I’m in Colorado, which is my home state and, thus, my happy state.

Ordinarily when I’m here, I spend most of my time outside.

This time, my adventures have been more of the indoor variety.
For one thing, it’s been seriously deeply crazily cold. (I know it’s winter, but still!)
Also, I’ve gone from school visit to school visit to conference to book store to school visit. Etc.

So, no summits this trip, or backcountry skiing, or campfires.
Although I did wield a mean snow shovel for about an hour yesterday morning.
Instead, I’ve saved my awe and giddiness for 2nd graders and teachers and librarians and best old friends.

Usually, I like to share little quotes and anecdotes from my school visits, because they tend to be very funny and very dear. (Like last Thursday, for example, when a little boy suggested to me that “a cat is a pocket for a hairball.” I mean, honestly. Does it GET any better than that???)

But this trip has been too long and chock-full to collect quotes every day.
I’ve just let it roll on by.
Until this morning.
When a little guy raised his hand to ask, “Does it hurt to write books?”

I caught my breath.
And while I did he said, “I mean, like do your hands hurt?”

Oh.
That’s what he meant.
My hands!

So I showed him a little stretch I do to wake up my fingers and my arms and shoulders when I’m at my desk.
He and all his buddies did the stretch with me.
It was a nice moment.

But meanwhile, I was thinking, “Does it hurt to write books?”

He didn’t even know to ask about the other kind of sore, the invisible kind.

When what we’re working on doesn’t work.

When what we write isn’t right.

When what we love isn’t beloved.

When we’re pretty sure we’re all washed up with no place to go.

When we’re deathly afraid.

“It does,” I wanted to say. “It hurts.”
But I didn’t want to scare him away.
Because there are all those times when it doesn’t hurt, when it thrills and tickles and shines.
I’d hate to scare him away from that.

(Apologies for the slight delay on this post, due to air travel, time zone transitions,
and bitter, bitter cold that makes it almost impossible to even think!)

Librarians!!

I’m not the only one who’s been moved to put some love out there in the world.

Here’s another picture-perfect post from Tabatha Yeatts, and some words of wisdom from author Lindsey Lane.

And here’s where you author-folk can walk the walk — at Authors for Librarians. 

I’m wrapping up my week dedicated to Librarian Love, but that’s not to say there won’t be more of it to come. Librarians are a pivotal part of our schools and our communities. They are the hosts of our downtime, guides to our adventures, supporters of our studies, and they are teachers. They teach us how to read and how to research. They teach us what’s inside books and how to use books. They teach the wild extroverts how to be happy alone, and they teach the quiet introverts that they are not alone. They teach us about time travel and dinosaurs, illness and wellness, love and fear, humor and surprise. They teach us that the world is both very, very big and also at our fingertips all the time. 

Let us not make the mistaking of thinking librarians are any less than all of that. We need them, as students and teachers, parents and people. We need them as a society and we should tell them so. And show them, too.

Namaste.

So happy to start off today’s post with some really lovely Librarian Love, thanks to Ms. Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference. Check it out.

And if you want to join in on my impromptu week of gushing and gratitudes for the librarians in the world, it’s not too late. Here’s my kick-off post from last week — along with a formal invitation to join me. I’m wrapping it up tomorrow — Tuesday, February 1st — but any day’s a good day to honor the Keepers of the Books!

Last week, I thanked the librarians who’ve tended to my daughters over the years, and I thanked the librarians who’ve supported me as an author, and I shared a truly awesome visceral book-loving poem by Mark Strand.

Today, I want to thank all the many librarians who serve as wise, thoughtful, hard-working readers on literary award committees every year. I mean, of COURSE it’s librarians who tackle these huge jobs, right? They know and love books, and they know and love young readers. They’ve got their fingers on the pulse. And they don’t seem to mind filling their offices-bedrooms-living rooms with books upon books upon books — all of which have to be read, carefully.

I’m particularly fond of a certain Caldecott committee, if you know what I mean:

Well, it turns out that the magical profession of librarianism is under siege beyond our own local map.
Here’s the state of things in the U.K., for example.

People?? Has the whole world gone mad?? 

Phillip Pullman remembers "(T)he secrecy of it! The blessed privacy!"
He knows that "No-one else can get in the way, no-one else can invade it, no-one else even knows what’s going on in that wonderful space that opens up between the reader and the book."

He knows and remembers that, and so do I.
So do lots of us, right? 
So what is this malarky about not needing librarians? 
Sheesh.

A world like this is just going to bring the librarians all to tears.
And we don’t want that, do we?

Eating Poetry

BY MARK STRAND

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

(Read the rest here…)

And if you’d like to join me in my week of Librarian Love, it’s not too late.
See my previous posts here and here and here, and then join in.
You’ll be glad you did.

Namaste.
 

 Kicking off this next post of Librarian Love, I want to share the soapbox with a couple of librarians.

Here’s a piece written by one of our district’s librarians and published in the local paper. A good read. With all the points we seem to get, but the folks in charge don’t. Weird.

And then here’s a call to action by friend/author/librarian Jeanette Larson. (It’s a facebook note so I’m not totally certain that you all can access it. I hope so, though…)

In the meantime, yesterday I thanked the librarians who’ve been especially important to my daughters. Today, I want to sing the praises of all the many librarians who’ve been supportive of me, as an author. Those who’ve invited me for school visits or storytimes or special programs.  Those who’ve ordered my books for their libraries. Those who’ve read my books at their own storytimes.

I am not only grateful for these librarians, but also just feel plain lucky to know them. These relationships are one huge job perk — one I hadn’t necessarily anticipated when I started all this, but am really appreciative of now.

There’s no way I can make a complete list, but I’m going to make a partial one. 
If I’ve missed you, I’m sorry — and no less grateful…

Libby Weed
Carrie Bartsch
Carrie Midkiff
Gayla Thompson
Rebecca Miller
Jenny Day
Ginna Wimmer
Dayna Dees
Laurie Harwell
Nancy Gilbert
Annette Hodges
Suzanne Wofford
Kate Slaten
Emily Gardner
Diane Collier
Steffanie Audel
Betsy Crosby
Anita Rizley
Bonnie Seelig
Stephanie Shipman
Alison O’Reilly
Debbie Keith
Christina McGehee
Renee Mick
Don Bos
Celeste Pustka
Patricia Vermillion
Barbara Allen
Sarah Parramore
Zonia Smith
Meg Anthony
Patricia Hernandez
Emily Dejong
Melanie Letendre
Maureen Slocum
Amanda Braziel

Wow. That is a lot of great folks.
Lucky me, and lucky all those kids touched by books and the librarians who love them.

If you want to shout out to your favorite librarians, join me in this week’s efforts!
Here’s your formal invitation.

Namaste.

So yesterday I told you about the serious threat leveled at our school district’s librarians and,
by consequence, our kids.
The issue’s even been picked up by School Library Journal. 
Oi.
Not our proudest hour.

But.
Operating under the assumption that love can put things a’right (which is probably either a radically proactive or pathetically naive assumption) I’m going to counter that threat with a little shout out to some of my favorite librarians. 

I’d love it if you did, too. Here’s your formal invitation. 

Today I honor and thank the librarians who’ve most closely touched my own kids:

Kim Lehman, song and storytime maven at the Twin Oaks branch when both Tall and Small were Teeny. Kim is part librarian and part magician, I think. She can spin a sour hour into a morning that feels easy and soothing and funny and fun. Kim with her hats and songs and finger plays, and books upon books upon books. My girls learned to chew board books with the best of ’em there…

Jackie Kraal, the owly-wise librarian-mind-reader at our elementary school. Jackie knows more than 500 children by name, and she knows where they’re at with their reading, and she knows what they’re into. I’ve seen her, many times, call out to a child in the hall to say, "Come by the library! I just got a book that will be perfect for you!" And she’s always right. My girls learned to read with Jackie’s help, and more importantly, they learned they can read what they love.

Alison O’Reilly, the clever and ever-patient youth librarian at Austin’s Central branch. Alison is the perfect partner-in-crime for kids who are looking for something specific or, sometimes, heart-wrenchingly vague (see "ever-patient"). She is open and passionate so kids of all ages approach her and she is always at the ready, making them feel like they’re the most important part of her job. My girls learned to speak up, and to ask for what they want and need at Alison’s desk. 

Sheesh. That’s a lot, huh?
Multitudes of gratitudes to Kim and Jackie and Alison — for being the perfect literary touchstones for my kids and so many others…

Namaste.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about our elementary school, about how good and special it is, and about how it’s been threatened with closing.

Since then, thanks to our lovely legislature, things have gotten even tougher. The district faces seemingly bottomless deficits and the potential cuts are truly epic. 

It can probably go unsaid that nobody likes any of our choices, from closing schools to raising class sizes. But this week, something really sacred got laid on the table.

One of the options brought before the board last night would’ve cut two-thirds of the district’s librarians. 
Yes, really.

Fortunately, the powers-that-be saw the light, and the elementary school librarians, at least, have been spared. (High schools and middle schools might have to share librarians and depend on library clerks on the off days.)

It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
Do you think folks know what librarians really do?
Do you think they understand that librarians are educators?
That they serve every single teacher and child on their campuses?
That they support teaching across subjects and literacy across grade levels?
Do you think they know that librarians provide challenge to the bored student and solace to the shy student?
That they inspire kids to love reading?
And writing?
And, um, school?

I’m feeling like we need a spontaneous choir, my friends, singing some Librarian Love, and I wonder if you’ll help me?

From now through next Tuesday, Feb. 1st, please consider using your blogs and facebook accounts to:

1. Name the beloved librarians in your lives
2. Tell stories of interactions with librarians — funny, touching, edifying, inspiring stories
3. Ask your elected officials to value our libraries and librarians — public and educational
4. Talk about your favorite librarian-related book, movie, song, poem
5. Cook up some other ingenious way to let librarians know that we know what they’re made of.

You can do this once, twice or every day from now through Feb. 1st.
Heck, carry on through February if you feel like it!
And if you so desire, leave me a comment pointing me to your post and I’ll do a round-up in a few days.

In the meantime, namaste to you all and love and gratitude to The Librarians…

I wrapped up my week last week with two really dynamite days — 
a Young Authors’ Conference at one school and a reading at another. 

During which the following facts were confirmed:
Kids are funny.
And brilliant.
Teachers are generous.
And patient.
Librarians are passionate.
And kind. 

All in all, that’s a pretty good bunch of folks to run with, don’t you think?

Highlights include, from the Young Author’s Day, the following kid-written lines:

"I could fit into a small square box."
"Today tastes like candy."
and "Anger is like a long, long line."

And from the reading?
Oh, mercy me.
Two girls came up to me afterwards — second graders, one of whom was missing her two front teeth — and asked if they could perform for a moment. And they stood there in the gymnasium, not 24 inches from me, and sang the entire text of All the World, a cappella. It was beautiful. 

And then we had a three day weekend.
Really.
Does it get any better?

Namaste…

Those of you who read my blog, even infrequently,
have heard stories about my children’s elementary school.

It’s just a mile up the road and we ride our bikes there — even on days like today when the windchill’s in the 20s and we have to wear face masks under our helmets. Mr. Gus-the-Crossing-Guard holds traffic, the kids call out to all their friends, and the bell rings. Which is when the fun begins. 

Over the years, my daughters have learned to read there, and to multiply and divide.
They have tie-dyed shirts and baked bread and performed Shakespeare.
They have mastered the monkey bars and met authors and collected Pennies for Peace.
They have walked to the neighborhood nursing home and fire station.
They have written their autobiographies.

They have made friends who speak Spanish and Sign Language.
They have made dioramas and mobiles and iMovies.
They have made music and murals.
They have recycled and composted and gardened.
They have run marathons, one mile at a time.

They have learned in classrooms full of children who are shy, smart, autistic, artistic, enthusiastic, tentative, funny, sensitive, wry. They have learned from teachers who are thoughtful, gutsy, dedicated, creative, resourceful, tender and true. 

And we (and by we I mean the collective We, not just my husband and I), we have read aloud in their classrooms and tutored math groups and helped hang art. We have painted walls and repaired fences and planted sage and salvia. We have practiced yoga and re-shelved books and helped keep the lunchroom kind of sane. We have sat on committees and sold pizza and set up movie screens. We have happily, and with deep trust and gratitude, delivered our children here day after day after day. For over 60 years, if you’re really counting the collective We.

And now, thanks to a budget crisis that is part of the larger American economic tumbleweed, our district is threatening to close this school and eight others. They’re threatening to close schools that are public and that work — a two-fer that not many folks even believe in anymore.

There is a firestorm brewing, of course. 
There is a petition and a facebook page. 
There is a steering committee and a twitter feed.

And there are more than 500 children, at our school alone,  who have every right to believe that we’re looking out for them, for their best interests and for their whole selves, because that’s what we as grown-ups promise to do.

Isn’t it?

Here’s what I love about today. 

That there is this much thrill and excitement and anticipation and giddiness
and surprise and delight and deserved congratulations — all over books. 

Yep. 
It’s two thousand and eleven here, folks, and we are getting all whirling dervishy about books.
It does a heart good, don’t you think?