktail party hors d’oeuvres many of the recipes suggested (on little rye bread rounds, with Italian dressing mixed in and paprika sprinkled on top, for example). My “recipe” consisted of mashing cream cheese and unsalted butter together, mixing a little dill into that – could probably have used more dill, but was afraid of there being too much – with a thinly sliced cucumber on each half sandwich. I removed the crust from the bread I used (naturally!), then sliced the sandwiches in half diagonally, producing little triangles. Each triangle had a cucumber.
After finally deciding how I was going to do the sandwiches, I went to the supermarket to get the ingredients, and had trouble deciding if an 8-oz package would be enough, or should I get the bigger package. After finally settling on 8 ounces (which made 20 of the little half sandwiches, for those with a party coming up), I proceeded to have trouble deciding what kind of white bread to get. Was planning on using the rest of my loaf of Country Kitchen Scotch Oatmeal for the brown sandwiches, but knew I had to have some white ones too, both for color and texture variety, and because some people, yes, even in this enlightened day and age, do not like whole grain bread. After I’d finally decided on Country Kitchen Unseeded Italian – which I probably would not go with again, because the texture was a little too flabby – I couldn’t decide whether I should buy one cucumber or two! Oh, good lord. I bought two, used only one.
And then, when it came time to actually make the sandwiches I found that, as so often happens, I had underestimated how long it would take, and was hyperventilating while frantically smearing cream-cheese-and-butter, knowing that I needed to be leaving in five minutes at the latest, in order to get to the library in time to let the ladies from the Friends in so they could set up.
But I made it in time, the sandwiches were fine, and popular, the tea was actually a very nice event, that everyone seemed to enjoy. A little girl, daughter of two of our patrons (and biggest contributors) played the violin. The child is only ten, but amazingly good; it was not embarrassing having her play. Of course, all the men present, with the exception of the two male Board members who showed up (five female members put in an appearance), had been dragged there by their wives. A tea simply is not a guy thing. In all honesty, I can’t say it’s my kind of thing either, not in the traditional sense. That “sense” involves a bunch of women sitting around talking about boring things like their health, babies, diets, with the talk possibly dipping into gossip of the cattier sort. This tea was nothing like that; talk was much more general; there was a lot of movement among groups. Actually, it was more like a cocktail party, but with the “cocktail” consisting of coffee or tea. And our Board president, who is himself a poet, read several rather charming poems that, in one way or another, had to do with libraries, or at least books. So there you go.
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