In solidarity with my school community, I am observing Lent
for the second time in my life. Last
year I attempted a pretty high-concept Lenten observation (which you can read
about if you search this blog for Lenten Librarian and scroll back to the beginning). I think, for my first time, it was a little
lofty. Still, I'm not satisfied with the
basic "giving something up" rubric for Lent. My understanding is that this is to be a
period of reflection, but also of transformation. So, what can I (symbolically) 'give up' that
will transform me in some way?
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| I couldn't find a picture of the old Avol's. This is Paul's Bookstore, which was also in Madison. You get the idea. |
My thoughts immediately go back to the first time I knew that I
wanted to surround myself with books in order to make a living. I was fortunate enough to work for two years
at Avol's Bookstore in Madison, Wisconsin.
It was the greatest educational experience of my life. I spent hours in aisles just like
the one pictured here, handling every single book. I would remove it from the shelf, look at the
bookstore’s coded marking on the inside, last page. I would decide if it had been in rotation too
long, or perhaps if it should be shelved somewhere else so that more people
would find it while browsing. I put
books in order, made signs, directed people to the one, obscure title they’d
been looking for over weeks and months, maybe years. I would clean the books with rubbing alcohol
and lighter fluid (to remove stickiness) and categorize them for shelving. I’d often avoid books that defied shelving,
like The Secret Lives of Monastic Botanists
in World War II Scandinavia (I ask you, where should that be
shelved?). I sniffed the books, both
secretly and not so secretly. I can
tell, based on the coloration of the pages and the material used to make the
binding, how a book might smell. I love
their smells, both old and new.
That job was physical as well as intellectual. Working with those books meant dust and glue
and torn pages, as much as it meant ideas and questions and puzzles presented
and solved. I loved it.
But I was young and antsy, and I moved to Chicago to work in
a much less labyrinthine, less satisfying used bookstore. And then I discovered teaching. It was an accident, in a way. That’s a longer story, filled with false
starts as a graduate student in English and a volunteer gig at a charter school
that went sour. It did, however, lead me
to try (and fail) to gain admission to the Teach for America program, after
which I was more determined than ever to become a high school English
teacher. My very own high school English
teacher had encouraged me to do so, and even though that suggestion I had set that idea aside when I discovered the wonders of my college course catalog, there was
a part of me that was unsurprised to find I had come back to such a
deeply-rooted desire (no doubt established in grade school when I had a “play
grade book” and actually took attendance for my imaginary classes).
What does this have to do with Lent?
I’m getting there.
One thing led to another.
Teach for America’s rejection led me to move to Los Angeles, where I
could teach and get my credential at the same time. Getting a job in a middle school in South LA
led to a dozen years of the most difficult and rewarding on-the-job training I
can imagine. Two relationships with
school librarians led to the discovery that teaching + used bookstore clerk =
School Librarian! Then more graduate
school, more training, more work in South LA, a brief period of embittered
battle with LAUSD, and then, at last, FSHA! (See, I’m getting to the Lent bit.)
Here’s what I mean by mind-body librarianship:
This job is physical and
intellectual. I am privileged to be
the keeper of the books, and I don’t always acknowledge to myself or to the
school that this is one of the best things about our library. It is filled with good-smelling, satisfyingly
bound books. It is a space in which we
coexist, physically, on a daily basis. I
think if I try, I can cultivate the mind-body connection that our Library can
(and should) provide to us all.
So, what am I giving up?
I’m giving up the foolish idea
that my job is only intellectual in nature.
I’m giving up the tendency to
spend more time in front of my laptop than in front of the books. I’m giving up the habit of thinking that this physical space means less to our school
community than I think it really does or could.
I will transform my practice into one of mind/body
Librarianship by...doing what? Well, maybe:
- Changing the use of space in the Library (moving furniture? something less simple?)
- Sniffing more books (join me! I’ll set aside the best ones)
- Taking damaged books to a bindery to learn the process by which they are transformed
- Introducing music to the Library during lunch or Enrichment (joining the physical experience of listening with the intellectual one of studying or reading)
And I don’t know what else.
I’m excited.
And a little nervous, but I think that’s the point.
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