page eighty-six

For over a year, I've been working on this book. While it came highly recommended, and I really do want to finish it, I honestly don't devote a whole heck of a lot of time to it. I'd like to, but it's the kind of book that takes digesting and pondering. On an average day in the past year, I can't quite devote enough focus to it. Frankly, for me discussion is likely necessary, too. Why else would 140 pages (including the index) take over a year to chew through? It's highlighted and underlined and bracketed, and I'm already looking forward to starting it again once I finish.
When I realized that my usual reading times were not going to work with this book, I began taking it with me to adoration. In that hour of time alone, with no distractions, I manage about 20-30 minutes lost in its pages. Once, I fell asleep reading it (yes, at adoration), and when I awoke with a start a few minutes later, the words had changed. I flipped the page forward and back thinking perhaps I'd lost my place, but I think the explanation is that I needed to hear something different from the words, and was put to sleep. (A story for another time, maybe.)
The title is The Divine Milieu, and the author a priest - a Jesuit - who died in 1955, by the name of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. Two-thirds of the way through the book he says that we have finally gotten enough background to get to the point. I like to think Dad and I would have discussed him. And occasionally I think perhaps Dad tried to discuss Teilhard's work with me, but I was not where I needed to be.
At any rate, on Friday afternoon, with impeccable timing to fit my life, as God's timing always is, I read:

However vast the divine milieu may be, it is in reality a centre. It therefore has the properties of a centre...the absolute and final power to unite...all beings within its breast. In the divine milieu all the elements of the universe touch each other by that which is most inward and ultimate in them. There they concentrate...all that is purest and most attractive in them without loss and without danger of subsequent corruption....Let those seek refuge there who are saddened by the separations, the meannesses and the wastefulnesses of the world. In the external spheres of the world, man is always torn by the separations which set distance between bodies, which set the impossibility of mutual understanding between souls, which set death between lives....All that desolation is only on the surface. (p. 86)

Spoken directly to my heart that day. A series of frustrations had me feeling alone and lonely. I was already grateful for the scheduled visit to the chapel, but these words more than doubled that gratitude. Looking up, through tears, I asked what I should do next, how to get through the next few days. Clearly my heart heard, "Trust the Lord with all your heart." I smiled and said that I already do. [I often get to speak aloud, as most days no one else is there with us] Again, the same words, clear and direct. And then, "There are those who love you."
"All that desolation is only on the surface." As such, its not nearly as important as we make it out to be. Not nearly as impactful as we determine to allow it to be. The surface, you see, is nothing but a shell, a skin, maybe even a barrier to the real, the beautiful, the true. If you're looking for me, I'll be seeking refuge in the centre.

Book Talk

Happy are you poor, by Thomas Dubay

Book Club discussion on May 13

What struck me most was the consistent theme that a person in love can think of nothing else; the world fades away and nothing matters. There is great truth in that sentiment! Each day I find myself falling more and more deeply in love with God, with Jesus, with my faith, our faith. And in that love, I find I can more easily accept even that which I do not understand.

 

The next thing that made me think hard about where I am is giving from my need, rather than just from my excess. The author was right in pointing out that giving is easy when it's what I can afford, or am willing to part with. Since coming across this point, I've been more inclined to simply give. And I've been prepared to hand things over, just for the asking. I've also offered food and shelter to strangers. Knowing that it's outside my comfort a bit (personally and monetarily) has been far outweighed by the knowledge that it's the right thing to do. God will provide, in whatever way He sees the need.

 

That brings me to another point I've been pondering. What I perceive to be my needs are not necessarily what I truly need. My faith has deepened with the idea that there is so very little that I need, as opposed to what I have to give. I've taken a huge leap of faith (2 actually) and the fruits are already ripening. Opening my heart to trust in the gifts I've been given, and to use and act upon them came as much from learning about being poor in spirit as from any other book we've read.

 

I also saw many parallels with St. Therese, Thomas Merton, Bonhoeffer, St. Paul, and even Andrew Comiskey's works. Each opening of the heart leading to another. Living faith out loud, rather than quietly and alone. Giving from an emotional and spiritual standpoint, as much as from a monetary (physical) one. I feel more prepared to live as an example to our children, too, although I know there are still some things I am not yet ready to give up or let go of. I'm willing to admit and "own" them, though, and that is progress toward eventually giving all.

 

In the giving, I've also started to ask. There are things that money cannot buy, but that we shouldn't do without--a shoulder to lean on, a heart to connect with, advice. These are things I've always had a hard time asking for in my moments of need, though I give them freely. I love that the concepts in this book, and our last, have given me permission to need those things, and also to say so.

 

prayer, peace, purgatory

My favorite passage in Purgatorio so far is the beginning of Canto IV, because it so vividly placed me in the center of my most intense Communion of Saints moment (that lasted an hour--it felt like only a moment, though). In San Antonio at a LifeTeen training conference, during XLT--an especially moving Adoration and exultation experience--I found myself quietly alone with the Lord in the middle of a room crowded with people and music. Sitting on the floor, I was (for once) Mary not Martha; carefree in the presence of a Man with stories to tell. We laughed together as I cried tears of joy. Over the last month, in the moments when I feel rushed, stressed, pushed, overwhelmed, I stop and feel that moment.

When any of our senses is aroused,
to intensity of pleasure or of pain,
the soul gives itself up to that one sense,

oblivious to all its other powers.
This fact serves to refute the false belief
that in our bodies more than one soul burns.

And so it is that when we see or hear
something which wholly captivates the soul,
we easily can lose all sense of time.

living and dead

A couple of months ago, as our book club discussion started, I was asked why we had to read that particular book anyway. That's pretty much how the question went. Only somewhat apologetically I explained that the title and the cover had caught my eye, the topic was interesting, and, quite frankly, it had been on sale, so I picked it up and added it to the list. Unsatisfied, my fellow bibliophile asked, "But why? What did he want us to get out of it?" Laughing, I replied that he had nothing to do with the book selections; "he" being our pastor. It turns out, though, He may have had His reasons.

That book was The Pope Who Quit (Sweeney), about Peter Morrone, who became Pope Celestine V, and then retired shortly thereafter, and I picked it up on the heels of Pope Emeritus Benedict's resignation. The author made quite a point of mentioning that Celestine V figured in Dante's Inferno, another book I picked up on that sale-rack day, and had already planned on putting on the reading list--eventually. When I saw the connection between the books, I put Inferno on the calendar for the next meeting. The feedback from everyone in the first week or so of reading Inferno was so overwhelmingly positive, despite the difficulty with some translations, that we all agreed that we would continue with Purgatorio and Paradiso before moving on from the Middle Ages.

Next week, right smack dab in the middle of November, we will meet to discus our impressions of Purgatory. The profundity of reading this book over the feasts of All Saints and All Souls is not lost on me--although I did need a tap on the shoulder. Upon his entrance to Purgatory, an angel carves seven P's on Dante's forehead, representing the sins atoned for on each of the seven terraces. I heard a similar (though quite unrelated) reference in one of the readings over the last week or so, and that's when the connection really hit me. Ever since, I have been even more deeply moved by the poetry, the imagery, and the story.

As in the Inferno, where the punishments fit the crimes so precisely, those in Purgatory are circling the mountain making up for their mistakes and missteps. As I read about the weight of each of the penitents' sins, and their requests for prayers from the living to shorten their time, I keep thinking about those I know that have died. We cannot know what others are suffering, or what is in their hearts, what things might keep them from real rest. On Saturday morning, we heard a bit about lamentation, and the beauty of allowing ourselves to feel, express, and even embrace the sorrow and pain that can come with memories of our loved ones who have died--even years after they are gone.

The result is that as I read, in this month of remembering and honoring the dead, I find myself occasionally flooded with memories of people I love, but cannot see or call. And I let the memories come, noting how the memory might relate to the Canto I am reading, while coming to the understanding and acceptance that passage through each of the terraces is probably a given. The book is fascinating, and the fact that God put a half price book in my sights to get me to read Purgatory in November is the most amazing and unexpected blessing.

When reading Inferno, I struggled through Longfellow's translation--the most widely recognized and used in scholarly environs. I understood about half of what I read, but enjoyed the imagery nonetheless, even when I had no idea what it meant. I was also in a rather deserted place in my soul at the time, so I may not have absorbed much anyway. For the next two books in the Commedia, I am using the Penguin Classic: The Portable Dante, edited by Mark Musa. I highly recommend it!

notebooks

When I was a teenager, Dad frequently gave me blank journals and diaries. He said it might be good for me to write things down, to work things out; that writing in them might help me to better understand myself. Occasionally, I would start writing on the blank pages--mostly about boy troubles--but only about ten of those pages remain. Most of them were torn out and burned in the woodstove within weeks of being written. There was a part of me that suspected that Dad really wanted me to write in journals so he could better understand me. Every time I wrote the kinds of things that I thought diaries were for, I was quite concerned that someone else might read them. There was quite a chorus of "if no one should know...." in my head when I was a teen.

This past week, I was reminded of those journal gifts when I pulled out my notebook as part of my routine when reading. I've kept notebooks for years--lines from books that touch my heart, notes on lectures, thoughts on what I've read, heard or seen. And the fact that this blog is, as Anna Nalick says, "my diary screaming out loud," is not lost on me. I had forgotten about all those journals, though.

When the memory caught me, I was (am still) in the midst of pondering a question posed to me. Pieces had been falling into place, slowly--as they do, and probably should, but the picture was still unclear. Many times when I'm feeling particularly befuddled, I think of Dad. At times, he comes to me, with that feeling of an arm over my shoulders, a glimpse of his thoughtful eyes, and once his clear voice speaking in my head. More often, though, there is something much more subtle: I come across something he'd given me, whether concrete or abstract. Pulling out the notebook brought him to mind, which, of course made me wonder why. As I opened my book to read, I found my answer--another piece to my current puzzle. Possibly the most important piece so far--and, interestingly, a lesson I now know Dad had been trying to teach me since those days when he gave me the journals.

One of my goals is to get my notebooks in order, and consolidate where I can, to make a cohesive order. My notebooks are all over the place, and sometimes even consist of loose sheets of paper stuffed into books that may or may not bear any reference to the notes. It'll be quite an undertaking, but worth the lessons about me I will learn. Ordering the notes will not necessarily order my mind, but that is quite all right. If nothing else, the consolidating will unclutter my heart.

Anxiety is fatal to recollection because recollection depends ultimately on faith, and anxiety eats into the heart of faith. Anxiety usually comes from strain, and strain is caused by too complete a dependence on ourselves, on our own devices, our own plans, our own idea of what we are able to do.

~Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island, p. 224.

yes, it counts

This week I attended a training that felt like a turning point in my life. The funny thing is, within moments of the class beginning, I was annoyed. The training was on Project Management; an area of management theory with which I had about zero exposure to. Practical application, however, is another story, and that's where my annoyance came into play. There were interns in the room, and the statement was made that since they were "only students" they obviously had little to no PM experience, and any of us who were not management level likely had a fairly small amount of experience. Mom that I am, I immediately felt defensive for the interns--as far as I could tell, from my fairly recent college classes and watching and guiding my own kids, students use a ton of Project Management skills. Oh, and did I mention I felt particularly Mom-like? I also took the comment a little personally. Isn't raising a family of four children a major Project?

The first day of the class slowly proved me wrong. There are few times when I have dealt with deliverables or work breakdown structures. Unless getting everyone to games/practice/performances/church in one piece, and relatively in a reasonable state of mind counts as a deliverable! The first day also involved group work--not one of my favorite activities!

The second day was more my speed. Scheduling and finding critical paths, slack and float, all added up to the way I have always organized my work, my play, my life. I sent my husband a text: "I. Love. This." And he responded that he was not surprised. He has often told me that he sees me as a business analyst, and in his experience, the two go hand in hand. Quite a few years ago, we had an addition put on the house. The contractor told me one day about the next phase of the project, and the research he would be doing at home prior to getting my input. His wife had recently had a baby, and I knew what it was like to have a newborn, and a husband who had to work after work. I sat at our computer and did the research while he continued to work, and by the end of the day had taken care of the decisions that would have to be made, and had made up a loose schedule of dates that would work, based on what he had told me. At his daily wrap-up, he told us that I would make a fantastic project manager. I've always wondered just what that meant.

While I'd love to get certified, or get a degree in project management, it's likely a dream that will stay more nebulous than real. I'm satisfied--for now--knowing that I not only know the skills and have the tools for project management, but that I've been using them for ages without giving them a second thought. Hopefully, there will be other classes, and practical applications that relate to 'worker me.' In the meantime, here's one more reason why Momming is a valid section on my resume.

I'm not the one that needs convincing, though!

ramble a bit

Last week at a book club (Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn--a book I found fascinating, but not particularly rewarding), a discussion question was presented:

At one point, Amy quotes the advice "Fake it until you make it." Later, Nick writes, "We pretend to be in love, and we do the things we like to do when we're in love, and it feels almost like love sometimes, because we are so perfectly putting ourselves through the paces" (404).

Generally speaking, do you think this is good marriage advice? Do Nick and Amy disprove this advice?

The decision around the table was that this is never good marriage advice. I don't remember anyone even touching on the second part of the question. Although in the case of Nick and Amy, I find it to be appalling advice [*****SPOILER ALERT!!!!!***** She's a murderess and he is her depressed and self-centered husband], in general, I don't think there's anything wrong with going through the motions once in a while.

Before you get annoyed and turn the page, hear me out. Everyone gets bored. Everyone gets cranky. Everyone goes through times when they just don't feel like issuing forth any extra effort whatsoever. How many times have I (you) gone ahead and taken that fitness class, or pulled on a pair of running/walking shoes even though the mood wasn't right? I know for a fact there were many nights (and Saturday mornings!) when I taught dance that I just didn't want to leave my house, fight traffic, and deal with my class, but I did. And each one of those times, I told myself to fake it; to make it look to the people who were paying for me to be there as though I was having the time of my life. And I can say, in all honesty, almost every single time I went there to fake it, I had a better class than usual.

Making a habit of faking, or faking without knowing the reasons behind it, or faking without being unwilling to talk about it at some point is a bad idea. Living a lie is different from faking it until you make it. Nick went through the motions of loving Amy because he was literally afraid for his life. That's just stupid. Amy went through the motions because if she could make Nick love her, she would be amazing. That's just wrong (on a whole LOT of levels!!). That is NOT what I'm talking about here. Nor am I talking about lying, having an unfulfilling sex life, or suffering in silence from any offense, or abusive/toxic relationships.

What I'm talking about are those times when you realize that there's a reason you fell in love, and even though today it doesn't seem like it's there, it is, because it's still in your heart, and in the memory of your soul. Or when you realize that laziness has set in for whatever reason, and the habit is taking control. Those are the times when you have to keep in mind that a relationship is a living, breathing thing, in need of nurturing and even exercise. Those are the times when you have to dig out a smile when you don't feel like it, search the cobwebbed corners of your mind for a favorite shared memory, open yourself to possibility.

I got a CD from church about prayer in marriage. On it, Fulton Sheen talks about the inevitable "dry spells" of anything we, as humans, do for life. Sometimes they cause us to stop what no longer holds our interest, and other times we get frustrated by the seemingly sudden lack of interest. The decision is ours. If we are writers, we might call it 'writer's block,' runners, 'hitting a plateau.' As a dancer, I would take a class in another technique or from another teacher in order to jumpstart my slagging enthusiasm from time to time. In marriage, for a myriad of reasons, many people have the impression that everything should come up roses all the time, and if a dry spell hits, the magic must be gone and the marriage is over. Fulton Sheen said that those are the times when it's up to the spouse who is still flying high to carry the other through prayer and love. It was beautiful! Shortly after listening to the CD (and laughing through tears!) I saw a little ditty that I had seen before, but not paid much attention. Celebrating some huge number of years of marriage, a couple was asked their secret. The response: We never fell out of love at the same time.

We never fell out of love at the same time.

Isn't that beautiful?? Even in those dry spells--those times when he was making her crazy forgetting to _____ (fill in the blank), or when she was constantly ___________ (fill in the blank), the one still managed to love the other. To be in love with the other. It's not always easy. When we mentor engaged couples, we encourage them to keep their workbooks for those days when they need a reminder of the planning the wedding days, the getting read for a long marriage days.

Like any journey, there are times when concessions must be made. My brother says, "Don't say you don't care where we stop if you really don't want Chinese," not because he plans to stop for Chinese, but because sometimes when we think that something doesn't matter to us, we realize pretty quickly that it does, and that can ignite into an argument, or it can become an opportunity to fake it for a bit in order to ensure that love can continue on its course.

love never fails

As part of the spiritual book club at church, I am reading Paul, a novel, by Walter Wangerin, Jr. It is fictionalized, and is, I've been told I'll find, clearly not Catholic in nature. Still, the reason it was chosen was to give a perspective on the life of a man that a dear friend calls "a great Bible dude." I'm enjoying the story, told from the perspectives of many of Paul's friends and followers, as well as Paul himself.

Some of the parts that affect me the most are not related to Paul's teachings (at least, I haven't seen the connection yet!) per se. I'm becoming attached to Prisca in particular. She and Aquila, tent-makers by trade, take Paul in when he arrives in Corinth. She taken in by his voice and teachings. In her musings, she begins to touch on deep feelings that I can relate to, regarding grief combined with anger and bitterness.

So then I was suffering something infinitely more killing than loneliness. Anguish of the heart. Violent, physical spasms of guilt. Poor Aquila watched with a heavy-handed helplessness. Do you know?--I felt such sympathy for him in those days. And there was a part of me that wanted terribly to comfort him. But it was the smallest part. I couldn't help my husband either, could only cry, would not control my tears -- causing him his own sort of loneliness. (p. 211)

I could feel her pain. I could feel her desire to reach out to another who was grieving. Prisca's father had said cruel words to her about her mother's death, wanting to make her feel as though she was the reason; that their leaving Rome may have contributed to her death. The reasons for Prisca's pain were much greater, on a much grander scale than any pain I have suffered. And yet, the pain of shared loneliness is something I am familiar with.

For Prisca and Aquila, the cycle was broken by the arrival of Paul. In many ways, I can relate to that, too. Paul wrote and taught of Love. There is nothing greater than Love. But Love needs an entrance. That loneliness combined with guilt built a wall; reinforced a barrier between two hearts. I've been there, feeling as though I should comfort, but wishing (who am I kidding? Demanding!) for more comfort toward me.

Like Prisca, I now realize that an outpouring of love is what allows comfort. And an outpouring, and acceptance, of Love. One comes from those around us, who may or may not know and understand our pain, but are willing to listen, to hear, to cry and laugh, to hug, and even to ask difficult questions from time to time. The other comes from Someone Greater. One who does understand our pain and suffering, and would never minimize it, but can help us to put it into perspective.

I am forever grateful to a dear person I consider a friend who insisted that Love Heals All Wounds. He was right. I'm pleased to be in the transcendent company of one who heard those words first from Paul (where, honestly, I had heard them, too; I just had never thought to apply them to my own life when it really counted!), and then went on to share them with others. At least in this story.

Regardless, the lesson is the same. It is real. Love is Real.

the roar--an element

My comments at the recent CHHS Football Banquet.....

Once upon a time, Coach Gay mentioned a program that he called Reading with the LIONS. The aim of the program, in which Junior and Senior players give up their lunches or study halls to read to elementary students on game day, was intended to help demonstrate to the players that they are role models to their young fans, even when they are not on the field. Additionally, in introducing themselves, posing and answering questions, and generally being the center of attention in the classroom, they would hone their public speaking skills.

I volunteered to organize this program for Coach Gay mostly because I knew teachers in the District, and he did not. What I saw and heard amazed and impressed me more than I expected.

The teachers were so accommodating and grateful for the player visits, and for seeing their former students so grown up. The elementary students were thrilled to have a change of pace. This much I expected. What blew me away were the football players…

They transformed from a nervous gang of semi-coerced kids, asking for books with “lots of pictures” or “only 3 words,” to an eager team who also played in 5^th grade gym class and sounded out words like “philanthropic”—cold.

As if that wasn’t enough, I received emails from teachers and parents who were impressed at the transformation in their kids: reluctant readers were now asking for books; math-shy kids were looking for LION stats in Saturday’s paper; even kids who were planning their weekly wardrobe so they could wear blue and white or a football jersey on Friday. The nurse said a student told her the worst thing about going home sick was missing the LION Reader. A high school teacher observed a delighted elementary student pointing out that week’s reader, and the huge smiles on all three faces: Player, Mom and Child.

Making an impact is something that more often happens on a smaller scale than we realize. I read in a picture book once that meteorites that make big craters are sometimes just tiny rocks, no bigger than a fist. The LION Readers have been a meteorite. Their impact truly did go beyond any classroom. When I met our Superintendant, Dr. Reeder, he said two things to me that I’ll never forget. He said, “Oh! You’re the LION Reader Lady!” And then he said, more seriously, “Their visits to Eisenhower and Hoover have been key in how well the team is playing. It gets their minds off the game a little so they can focus when they get to the field.”

Parents, thank you for raising boys willing to give of themselves, even when it seems to be a small thing: those small things are the BIG things. And thank you for your willingness to pitch in when I needed drivers and chaperones. Juniors and Seniors, thank you for opening up to your fans, and answering questions ranging from “What’s your favorite dinner?” to “What’s your favorite play?” And for being such good company in our travels. Freshmen and Sophomores, your day will come—I hope you’re looking forward to it.

Coach Gay, thank you for setting Reading with the LIONS in motion. The initiative, in every way, was a success. You said to me once that it is exciting to catch glimpses of the men these players will become. Through Reading with the LIONS, the classroom teachers and I were blessed with a preview of the teachers, uncles, fathers, coaches, these Camp Hill LIONS will one day become.

yes, we need it. no, it's not for your coffee

Over the past month, I've been asked no less than four times, by four different people, when we will be able to have a library "with no card catalog." My answer, in a nutshell, is that it's not possible. And each time, I am met with an incredulous stare. I've been asked why on earth we use the Dewey decimal system, instead of the Library of Congress system. I've even been asked how I feel about not having kids check out books at all. I'm not even a librarian, though I came this close to starting my Master's in Library Science.

Working in the library had been a dream come true for me. Many times, I've wished that someone--anyone--had known me well enough in high school to suggest looking into the field. My interests are about as diverse as they come, and if I could make a living as a "learner," I would be in heaven! Being surrounded by information about any topic imaginable is alternately overwhelming and exhilarating. Some may argue that all the same information can be found just as easily on YouTube or by Googling it, but it's been my experience that without the proper key words, my searches wind up feeling like just that--searches. In a library, I can hone in on topics more quickly. Admittedly, I was completely lost in the stacks for most of my life. Why on earth would Dewey put cookbooks so close to the pet books, and how could poetry, plays and even some prose belong in the non-fiction side of the library?? Why (I still wonder) do people describe fiction as being "untrue" so that non-fiction would then be "not untrue?"

Tuesday, the sixth grade came to visit the library. I asked how many had never been in a library before, and truly had no reason to be surprised at the number of hands that went up. Our elementary schools have been restructuring in order to accommodate larger numbers of students, as well as a move to a new building -- two new buildings, actually. As a result, their libraries have been packed, unpacked, repacked, stored and/or on a cart for a while. Although they had library class, some of the kids had been a little overwhelmed by the new library last January. Plus, our library looks very different from that one; our stacks are double the height, and we have easily double the books, at least.

Janet used to do the sixth grade orientation, and I had seen it enough to feel pretty comfortable showing them around. I found a video about the Dewey decimal system that they tried not to be amused by, and told them about our expectations of them, and showed them around. But the moment they'd been waiting for--the one thing all four classes asked about--was checking out books. Just try to stop them! I told them we have two card catalogs; one in a great big case on the floor, and one on the computer. Most of the kids who wanted to look for something specific, when told to look it up first, went the the physical version rather than the virtual one. And, interestingly, their searches were quicker than the computer searches. On the computer, they have to log on, find the card catalog on the desktop, click on the appropriate school, then type in what they are looking for. It works, for sure, but by the time they did all that, the kids who did it the "old-fashioned" way had already found their books, and were queued up at the check-out desk. Which kids had time to start reading their books before the bell rang?

Why do we need the big piece of furniture in the middle of the room? In addition to being quick if you aren't already logged on to a computer, it never crashes, it never loses power or connectivity, doesn't get corrupted, and it has those nifty drawers. I've been told it looks like a dinosaur (ridiculous because it is cube-shaped!) and does not fit in with the information age. Maybe. And maybe it's not necessary for kids to know how to search for something on their own, without the aid of an engine. But the sixth grade now knows that cookbooks fall under Dewey's broad category of "technology" (so do cats,but I'm not sure I understand that part yet), and biographies are part of history. And they also know that fiction IS imaginary, made-up, fantastical (although the supernatural is non-fiction), and non-fiction IS factual, proven or theorized, real, true, and that art --poems, plays and some prose-- and legends, myths and fairy tales are all considered non-fiction.

We'll always need to have a card catalog in some form or another, and I hope that when the digital age pulls the library in completely, as I think it could, and maybe should in some ways, I hope the name stays, even if the piece of furniture is forgotten. There will always be a need to find the information for oneself; to be able to see the other points of view nearby--how closely related world religions are on a bookshelf, or how similar the covers of books about neighboring countries at war can look. As long as there ARE books, they will be checked out of libraries. That sense of sharing, that trust in stewardship, is necessary to the survival of humankind. I really believe that.

It used to be, when I worked with Janet the Librarian, that I had a long list of books to check out sometime. She was regularly adding new books to the collection, and part of my job was to type up the cards for the card catalog, as well as covering the new books on their way into circulation. Now I make up the cards for the books in the library that had been purchased but not yet catalogued. I have far more interuptions than we had before--the student flow has been changed, and requires much more 'hovering' at times. It has its good points and bad points, but kids still check out books every day. And they use the card catalog. Many of them still need help with both alphabetical and alphanumeric order, but I need help with the Macs, so it all evens out in the end.

I love my job, and I love that libraries are evolving and changing and staying relevant--a tradition in place since Ben Franklin. I love that Dewey still "works" even if it is a little wacky until you get the hang of it. (Watch the video, it's really quite clever!) So don't ask me if the library will be "necessary" in years to come, or if people really "care" if it's there. I do. And I'm not alone.