Questions du Jour

 "I need a wordless picture book... in Spanish." 

 "Do you have an English-to-English dictionary?" 

 "Do you have Like Water for Elephants?" 

 "How long is a sentence?" 

"I know I can't check out this reference book, but can I print it? Do you have all your books online?" 

[VERY non-excited voice] "Do you have any biographies of famous accountants?" 

"I don't know the title or author or what it's about, but what's that book written by that guy that was on oprah? It had something to do with Anne Frank or something." [Night, by Eli Wiesel] 

"Does the library have an email address? I want to order some catalogs and stuff online." 

"Do you have a printed list I could have of all your nonfiction books? could you make one?" 

"What's that poem about mothers and tea bags?" 

"Who is a person who changed the world in some way? I have to dress up as them." [... me?] 

"Where are the fucking books on fucking spain, spanish, like, fucking history and shit?" 

 "Where are the books about ligers?" 

"My son needs five books about the lady who invented washing machines." 

 "I need a book, I can't remember the name or who wrote it... it had "the" in it." 

"I want a book with lots of photos of STDs. I'm doing a unit and want to scare the bejeebers out of my students."

no showers for April

All the cars are brown. There is no rain, no wind, just layers of dust that settle in dime-sized blotches over every surface. My belly rubbed a clean spot on the back of the car as I squeegied off the rear window at the gas station this morning, a bright green splotch in a sepia world.
 

The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave.

Oh no, even Modest Mouse has turned against me. I need to bring home the stack of Hap Palmer discs that are sitting beside my work computer and spend my time listening to jangling banjo music instead of wringing the juice out of my steering wheel every morning.


Friday

Our small group of children's librarians shivered around a county van outside headquarters before the sun came up, waiting for our coordinator to drive us up to Fresno for the day. I huddled in the middle. When the van door swung open everyone suddenly stepped to the sides, leaving me alone in front of the empty vehicle. This is the same thing that happens at buffets. I took the back corner, leaving everyone else to climb into place according to their window and legroom preference. We drove silently for two hours as the sky brightened, heads lolling sleepily. There was nothing to see. The wind had died down and the smog was a thick streak of yellow across the horizon from one end of the valley to the other. Fresno looked like New Jersey, rows and rows of brick buildings with huge yards of shipping containers and trucks, dotted with scrawny trees and the odd attempt at modern architecture. The GPS gave directions in an Australian accent, eventually devolving into a chant of "recalibrating... recalibrating..." as we turned randomly down side streets toward the library. We filed out in the parking lot, slapped our name stickers on in the meeting room, and went in for lessons on infant story times.

At break I hopped a wall with one of my colleagues and headed for the much-praised corner bakery. We stared at the $6.50 loaves of bread before buying an overpriced cinnamon bun and a scone. Two of our party fell asleep in the second half of the morning session, making a great impression on the sniggering Fresno librarians. At lunch we went out as a group into a nearby Mexican restaurant, where we all agreed that the enchiladas tasted liked burning tires, which took some kind of skill. On the way back I was excited to buy a fancy candle in the stationary store that was labeled "DIRT" and stank like potting soil.

We spent the afternoon wagging puppets at each other and squealing nursery rhymes, then climbed back into the van, angered the Australian GPS, got lost heading toward Oregon, turned around to ask for directions from a startled (and suspiciously guilty-looking and sailor-hatted) man on a dirt road, and managed to get 20 minutes in the correct direction before I made them pull over to use the bathroom. We finally got home just before dark. All in all, not a terrible adventure. The boys were happy with their souvenirs (floppy frisbees and lip balm) and I dropped like a rock into bed, cursing my twitchy limbs. Why can't I develop Restless Leg Syndrome in the middle of the work day, when it might kick me into action instead of falling asleep over my summer reading press releases? Bananas and milk have failed me.

 
Not a lot of  adventures these days, except for moving plans and taxes. I am a bit sad as the summer comes around again. Raise your drinking glass, here's to yesterday.