What's MySQL?

Last week a woman called the library wanting to set up some computer instruction time. Specifically, she wanted help using WordPress to set up her blog. At my branch, the teen librarian is responsible for one-on-one computer sessions, helping older adults do things younger people grew up with: moving the mouse, left-clicking the mouse, and the basics of the internet. But because I have some experience with WordPress and blogging, I agreed to meet with this woman.

You can use WordPress in two different ways. In the first, wordpress.com hosts your site. It doesn't require you to be a computer expert, nor do you have to download any software. In the second, what my dad uses, you register at wordpress.org, buy a domain, find a server, do some stuff with ftp and mySQL, download software and then upload it to a server... My dad had professionals set up his site; now that it's up and running, he is able to maintain it.

I had assumed the woman had the second kind of site: that she had bought a domain and needed help getting it up and running. It wasn't until I began reading "WordPress for Dummies" that I understood how hard that would be. I had a notebook full of step-by-step instructions so that, even if I didn't know exactly what to do, I could lead her through it. Still, I was nervous.

When I finally met with her, I was relieved to find out she had the first kind of site--the one like I have. She wanted help changing the header, knowing where to go when she wanted to write a new post. Adding an email address. I could help her with these things. This is not above my pay grade.

We're going to meet again next week. I'm not sure now much individual attention I'll be able to continue to give her at work--our staff is already stretched thin, and I have other responsibilities at the branch--but in the mean time I'm happy to offer what help I can. It reminds me that just as she is pushing herself out of her comfort zone, using resources available to her to grow and try to enact change, I need to continue to push myself to grow, to keep writing, and to keep learning.

Good Times

Tonight about twenty of us met to say goodbye to one of our coworkers. She's going to a better place: South Carolina. It's fun seeing the people I work with outside the library, and because of differences in age and geography, we only get together for special events (such as someone leaving). We're generally educated, well-read, and bleeding heart liberals. Despite our education and empathy for the less-fortunate, we laughed the most over the many mean and stinky people we've encountered over the years in the library.

Monday I interview for a full-time position at the library. This won't be new for me -- in the first 18 months that I was with the library, I interviewed for 8 different full-time positions before I finally got one. I left it after a year because I picked up another class, and because I thought my life was heading in one direction. Now, I think, if writing is going to be an important part of my life, there's nowhere better to work than the library.

"Funny Library Montage," by Bryan Greenland

Recommended Reading

A couple months ago a woman asked for reading suggestions. "I love to read," she said, "especially classics." Immediately I asked if she had read "Prodigal Summer," by Barbara Kingsolver.

"I can't stand Barbara Kingsolver," she said.

I was momentarily flummoxed. She loves to read, I thought, but she doesn't love what I love. If she couldn't stand one of my favorite authors, then I feared she would hate anything I recommended. I asked more questions, like what has she read more recently that she enjoyed, and who were some of her favorite authors. I eventually connected her with some titles and authors that, hopefully, she would appreciate.

The other day I received the biggest complement from a friend: she told me she reads books that I suggest on this blog almost exclusively. From the "Hunger Games" trilogy and "Divergent" to "Cutting for Stone" and "Rules of Civility" she's taken my suggestions and, often, has passed the books onto others.

For me, it's always slightly scary recommending a book. What if they don't like it? What if they judge me for liking it? But it's so rewarding when they like it as much as I do.

At the end of December I highlighted some of my favorites from 2011 for the library blog. I think I mentioned most of books here, but feel free to check them out.

I am Puppet Master!!!

This year I'm part of the planning team for my library system's annual book fair. Every couple weeks we gather and discuss which authors to invite or, if the author has already submitted an application, whether to accept him or her. A few of the members have connections to publishing companies, so they are responsible for recruiting "big" names. But I've enjoyed being a part of this committee, emailing authors and looking at their websites and twitter accounts, seeing how they interact with their readers.

As more authors are confirmed and we approach the date of the event, I will help to promote the authors, their work, and the event on our website, Facebook, and twitter. I also notice that a lot of the authors have goodreads accounts, and I hope to utilize that as well.

Me, I passed 36,000 words today. I look back at my last entry, almost two weeks ago, and I'd hoped to have over 40,000 words by now. But I won't be discouraged. Next week I'll meet with my writing friend, get (and give) feedback. I still plan to finish by the end of this year, and that goal hasn't changed. On top of that, I figured out some important plot points -- I got tired of waiting for the characters to answer some questions for me, so I answered them myself! I am puppet master!!!

And maybe someday, in the not-too-distant future, I'll be asked to participate in a book fair or too!

Tough Out There

The other day a man came into the library. He's been in a few times, always to use the computer, always to apply for jobs. The first time he came in, he was trying to apply to a grocery chain. As he answered page after page of questions, he kept getting error messages. He entered something incorrectly by leaving a space in an email address, or he left something blank. Finally his time would run out and his session would end, automatically, and he'd lose all the information he had spent an hour entering. When he started over, I helped him create a name and password, in case the same thing happened.

A week or two later, back at the computer, he was applying for a different job. It was janitorial. He was stuck on an early part of the application process, where it asked him to upload a resume. He didn't have a resume, let alone one that he could upload. I suggested the free workshops that the library offers at our main branch to help write resumes; he didn't ask for any details, but I hope he follows up on it.

He was extremely kind, and even more patient. I feel bad that jobs that have nothing to do with computers have this extra technological barrier. But it's tough out there--people who are very computer literate and college-educated are competing for many of the same jobs as others with only a high school diploma. (That isn't to say that a college degree is required for computer literacy--I know many, both of my brothers included, who are more savvy on computers than their educated counterparts!)

Good Fortune

19,000 words and counting! My goal, 20,000 words by the end of March. So I have until around 6:30 today to crank out another 1,000 words before driving down to Cincinnati to have dinner with my old roommate and her husband. (There's a cheerleader's voice in my head shouting, You can do it! You can do it! She's annoying but helpful.)

I feel incredibly fortunate to be doing what I am. This time--whole days when I don't "work"--has been a gift to me. That full-time library job I mentioned a couple weeks ago isn't going to open up. No new hires until the state budget is finalized. I'm sort of glad for that decision to be out of my hands. I didn't want to choose to give up my time.

Speaking of fortunate, my dad is back in Kenya and couldn't be happier. He writes about visiting schools that his foundation supports, noting the enthusiasm of the teachers and students. But what made me laugh this morning is his description of his journey back from one of the schools:

Well, Mwololo and I walked down the hill (mountain) from the school to the main road, about a 30 minute walk. At the main road we waited for a matatu, the mode of transport in Kenya. Basically a rusty van that is falling apart that drivers jam full with as many people in as possible. The saying goes “There is no such thing as a full matatu.” We waited and waited, finally a van comes and stops but it has red ribbons hanging from the side mirrors. This usually indicates it is part of a funeral procession but some matatu drivers put the red ribbons on to fool the many police roadblocks who rarely stop them. So the van stops, we ask about the ribbons and the guy points to the dead body propped up in the front seat! They were taking this dead man to the mortuary but still wanted to make extra money by making stops for more passengers! They wouldn’t even lay the man down because that would take three seats (three fares!) We passed on that matatu and waited for the next.

Another time, he had to hold a live chicken for an entire ride! By the way, today is opening day - I hope I can find somewhere online to watch the Reds game as I slowly march toward 20,000 :)

My Precious

(I say that in the Gollum voice from "Lord of the Rings")

One of the reasons I love working at the library is the variety of tasks I get to perform. Out front, in public, I'm helping people check out, renew, and order books or movies. I also help people find their items. Maybe it's a book their friend recommended, maybe it's a movie that our catalog showed that we had, or maybe it's books about a certain subject they need for a report.

• The other day I helped a mom find books for her son, a third-grader, who she characterized as a "slow reader." He needed books that were at least 90 pages but wouldn't frustrate him too much. I led her directly to books by David Adler, author of the Cam Jansen series. I also pulled a couple books by Matt Christopher, Beverly Clearly, and Louis Sachar. They chose a couple of the books but wrote down all of the authors I suggested.
• Yesterday, a graduate student in speech therapy came in looking for a book to use in a thirty-minute session that talked about the tortoise and the hare. I pulled books by three or four different authors so she could pick which would be most appropriate for the student she worked with.

Behind the scenes I'm equally busy processing new books/movies, receiving items from other libraries that customers have ordered, and discharging materials that have been put in our bookdrop. I also write, occasionally, for the library's book blog, Turning the Page. I enjoy writing for that different audience. Also, because I can write for it on work time, doesn't that mean I'm getting paid to write? Kind of? In my latest entry, I look at the apparent rise of short fiction: "We Don't Tell Novels at the Kitchen Table, We Tell Stories."

I've worked at my current branch for over two years now. I am part time. Until last July, I also taught literature and composition. My long-time readers know that I stopped teaching in order to focus on writing, to see if, given the extra time, I would be able to produce anything worth while. If this was a test, I passed! Since July, I've written a lot. And it's not horrible. Of course I could have written more; I could have been more disciplined. But I'm not disappointed -- I'm proud of what I've done.

And therein lies my dilemma. A full-time position may become available at my branch, the one I love so much. Not only would I double my take-home pay (going from 20 to 40hrs/wk), I would also receive health care benefits (currently I spend over $100/mo purchasing my own). If I apply, there's no guarantee that I would get the job, but I don't want to apply unless I'm prepared to accept it.

In other words, now that I've finally found a steady rhythm for my writing, do I want to give up so much of my precious time? Help!

Slight Vent; Not Really

Lately I've felt like I could stay in bed all day and still feel tired. I love the library, but my schedule's been such that I've worked many days in a row with only Sunday off. I find myself wondering if I should look for other part-time jobs, or more actively commit to going back to school full-time. A part of me is frustrated about my job; staying motivated, despite how little I make, despite how little I'll ever make there, regardless of how many "extra" things I do.

And so I remind myself of why I made the choices I did: I worked this job and taught for the past three years; I was perpetually tired--energy was the exception; I had a pang of stress and anxiety that was with me always. Writing propelled me then, and I will continue to let it do so.

I've just been so tired lately. Need to work on that.

Cold Dose of Reality

Today I work at the library, where I feel we're at the front lines of the recession. The branch I work at is relatively affluent; at the same time, we have people come in to use our computers for job searches and resume-building. Some are very skilled at computers and simply don't have access at home; others struggle to attach a document to an email or to write a simple reply to a job request. I love talking about books and helping people find the types of books that they're looking for, whether for a school project or their own interest. But this isn't my favorite part of the job.

What I'm best at, I think, is helping that gentleman who lost his job five weeks ago get to that website he needs to connect to job possibilities; it's informing him about all the resources the library has to offer. It's empowering him by not doing everything for him but by sitting with him, patiently explaining what to do. One man thanked me, saying, "It's like I'm learning to ride a bike. You're giving me my training wheels so I can practice until I can do it on my own."

Since finishing my teaching job, I've been scrambling to put together a good application package before the September 1 deadline. I've written and revised my application essay, built a website to house stories as well as some of my favorite posts, and--for the first time in years--I've written some new fiction. I've thought, "This is perfect: finish one job, ready for the next!"

But of course, life doesn't follow a straight path, and I'm putting on the breaks to my own bicycle before I lose my way. It isn't feasible to put together a satisfactory application by September 1, complete with samples, recommendations, and essays. I've been writing feverishly, and I will continue to do so.

It's All About the Cardigan

My manager is encouraging me to get my Masters in Library Science and become a librarian. She says I was born to be a librarian, though I think my thick-rimmed glasses and fondness for cardigans has her biased. Actually, there are a lot of attractive things about the MLS degree, and they are many of the same things that attracted me to the education degree. They are unselfish degrees that allow me to gain and share knowledge, to help people access information. I strongly believe libraries remain a vital resource for our community, and I see us adapting to meet the needs of that community. But I see the role of the librarian changing significantly. I'm not sure what she or he will look like in twenty years.

Anyway, I had an awesome day at the branch today. Lots of friendly people, and no (loud) complaints about our checkout machine.

Got up at 5:30 this morning. I think I'll go to bed while the Reds are still playing, so I can listen to the rest of the game.

Edited to change "reds" to "rest."

The End is in Sight...

The end of the quarter always brings excitement and anxiety, both on my part and the parts of the students. Most classes are structured (my own included) such that the last couple weeks are weighted heavily. Final papers, final exams, these things will count for upwards of 40% of the final grade. I get stressed, anxious, keeping track of assignments and grades, making sure I fairly account for all of the students' work. And students get stressed, anxious, turning in so many assignments that are worth so much while keeping up with their demanding core nursing classes.

This morning I went with my dad to the downtown library to use their grant resource center. One of their computers has access to myriad foundations that award grants to organizations such as my father's, a database that we can't get to from the branches or from home. It was exciting to get just a snapshot of how many philanthropic groups there are supporting non-profits, and it made me all the more anxious to finish the quarter and move onto the next stage.

Edited to fix the link to my dad's site!

Sorting Through the Clutter

My room is clean today. Not my bedroom, with pants thrown over my ironing board and the items I'd washed yesterday still residing in a suitcase (much more convenient than a basket for transportation), but my middle room - the place with my desk, laptop, printer, table, trolls, bookshelf, pens, coats, loose change, and other miscellaneous items.

I spent yesterday evening sorting papers, piling and un-piling some while disposing of others. And around 9:00pm, I vacuumed. We'll see how long it stays this way, but I think I'll be more inclined to hang up my jacket when I come home or put my shoes somewhere other than the middle of the floor.

Off to a coffee shop to grade (and to consume caffeine and bagel) and then the library to work - we get self-checkout later this week, which I had at my old branch.

I'm doing better. I've plowed through. My brothers and I spent Easter at my grandmother's, and she's moving around with more ease. She still gets tired very quickly, and slept a lot of the time we were there, but every day she feels stronger.

Finishing Up

Finishing up the winter quarter, today, submitting final grades. I feel the most organized I've been since I started teaching these classes, but that's not saying much. We start again next week. I'll know where everything is! I'll give quizzes back the next class period, and essays within a week! When a student asks about his/her progress, I'll be able to give an answer right then and there!

(Ah, and this is the first quarter break in a year that I haven't tried to leave the country -- unsuccessfully last April, successfully in July and October; alas I'll be working in the library most of the break, so no extra time to do "nothing").

But I'm itching to travel again. I've never been to New England, the Plains, or the Pacific Northwest. Places in the south, Texas and New Mexico, I've only driven through as a child. I love getting stamps in my passport - I'd go back to Europe or Australia in a second - but I do need to see more of my own country.

The Moral Universe

The library levy in Cincinnati passed a couple weeks ago by a 3-1 margin; in fact, levies for the Museum Center, MRDD, and Cincinnati Public Schools all passed by significant margins. As trying as these times are, people voted with their hearts and minds and not with their pocket books.

I remember reading a poll this summer, right as the health care debate was gaining steam, and two facts stood out to me: 1. Most people were for reform, and 2. Most people didn't think reform would help them, personally. In other words, they wanted reform because they thought it would benefit society as a whole.

Most of our leaders have shied away from appealing to our better angels (our sense of decency, fairness, and justice) and instead marketed health care reform in terms of something for ourselves only. They tell us to ask: How can I, personally, have better choices? How can I save a buck or two? Or, on the flip side, demand: How is this reform going to take away my choices? With the help of the news media, it's no surprise that this debate has descended into hyperbole.

It's hard not to become disheartened. Just this morning, an article appeared in the New York Times described how

statements by more than a dozen lawmakers were ghostwritten, in whole or in part, by Washington lobbyists working for Genentech, one of the world’s largest biotechnology companies.

Twenty-two Republicans and twenty Democrats (look! bipartisanship!) included lobbyists' language, from Genentech and other companies, in "statements for publication in the Congressional Record." It should be no surprise that lobbyists conduct "outreach" to members of congress. But there's something almost nefarious about the repetition of lobbyists' language across party aisles. As I tell my students, clarity of thought and clarity of writing are interconnected; you don't have one without the other.

Where do I find heart? A well-turned phrase goes a long way with me, and when I first read "Dreams From My Father" in 2006 or 2007, I knew this Obama person was someone special. He wrote with such poetry and compassion about his life and the world around him. From that first book to his speech on race during the primary season, Barack Obama has continued to demonstrate clarity of thought and clarity of writing.

Quoted by President Obama and Martin Luther King, preacher and abolitionist Theodore Parker said

I do not pretend to understand the moral universe, the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways. I can calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. But from what I see, I am sure it bends toward justice.*

Parker died before slavery was abolished, but his words and writing suggest that he knew it was coming, whether in 1865 or 1965. His words and ideas persist.

This health care debate, the coming debates about global warming and financial reform, the ongoing debate about Afghanistan: there will continue be noise from all sides, amplified and regurgitated on cable tv, but I have to hope and believe that truth and decency will emerge at some point, quieting the noise.

* Thanks to livinghour.org for the unedited Parker quote

Quick hits

That post-trip/new quarter anxiety is subsiding. I'm keeping up with emails and reducing the amount of assignments I collect to grade after asking myself, "Is this benefiting the student?" I'm not eliminating all assessment of non-essay writing, but I'm increasing the amount of low-pressure (non-graded) writing that we do in class. One of the things I try to convey is that writing is a process - the first draft should never be your best and final draft, regardless of how good it seems. And if students are graded on that first draft, what kind of message am I sending?

Tomorrow we'll discuss "A Rose for Emily" - I like this story better each time I read it. I just love the moment where Miss Emily goes to the pharmacist and asks for rat poison - arsenic. The sweet, unknowing pharmacist says that he's required to ask her what it's for, and

Miss Emily just stared at him, her head tilted back in order to look him eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the arsenic and wrapped it up. ... When she opened the package at home there was written on the box, under the skull and bones: "For Rats."

Because of Faulkner's narrative structure, the reader doesn't know (unless he or she is more perceptive than I) who the rat is. But after I've read it a few times, I crack up when she opens the poison "for rats."

The library levy passed here in Cincinnati, and Issue 9 (the proposal that would have made it harder for the city to develop any rail system, whether street cars or light rail) failed. In all it was a good election night. But I couldn't help but think about last year and the excitement coursing through the nation. It would be impossible for all Obama's supporters, those thousands of volunteers who canvassed and donated money and phone banked, to sustain that energy through his presidency; unfortunately, I think that kind of energy would be necessary for him to carry out his ambitious agenda. As it stands, I think he's doing the best he can. One year later, the sounds and images from that night--and what it meant to so many of us--still resonate.

http://www.dailykos.com/tv/w/000301/

Edited to fix the quote from "A Rose for Emily," which--despite multiple readings--I had misquoted. D'oh!

Love at first deconstruction

Leaving home for the first time, it's not unusual to experience a range of emotions, from fear and excitement to confusion and jubilance. We're confronted with new people, new places, and new paradigms. It's also not unusual to fall in love. But like so many experiences and feelings that arise during college, that love can't last.

I fell in love for the first time at college with Non-Euclidean Geometry. It was an honors seminar, meaning the students in that class - all ten or eleven of us - had achieved a certain GPA and SAT score. We talked about math and its postulates and the ramifications of omitting that troublesome 5th postulate (it's been ten years, but I think that's the one about angles in a straight line adding up to 180 degrees... or something to that effect). The class was wonderful: it was challenging and required us to think not only mathematically but also creatively. I took it during my first semester at Denison, and I can't imagine a better way to begin the college experience. It was love!

Alas, this love rendered my thinking unclear. I developed a misguided notion that I should be a math major and that I should ignore my AP credits and take Calculus the next semester. While I loved taking calculus in high school, the college class was a more typical experience: twenty-five students at desks, taking notes while the professor went through the text book. I didn't study, and I didn't care: I received a B minus in that class and sold my text book for 10% of what I had paid for it.

At the same time I was taking this calculus class, however, I was also taking creative writing. I wrote stories and poetry and fake journal entries. It was a blast and set the stage for my next experience with true love during my sophomore year: postmodernism.

Learning to break things apart, to seek multiple angles and truths, comes naturally now. I'm always looking for the other side of a story and finding the bias. But when I first learned the definition of "Postmodern," and when I first deconstructed a Shakespeare text, it felt novel and important. Suddenly, I wasn't reading for meaning; I wasn't trying to find patterns or undertand themes or the author's motives - I was looking for holes in the text and places where I could tear it apart. Texts and stories were contructs - illusions - and my job as the reader was to dispel their myths. I was enamored by that responsibility and in love with removing meaning from the written word.

Not until years later, first working in a library, surrounded by books and people reading them and gaining meaning from them, and then teaching the reading and interpretation of books and literature, have I regained that love for myth and story. My favorite quote, and I've used it here and in class on more than a couple occasions, is from E.M. Forster: "How can I tell what I think until I see what I say?" I see this search for meaning. Truth. Patterns of my own as well as the society around me.

There is power in our stories and our narratives, and I don't think it matters if those narratives are inherent or imposed. Facts are facts, truth is truth, and as Gertrude Stein said, "A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose." Yes, each "rose" comes with its own associations -- feelings, emotions, images -- but in the end, it's still just a rose.

I'm in love with words, and I know this isn't just a passing infatuation.

Nice people

Yesterday, a woman, mid-seventies, came into the library wearing the loviest purple hat I had ever seen. She was petite and dressed in black, making the hat stand out even more. 

Customers check out their own books and movies, now, with the library workers close by if any problems arise. We're more free to walk around the library, taking people directly to that Rachael Ray cookbook at 641.555 qR264b instead of writing down a call number and pointing to an aisle. 

Sometimes I feel awkward, standing behind the desk while a 75-yr-old woman scans her Beverly Lewis novel. But yesterday, as the lady in the purple hat fished for her library card, I approached her and asked, "Are you familiar with our check out system?" 

She replied, with a suddenly giant grin, "Oh yes!" 

I smiled back and told her what a lovely hat she was wearing.

She laughed and said that her husband had told her it was too fancy for a regular outting. But she didn't want to wear her black hat because it was so plain. Then she added, "I like your necklace."

I touched my hand to my neck, reminding myself which I was wearing - it was my "fancy" one, with over a dozen strands of small beads, in all shades of purple.

Thinking about the whole exchange makes me smile.

(credit the picture to www.maggiemae.com - I found it by putting "purple kentucky derby hat" in Google Image)