Sasha's Life Story

We interrupt this primarily book-related blog so that I can pay tribute to the cat who has been with me throughout my adult life. Sasha was an important part of my life for a long time, and I ask you to indulge me while I immortalize her here. If you're a book person who's not a cat person (for some reason that is beyond my ability to fathom), skip to the next blog entry. I promise to have new articles soon.

Sasha was born on a farm in Pescadero, California, just south of Half-Moon Bay, on August 10, 1993. This little bit of Heaven on Earth is home to my aunt and uncle, who were trying to place the kittens from a litter born to one of their farm cats. They'd heard that I, a newly-minted grad student in library science, wanted a kitten and wasn't having much luck at the local shelter in Lexington, Kentucky. I grew up with dogs, not cats, but perhaps as a result of wanting what I didn't have, I had been desperately waiting to get a cat of my own. So, my aunt and uncle agreed to send her to me, and at the young age of ten weeks, Sasha flew in the baggage hold of a passenger flight to me in Lexington from San Francisco, with a short connection in Dallas.

It was a cold night in October when I went to meet my kitten's flight (there's a sentence you don't utter every day). Her flight got in around midnight, and I anxiously paced the small baggage claim area while suitcases were put on the conveyor belt. Would they just put her on the belt next to everyone's bags? How would they know where to find me? When it seemed that no new bags were being added, and there was still no sign of anything resembling a cat carrier, I snagged one of the baggage handlers. It turns out she'd been sitting outside on the tarmac all that time, as the "live animal" label on the top of her carrier was contradicted by nobody seeing anything inside. I'd be hiding under the towels, too, if I was left outside in Kentucky at midnight in October. 

We drove home, and I tried out our new names. I had already determined that she would be "Sasha." My cousin had called her Jasmine, which I liked, but I thought a new name was required for starting her new life with me. Calling myself "Mom" was a little odd, but it doesn't take long to start thinking of yourself that way (I assume it's the same for humans). In my apartment, I got my first good look at her. Sasha was all black with a small white locket on her chest I didn't know it at the time, but she developed ears that seemed just a tiny bit large for her head. Her whiskers were black, like the rest of her, and her eyes were big and round. My aunt had sent her with a small white and red teddy bear in her carrier, and over the years, she pulled this old friend out periodically. And boy was she excited to be in her new home! She was very busy, crawling all over everything, and I don't think either of us got much sleep that night.

Sasha learned her manners quickly and was always extremely well-behaved. We spent that first year together setting up the routines that would continue for the next twenty-one years. She learned quickly that she would get put in a carrier, or at least locked out of the bedroom, if she yelled to try to get me up in the morning, so we soon came to an understanding. She didn't wake me up, but getting her breakfast must be my first priority upon rising. Fair enough. "People-food" was never allowed at our house, and all her life, I could put plates of food near her to have her do no more than smell it as something interesting. She was a perfect litter box user. We never had a problem with treating furniture or other household goods badly, so she was pretty much allowed to climb on anything she wanted to. She was never big into toys, but she did have a small cloth "Willy Worm" of whom she was quite fond.

I didn't have a lot of experience with cats, and so at the time, I was still interested in allowing her some outdoor access. But even then, it made me nervous, so I bought a leash for her (yes, they make leashes for cats, but I bought a cheap one, and  it didn't work well). One of the funniest things I've ever seen was taking Sasha out on the lawn in front of my apartment. At first, she just splayed her legs out, flat on her stomach, not understanding what to do on this strange surface. Then she started scooting around on her tummy. She couldn't figure out how to walk on the grass! An incident of her breaking out of the leash and managing to dash over to the apartment complex office was enough for me not to try that again.

When I got my first professional job in Gastonia, NC, she drove the seven hours with me to my new apartment and found that she liked it as much as I did. It's still one of my favorite apartments. By this time, she was something of a spoiled little girl and hadn't learned much about being a cat. My favorite memory from this period was the day that I came home at lunch and decided to lay out for a bit on the back patio to get some sun. Soaking up the warmth, I heard something that made me turn my head. Evidently, Sasha had also wanted to get some sun, so she'd managed to slide open the screen door and let herself out. As is often the case during North Carolina's late spring, everything was yellow in pollen, and by the time I opened my eyes, so was Sasha. She was rolling around on her back, scratching any itch she might have, and couldn't have been happier. 

After a few years, we moved to Durham, where it became clear that I babied Sasha beyond belief. I wanted to put her in the bathroom while we brought stuff in from the truck to my new apartment. "She might get scared or startled," I explained to my parents. My mom laughed and said she should be right in the middle of it getting comfortable with movement and noises (she didn't get a lot of that just living with me). We compromised, and she sat in her carrier on the dining room table while we unpacked.

It was in Durham that Sasha got sisters. At this point, it had been she and I against the world for five years, and she wasn't interested in changing that. She was pretty content with my company and not much interested in anyone else's, human or animal. But I had gotten into cat rescue work, and as happens to most people who get involved in rescue work, I soon landed foster cats at my house. Sasha expressed great displeasure at this turn of events. It's just for a little while, I assured her. But it was soon obvious that the additions to our household were way too comfortable to consider leaving. Sasha spent the next six months sitting on the toilet seat, facing the tank, with her back to the rest of us. It was one of the most pitiful things I've ever seen, and I spent a lot of time on the phone with my friend Vicki trying to figure out if this was really going to work. The day Sasha climbed down from the toilet seat (again, not a sentence you hear everyday) and started smacking the others around, I knew it would be okay. She needed them to understand that she was at the top of the totem pole (Mom, excluded, of course), and as long as they remembered that, they'd get along fine. 

Interestingly, Sasha never really became friends with any of my other cats, and it's understandable considering she had me all to herself for five years. They were clearly interlopers. But it was her sisters that taught her to be a cat. She'd never admit it, of course, but she totally copied them. One Christmas, I came back from having been out of town to arrive back at my apartment at about 1am. Wanting to keep the girls busy while I unpacked enough to go to bed, I found a pack of tiny toy mice I'd brought back for them and threw them around the living room. Sasha started rubbing on them, making sure they smelled like her. Very possessive, that one. But I noticed her watching Dalilah, who was batting them around, tossing them up in the air, sneaking up on them.  And before I knew it, Sasha was doing the same thing. Every once in a while, I caught her doing something she'd never done before in imitation of the other cats.
 
This arrangement continued when I bought my house and everyone had more room to spread out. The other cats pretty much kept out of Sasha's way, and I made every effort to give her extra attention. She was my favorite, always would be, and I didn't care if I showed favoritism. Cats pretty much set up their own social structure (which is subject to change at any time), and there's not a lot their humans can do about it, but I must say I encouraged her place at the top. I was working at home one day when I observed something that must have gone on quite a while, but which I'd never noticed. My back door had a long, luxurious stream of sunlight coming in that was perfect for cats sitting in a row to get their daily dose of sun. It fit about three cats, so they would start lining up closest to the door, first one cat, then the next, and somehow, Sasha often seemed to land at the end. But, that not being the prime spot, she would stare at the cat in front of her until that cat was finally intimidated enough to move and let her get closer to the door. Then she'd do it to the next cat until she got the best spot right in front of the door. No one argued with her. No one dared.

One weekend, when Sasha was 8 years old, I found that she'd isolated herself in my bedroom closet and clearly didn't feel good. I took her to the vet on Monday, where they took some blood and gave her some fluids. I loved the folks at the Carrboro Plaza Vet Clinic, and I knew they would figure out what was up. The next day was September 11, 2001, and I was returning to my office after trying to get some news about the Twin Towers when I got a voice mail from Dr. Sheri. Sasha's blood work had come back, and her kidney values indicated she was in renal failure. So I went home to get Sasha and bring her to the vet, listening to NPR all the way. Dr. Sheri warned me that they couldn't guarantee a good prognosis yet, this was quite serious, but they would keep her for the week and give her all kinds of supportive measures to try to bring her out of the crisis. Sasha being Sasha, she did recover, and the day I went to pick her up with a return to joy in her eyes was one of the best days ever. She looked so much better than the last time I'd seen her! I learned how to give her fluids on a regular basis, bought her special food, and immediately began reading all about CRF: Chronic Renal Failure. Most cats will go into renal failure eventually, if they live long enough, but this was a little young. They can live several more years in this state with good support. Sasha broke all the records by living another 13 years.

One by one, Sasha's sisters passed on, but Sasha continued to do well. She had other minor health issues, like a heart murmur. But mostly, she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I told people that she was first in, and by God, she was going to be the last out! I think she was just stubborn enough to be waiting to have me all to herself. And so she did. She LOVED being an only child again. Not only did she get all my attention, but she got all the attention of anyone who came over, including my boarders. She'd never much been interested in anyone but me, but as she got older, she found that she liked being the center of attention. And what princess wouldn't? When my mom came to visit, she sat with her on the couch. She made new friends in Miss Laura and Miss Flora, boarders who cared for her as much as I did. And she became loud. Boy, did she become loud! I never quite figured out what it was--Dr. Sheri said she might be starting to get a little senile--but she would pick the most inopportune times (like 4AM) to start yeowling. She didn't seem to really want anything, just for everyone to know she was there. For someone who'd never been particularly chatty, old age was turning her into quite a loudmouth.

One of the best things I ever did for Sasha was to get her a play pen so she could sit out on the back deck. I'm way too paranoid to let her out with some kind of protection. I didn't think she'd really go anywhere, but you never know what a cat will do when startled. At this point, she was too old to jump very high, so I ended up with an octagonal shaped, topless pen with a door that I could line up with my back door. She loved the ability to ask to go outside (at least, that's what I assume the whining next to the back door was). She'd stretch out and bask in the sun, warm those old bones, and yell when she was ready to come back in. She was only allowed out when I was nearby to keep an eye on her, but we both got a kick out of her expanded living area. She wasn't as interested in it as it got cooler, and it seemed the whole point was to get some sun. If there was not direct sun shining onto the deck, she'd walk out there, turn a circle, and walk right back inside.

At 19 years old, I informed Sasha that she was going to have to pull up stakes and move to Gainesville, Florida. Not only that, she was going to have to stay with her Auntie Vicki for a couple of weeks while I got the house ready to sell and packed up to leave. It seems that this bothered me more than it bothered her. Sasha got her own room at Auntie Vicki's, complete with her own furniture and lots of time with Vicki. Every time I went over to visit, she was so excited (not to mention full of herself) that she scooted back and forth between me and Vicki, not sure who she wanted to be with more. She couldn't stand that she had both of us in the same room. Eventually, it came time to pick her up and head out of town. I literally went to get her after having packed the car to the roof and was ready to drive way, and it was only then that I realized how many accoutrements she has. That girl owned more things than I think any girl should own. Beds and blankets and brushes, oh my. For a few minutes, I thought she'd have to drive, and I'd have to ride on the roof. With some creative packing, and some flexibility with my need to see out the back window, we all made it inside (with the one of us with a license at the wheel). We stopped for the night in Savannah, where Sasha got to stay in her first (and last) hotel room. She didn't think much of it. She was good in the car, and I was able to keep her carrier open so that she was safe, but I could give her periodic pets. 

We settled in to our third floor apartment, where I was happy to see that she enjoyed the porch I'd made sure was part of my new floor plan. A screened in porch, she was able to walk in and out at will (blissfully unconcerned about the electric bill). She adjusted pretty well, found her new favorite spots (the ones where she got lots of sun, naturally), and began developing an affinity for dry Fancy Feast. What was once a special treat soon became more and more a part of her regular diet. At this point in her life, her special diet wasn't going to do much for her, so I gave in (her increased yelling at the pantry door made that an easy choice). And she had her running water bowl with a little waterfall, which made her quite a happy (and sometimes wet) girl. She was pretty clingy, wanting to be with me wherever I was, and a laptop was not enough to stop her from crawling onto my lap. She insisted she could only sit on my lap facing one direction, so if she happened to crawl up facing the other way, we went through an elaborate process of circling on my legs a few times until she was facing the proper direction.

Sasha had a few crises in this last year, the scariest one of which started as I was leaving town for several days. She recovered, convincing me she wasn't quite ready to go anywhere yet. We found a new vet here in Gainesville, and the folks at the Jonesville Animal Hospital are as fantastic as those at my former vet's office. They started her on therapy, which despite being great fun to tell people, really just referred to a laser therapy developed to ease the pain in her spine and joints. It seemed to help, and along with some meds, she felt pretty good. She did get cold easily, and I often came home to find her way deep under my bed covers (although, in fairness, she had always loved to do this). One day, I went to go tell her I was home and pulled the covers back only to have her turn her head and put it back under the covers. Her age was starting to show, as evidenced in those black whiskers turning white, but she was still happy.

Last week, Sasha stopped eating and obviously wasn't feeling well. Not wanting to linger here, I'll just say that she quickly went downhill. It's terrifying to try to make decisions for someone else, even your cat. I've said for a long time that I would not extend a cat's life just for me, that they needed to be happy and comfortable and interested in living for me to continue medical intervention. It was time to put my money where my mouth was. Thursday night, I took her to the vet for the last time. With us was that red and white teddy bear with which we started life together.

Sasha was a constant throughout my adult life. I used to tell her she was a California Cat, then a Kentucky Kitty, then a Carolina Cat, and finally, a Florida Feline, but we were together the entire time. I was 22 when she came to me, and I'm amazed that she stayed with me as long as she did. She was the one who was with me in grad school when I knew no one (and all those other places I moved where I knew no one). She came through and accepted other cats in the house even though she wanted me all to herself. She was willing to split the bed fifty-fifty, conveniently forgetting that our size comparison was far from fifty-fifty. Even I didn't realize how very much a part of everything I do she is. I've noticed that I don't leave stuff on the couch (though I'll leave stuff on any other surface with space) because she might want to sit there. I keep the toilet seat closed in case she wants to crawl up there (even though she hadn't done that in years).  I periodically ask for plastic bags at the grocery store because I can use them for scooping. I don't leave the dryer door open because cats might crawl in. I look around to see what she's doing before I leave the house. I see a shadow and think she's approaching me. I hear a noise and think she's at her water bowl or litter box. She's not physically here anymore, but she'll be with me forever.

PS: In our last moments together, I told Sasha she was going to get to see her sisters. Then, imagining her response as most pet owners do, I could hear her saying, "And what makes you think I want to see them?"

RIP

                            Sasha Serena

                                       August 10, 1993-July 31, 2014

Save the Date

The title of this entry might lead you to believe I'm finally saving a date to write in my blog. So let me start with a slight aside and say that, it's true I've had a bit of a break, but I've got lots of stuff to write about, and a bunch of pictures to show you (some of which are slightly more embarrassing than others), and if you'll forgive it being a little out of order, I'm ready to try to catch you up. So what does Save the Date refer to? Fans of Mary Kay Andrews will immediately recognize this as the title of her most recent novel, released in June. Mary Kay came to my library a few weeks ago to speak and spend an afternoon talking about and with sassy, southern women. Wait? What? Some of you are thinking, you did this already, right? Didn't Mary Kay come to speak at your library about ten years ago? Are you sure you're not mixing the libraries up? Well, yes, yes she did. But one engagement with Mary Kay is not nearly enough, so I put in a proposal with the too-wonderful-to-be-true folks at the Macmillan Speakers Bureau to bring her to my current library, too. I may or may not have stalked her just a little bit until she said yes.Mary Kay Andrews is a pseudonym for Kathy Trocheck, who wrote ten critically acclaimed mysteries about a house cleaner named Callahan Garrity back in the 90’s. As Mary Kay Andrews, she’s turned to writing about sassy southern women who I’ve often wish could be my best friends (I would wish I could be those sassy women themselves, but they tend to get into a lot of trouble, and I think I’m safer on the sidelines). Ladies Night, which takes place in Bradenton, FL, starts out with a splash when Grace Stanton discovers her husband has been cheating on her, and in a perfectly understandable reaction, drives his convertible into the pool. Anyone who’s enjoyed a bottle of Cheerwine, made in the small town of Salisbury, NC, will love spending time in Mary Kay’s fictional town of Pascoe, NC, home of the Quixie Beverage Company, where, in Spring Fever, Annajane Hudgins thinks she’s over her ex-husband...until she attends his next wedding. And no one can call herself a Mary Kay Andrews fan until she’s tagged along with best friends Weezie and BeBe (whose mother, exhausted from having had eight previous children in ten years, had settled upon the name BeBe with the French pronunciation of Bay-Bay for her ninth child) in Savannah Blues, Savannah Breeze, Blue Christmas, and Christmas Bliss. Andrews’ newest book, Save the Date follows wedding florist Cara Kryzik as she tries to save her business and a budding new romance. These funny, sharp titles, along with Summer Rental, Hissy Fit, Little Bitty Lies, and Deep Dish, are great beach reads.
 
I first met Mary Kay (and I'm going to call her Mary Kay because, even though her real name is Kathy, I'm easily confused and need to pick one and stick with it) about ten years ago when I worked as an adult services librarian in Raleigh, NC. I knew I had to invite her to speak to our readers when I heard her on NPR answering a phone caller’s question of whether or not men can have hissy fits with the obvious answer: of course they can. They’re called conniptions. She gracious agreed to come to my library, and she was as delightful a speaker as she is a writer. I ran into her again a few months ago at a national library conference (where, incidentally, she ended up sitting at a dinner table with my boss and a bottle of wine while I was in the back of the room). When I finally fought my way up front, she said she would be thrilled to come to Gainesville, and by the way, would we have time to visit any antique stores? Mary Kay is a lifelong “junker” who claims to know the location of every thrift store, flea market, and junk pile in the southeastern United States, and a few parts of Ohio.

The process of bringing Mary Kay to Gainesville was fraught with paperwork but eventually came to be. The only part that made me nervous was the fact that I was picking her up at the airport at 10pm on a Saturday night, and anyone who knows me knows that this is dangerously close to bedtime for me. To make it a little easier, I stopped by the fabulous Sweetwater Inn Bed and Breakfast to check her in so that all she would have to do on arrival is go on up to her room. I briefly considered barricading myself in Julia's room (because gorgeous bed and breakfast suites must have a name) and refusing to come out, sending Mary Kay home to share a bed with Sasha, but I eventually persuaded myself to step away from the hardwood. With the slight exception of her plane having to be towed in the last few feet to the gate, Mary Kay's arrival was smooth and we chatted amiably as I took her to Sweetwater.

The next morning, I picked her up, ready for a short tour of Gainesville before plans for Sunday brunch with some book club members. We'd not gotten three blocks before Mary Kay called out "Stop! Yard sale! Stop!" After a couple of circles while we debated which way the arrows were pointing, we made a quick visit to a local yard sale that had pretty much already been picked over. But it is with great pleasure that I can say that I went to a yard sale with the best junker outside of HGTV.

We made it to brunch at Leonardo's 706, a fantastic local restaurant offering a choice of a buffet or brunch off the menu. They also have this great fresh orange juice with nutmeg and a ton of other fancy stuff, except that I also had to order a mimosa to get the other fancy stuff I wanted. I had invited members of my book club and my boss's book club to join us, so we spent an hour gabbing about favorite books and the merits of Amazon. The food is fabulous, and we spent a good bit of time comparing the buffet to the entrees off the menu. My five cheese omelet was going to need to be split in half and provide dinner as well. A great time had by all, we took some pics and headed for our Millhopper branch, where Mary Kay was scheduled to speak.

We were a little unsure of what to expect in terms of attendance. We had high hopes, of course, and were quite optimistic for a good turnout. We'd done a lot of publicity, including a local NPR radio show on Friday afternoon. The Millhopper branch meeting room holds about 100 people, and the goal was to fill it without "going over." Walking up the sidewalk to the entrance, I peeked under the blinds to see a flurry of feet walking around the meeting room. Woo hoo! Good numbers, judging by the shoes. We made our way in, and I stopped for a moment to give huge thanks to our Millhopper branch and Facilities department staffs, who had prepared the room, put out lemonade, and generally gotten set up so that Mary Kay and I could enter like the princesses we are. Looking around, I saw that most of the chairs were full, so I started to snag one for our guest of honor. "Would you like to have a seat before we get started?" I offered.

Mary Kay waved her hand. "Oh, no, honey, I want to talk around and talk to these lovely people!" And off she went, talking with patrons, even questioning one gentleman as to whether he'd gotten lost and found himself in a room full of women. We pulled in a few more chairs from the children's area (it's okay, they were more colorful than they were short) and watched as people filled the room. Many lined up to purchase Mary Kay's titles from a local BooksaMillion, so there were happy faces all around. 

When the time came to introduce Mary Kay, I explained that our patrons were in for a fun afternoon but they couldn't necessarily believe everything they heard. "You know, Mary Kay was on NPR on Friday and told the interviewer she was almost a Gator, coming here to UF [insert cheers here], but her dad said it was too wild, and he didn't want her to go to a party school, so she went to UGA instead." I paused. "When I picked her up at the airport last night, I told her that I went to the University of Georgia, too, and she didn't have me fooled for a minute." Mary Kay took the floor, describing the process she went to transition from a journalist who'd covered the trials serving as the basis of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil to a novelist. Her protagonists are strong southern women, and Mary Kay shared that she writes books in which they create homes. These women are decorators and chefs and vintage connoisseurs who make a place in which they belong. Mary Kay is a proud mom and grandma, and the worlds she writes are full of these kinds of women--mature, capable, and occasionally just a tiny bit dysfunctional.

Despite having been speaking and answering questions for more than an hour, Mary Kay moved to the sales table and signed books. A few book clubs attended and got their picture taken with Mary Kay. We counted and realized we'd had 109 people attend, a good number on any day. Our patrons genuinely had a good time, chatting with Mary Kay, each other, and in one instance, the shelver who came in to help restack the chairs. On the ride back to the airport, we chatted like old friends. Mary Kay had actually had a speaking engagement earlier in the day prior while her family held a yard sale, flew to Gainesville while they took the remainder to the thrift shop, and was coming back to continue the process of selling her house and moving into a house around the corner. I guess my expression asked "Around the corner?" because she quickly said it was a long story but would be a wonderful new house with a yard for the grandkids. I dropped her off at arrivals and watched Mary Kay Andrews (OMG, Mary Kay Andrews!) walk into Gainesville's three gate airport.

I truly cannot thank Mary Kay enough for coming to hang out with us on a Sunday afternoon. She's absolutely delightful, and it's a rare event to get to meet one of your favorite authors.

Joey

I titled this entry just "Joey" because the story I want to share is the story of a real little boy, one with a name, with friends, and with a chance, if someone will give it to him. This is not really my story to tell, so I'm just going to explain why I'm asking you to read the story directly from Joey's mom and hope you let her tell you the story.For a few months now, a friend has been introducing me to Joey through her boys' friendship with him--how complicated insurance is, how generous people have been with donating to Joey's medical expenses, how much Joey loved his birthday party (which I helped cut out Minecraft shapes for, just so you know) even though he was incredibly tired that day. In many ways, Joey is like most fourth grade boys, loving origami, Boy Scouts, and reading. But last year, Joey was diagnosed with cancer, and he needs access to a new line of drugs that are about the only thing left that might make a difference.

Below is an email from my friend with links to the blog his mom keeps and the petition requesting that one of the drug companies allow compassionate use of these drugs. I'd be so grateful if you'd take a moment to read his story and consider adding your name to those asking these companies to show that they can be human as well.

Today a friend started a petition on change.org to try to pressure the drug companies to allow Joey to at least try the new medication that shows so much promise.  Please sign the petition and forward it on to others. The more public support we get, the more pressure is put on the drug companies.  

More information about Joey and his journey is available at teamjoeyx.blogspot.com or https://www.facebook.com/teamjoeyxu

Here is the link to the petition: http://www.change.org/petitions/genentech-please-grant-10-year-old-juntao-joey-xu-compassionate-use-of-your-anti-pd-1-l1-immunotherapy-drug-he-has-exhausted-all-other-options-and-cannot-wait-for-pediatric-trials-to-begin?recruiter=89789658&utm_campaign=signature_receipt&utm_medium=email&utm_source=share_petition#supporters
 
And if you know someone who might be interested in Joey's story or want to add their name to the petition, please feel free to forward them the information!

Of Tracy and Tiaras

Last week was Royalty Week at the library. What does this mean? I have no idea, except that the children's staff was celebrating it, and those children's folks know how to have fun. 

"Royalty week?" I inquired, perking up from whatever work I was doing at the time. "I have a tiara! Can I wear my tiara? Would it help if I wore my tiara?" Seeing a few raised eyebrows, I backtracked a bit. "You know, to support the children's department?" 

Luckily, I had a cohort in my attempt to be treated as a princess. Or a queen. Whatever. My co-worker, Suzi, gasped in amazement. "I have a tiara, too!" she declared, adding "We absolutely have to wear our tiaras for the rest of the week." Or maybe I added that part.

Either way, the next morning, I grabbed my tiara. It really didn't matter whether or not it went with what I was wearing. Tiaras go with everything. I put it on and headed out the door. Only when I knocked it off ducking into the car did it occur to me that it might look odd for someone to be driving down the road with a tiara on, and perhaps I should wait until I was actually in the library to begin my reign. Not that it bothered me, but I didn't want to cause some unsuspecting driver to have an accident.

I got lots of smiles as I moved through my day. What is it about a tiara that makes one feel pretty, special, well, royal? You stand a little straighter, speak with a little more self-assurance, hold your head a little higher. Surely you must be beautiful if you're wearing a tiara, so we behave with a renewed sense of self-respect. And aren't these things we should all do, every day, with or without a tiara? 

Funny thing about wearing tiaras, and that's how quickly you forget that you are wearing one. Which explains why I walked into a a meeting of the library's governing board with the tiara still on my head. Maybe it was the tiara that got me noticed by the board chair, starting his meeting by saying to the group "I see we're in the presence of royalty today" and grinning at me. Or maybe it was the fact that I was standing taller, smiling wider, and walking with poise.

And maybe, we don't even need tiaras to see ourselves as beautiful, confident, worthwhile, unique people. But they never hurt.

The First Time in Twelve Years: Staff Development Day part 2

A staff development or training day is fairly common in public libraries. It's often something like an "all staff" meeting and usually includes some sort of professional development component with speakers and workshops and, in some unfortunate cases, flip chart paper with colored dots. It can be difficult to get everyone together when you're keeping multiple locations open to the public, so this a staff day is frequently the only opportunity available for getting to know co-workers from other branches or providing information to everyone at once. Last month, my library held it's first staff development day in about twelve years.

As seems to be the case with many things in my life, I hadn't intended to get quite so involved. I'm never sure exactly how it happens. I have every intention of just "consulting" or "helping out," but before I know it, I'm in over my head. Sadly, by the time I figure out how that happens, I probably will truly be in over my head. Literally. So, when my boss said she'd like me to sit in on the committee charged with putting this day together, I had visions of telling other people to do things and then sitting back and taking the credit. Everybody's got to have a hobby.

In case you haven't figured out where this is going, that's not how it worked out. I tend to be either all in or all out. I had ideas. I knew people who would be just right for a project. I'd been in a staff day before where we tried that. Quick as a lightning bug (if you don't know how quick that is, you don't live south of the Mason-Dixon), I found myself planning several programs and coaching several staff members who were planning their own. I loved it and had great fun, but I'm going to need a few lifetimes before I have the energy to do that again.

Not that it wasn't worth it. Over the course of only three months, we planned an amazing day. No one who reads here will be surprised to hear that my favorite program was the book buzz I planned. Or buzzes, as there turned out to be three of them. I was able to get representatives from three of the largest publishers in the country to come talk to staff about upcoming books and get them excited about reading in general. This was great fun for me, and I truly could have just listened to these folks talk all day. But in addition to that, I planned a program to promote our music and movie collections by having staff from a local theater and radio group to come in. I got in touch with one of our vendors and arranged for a well-know audio book narrator come speak to all staff for the closing session. AND I planned a program meant to revolve around science fiction and fantasy genres as seen by a local author. Oh, well, there's a story.

I was panicking a little. Staff day was only a few weeks away, and I still didn't know what this science fiction and fantasy program was going to look like. At this point, I was open to anything. I chose the topic because it's not something I read myself, anyone asking me for recommendations in this area strikes fear in my heart, so it seemed like a good subject to learn more about. But where in the world was I supposed to find someone? I started sending out a bunch of emails asking if there was interest out there, mostly to local authors who had done some self-publishing or reading in this area. My inbox remained empty (well, not really, but at least it wasn't full of responses to my call for help). Someone finally suggested I ask a co-worker known for reading in this area for help. It was like the clouds parted.

"I haven't even been able to reach this author," I explained, pointing to a name in my notebook. "He's self-published, but he seems to have made a good name for himself around here. His emails keep bouncing back to me with a bad address!" I slammed the notebook in exasperation.

My colleague waved her hand. "Oh, I'm Facebook friends with him," she dismissed me quickly. "I'll send him a message and ask if he'd come speak for us." 

Having recovered from my heart attack, I told her that the one person I hadn't tried to contact was a rather well-known author who happened to be local and who'd been venturing into fantasy. It would be quite a coup, and I hadn't thought I really had a shot. She encouraged me to go for it, and so I dashed off an email asking if he'd be willing to participate in some way. I described my thoughts of talking about the genres, making recommendations for reading, maybe talking about the publishing process in this genre. Imagine my surprise when I got almost an immediate reply asking for the date. Yes, I'd managed to email this practically-famous author and forget to include the date of the event. I sent it off to him, told him we'd love to work with him if possible, and asked my co-worker to take over the negotiations. It was a week before we got a confirmation that he could attend; meanwhile, the author my co-worker contacted via Facebook had also come through. How exciting--two very different people with different perspectives. Great! So we thought. Until about a week ahead of the event, when the major author's wife emailed to say that there must have been a "misunderstanding" and that the author couldn't possibly sit on a panel with a self-published author--she was sure we understood obligations to his publisher. It was incredibly disappointing, in great part because of the tone of this woman's email. It's almost certain that this author's publisher would not have had a problem with this. He didn't confirm acceptance right away, so yes, we agreed to another author and could only be excited at the thought of multiple points of view for our staff. We gave him some ideas of what we had in mind but let him know we were totally open to what kind of program this could be. Never did he get back to us and say anything like "here's what I'd like to do" or "here's what I'd need to be able to do this." While I sort of understand it, to actually pull out of an accepted invitation to speak to about 40 staff members at your LOCAL PUBLIC LIBRARY for about 45 minutes is just not very nice. He (or his wife) lost an opportunity to get staff to talk up his books to patrons.

I guess I'm still bitter.

But the day arrived, and the committee had put together a really fantastic program. Against all odds, we managed to get funding for a light breakfast, lunch, and snacks for the staff so they could take their break times to network with their co-workers instead of seeking sustenance. One staff member had put together an amazing slide show of pictures of staff and programs from all locations. It played all day, and it was a great gathering point for staff before the day started and between workshops. A few staff members read tarot cards during the morning "meet and greet" as a bit of a low-key ice breaker. We had a couple of very impressive speakers to discuss various aspects of customer service, and our opening session involved bananas, Fiji, and a speaker in Bermuda shorts. What else could you want?

Books, of course. Lots and lots of books. The publisher reps coming to buzz about upcoming titles had a ton of galleys to share, and they did a fantastic job of getting staff excited about the books they were reading. The comments we received in the evaluations staff completed the next day confirmed that staff love getting books and tote bags. 

Other workshop options were endless. There was training on the human resources used by supervisors and on tips and tricks for using the library's database and circulation software. There were hands on sessions for getting into "computer guts" and hand held reading devices. We had several sessions on the psychology behind providing excellent customer service, even to unusual patrons...even to unusual coworkers! One speaker spoke to interview skills. A couple of children's department staff members, recently back from a workshop on face painting and balloon animals, shared their new-found skills with programmers looking for new ideas, alongside a storytelling session led by some retired staff members and a representative of a local storytelling group. Our county provided a speaker from the folks running our retirement plans on financial planning and investing. Even the staff in facilities had some sessions aimed directly at them with training in basic Excel and energy management. We really could not have asked for a better selection of programs.

At the end of the day, we all came back together for what might have been most staff members' favorite speaker, the audio book narrator. He offered a great combination of information about the production and narrating of one of our most popular material formats and humor...they were rolling in the aisles. The great thing was that this was something that could appeal to almost everyone. The narrator works primarily with children's books, though he's done adult titles as well, so he'd had experiences that were familiar to all of us. We learned lots of insider info that we could share with our audio book listeners. And with the exception of one staff member who later said he didn't enjoy the narrator's sense of humor, all the feedback indicated they found him hysterically funny. It was a great way to end the day on a positive note.

The evaluations came in, and the response was great. For the most part, everyone enjoyed the day, felt they learned something, reconnected with staff they don't see often, and had a good time. Some of the evaluation comments were entertaining:

I think I can now work with my co-workers.
I didn't understand how lunch worked.
Free stuff!
He's so sexy!
I liked the lady who read the Hello, Kitty! book.
He's so fluffy I'm gonna die! (Okay, that's actually a quote from Despicable Me 2, but it makes me laugh every time I hear it)

Even the critiques were fair and helpful, and we've got some good ideas about where to improve next time. 

Wait, there's going to be a next time? 

The Publisher's Marketing Manager and the Diseased Brownies: Staff Development Day part 1

Someone was in my apartment this weekend. Happily, it was an invited someone and not a stranger. 

While working in Raleigh, I was lucky enough to get to know the library marketing manager for a major publisher who was telecommuting from Chapel Hill. Recently, she agreed to come down and be part of a book buzz at my current library's staff development day. Talia is a ball of energy and has a sense of humor that rivals my own, so I asked her stay with me while she was in town. Not only was it the least I could do, but she'd be great entertainment for the weekend.

I picked her up from the airport on a sunny Sunday morning. "Oh!" she commented. "Its so pretty here!" Talia is nothing if not very well-mannered.

"Don't judge Gainesville by this side of town," I warned her. Because despite her enthusiasm, we were driving through an industrial area on our way into downtown and the edge of campus. 

She was insistent. "But, it's Florida!" she exclaimed. Considering that she'd just left a snow-covered North Carolina, anyplace where she could see pavement was probably acceptable. 

"Well, now," I responded, raising my eyebrows, "you don't see any palm trees, do you?" I explained that, in many ways, Gainesville and northern Florida is not like the rest of Florida, with a different climate and topography. Talia dismissed this with a wave of her hand. She was happy just to be anywhere in Florida. I love people who are easy to please.

My mind never being very far from food, I asked Talia if she was hungry. She tilted her head like she was considering this when I added, "I made brunch reservations for ten minutes from now."

She beamed. "Oh, good, I'm starving." Once again, easy to please. 

Brunch was lovely, full of excellent food and talking over one another in between bites. We were especially amused by the man who was charged with keeping the buffet full and fresh and found it necessary to announce what he was delivering at every pass through the dining room. Afterwards, we made a requisite trip trip through Target, as I wanted to illustrate that the floorplan of the Gainesville Target is simply wrong. We love Target (and since Talia found two pairs of shoes in less than ten minutes, I'm including her in the Target heartfest), but this one really needs to be rearranged. I'm just saying.

Making it back to my apartment, Talia finally got to meet Sasha. I think it was pretty clear that Sasha would have been all over her immediately if it wasn't for her even more immediate need for Fancy Feast. A girl's gotta have priorities. We settled in, and it wasn't long before Sasha's affinity for my lap was quickly replaced.
 









At this point, I need to explain that I had prepared for Talia's visit and the upcoming Staff Development Day with boxes of brownies and lemon bars. I rarely cook or bake (if you can call mixing up something from a box baking), but I had someone here to encourage me and an event at which I could share, so what better time to pull out the mixing bowls? Also, I could blame someone else if they didn't come out right. I spent a good bit of time comparing mixes to make just the right choice for this rare baking event. Some of the rejected candidates include:

I can't eat multi-colored food, especially if one of the colors is blue.

Is there enough cookie in that brownie?

Maybe others don't like PB & Chocolate as much as I do

Way too reminiscent of something healthy

I try to buy American

I settled on a box of lemon bars and a different brand of chocolate chip cookie brownies. Talia, being of similar mind, agreed that there was really no need to venture back out of the apartment when we had perfectly good brownies for dinner, not to mention the entire first season of Breaking Bad to watch.

We started with the lemon bars, Talia quickly showing mad baking skills by preparing the mix. "I need a tablespoon of water," she read from the box. This being something I could manage, I grabbed a measuring spoon and prepared the water. While she continued with the mix, I greased the pan. "How smooth do you think this needs to be?" she asked me. Like I knew. Luckily, we were working on a bottle of wine, so after a while, the texture of the lemon bar mix just didn't seem all that important.

Talia having the lemon bars under control, I moved on to the cookie brownies. See Tracy bake. You might never see it again.

Talia helped me finish the cookie brownies by dropping teaspoons of chocolate chip cookie mix onto the brownie batter already in the pan. "This doesn't look right," she said, peering at the pan. 

"It's brownies and chocolate chip cookies. How's it supposed to look?" I responded, motioning her to keep going. Eventually, we popped the pans into the oven and turned back to the counters to clean up (and I say that like it wasn't Talia who ended up doing the dishes. Great manners, that one.). "Um, whats that?" I asked, pointing at the measuring spoon of water for the lemon bars, still on the counter. Talia looked stricken. She looked at the measuring spoon. She looked at the oven. She looked back at the measuring spoon. She looked at me. I shrugged.

"The lemon bars are going to be a bit dry," she announced.

We settled into the living room. Talia got me invested in Breaking Bad while we waited, so my perfect Sunday afternoon of food, wine, friends, and television was complete. 

At one point, she got up to check on the brownies. "I really don't think these look right," she called from the kitchen. "They're diseased! They look like they have small pox!"

"Well, they smell great," I replied. I was not to be deterred from chocolate and sugar that easily. A short time later, we went in to pull them out of the oven. She was right. The cookie brownies kind of looked diseased. Or like a Jersey Cow. One of those. Talia refused to bring them to Staff Development Day, saying she wanted nothing to do with diseased brownies. But because we'd pulled them out of the oven just a bit early, they were nice and gooey and tasted just fine. Even if they were diseased.

Coming soon: Staff Development Day part 2

Keeping Up with the Joneses

This morning (just to be clear, morning on a Sunday refers to noon to 2pm), I finally got to catch up on some book reviews I've been wanting to write. My need to do them justice means I've put it off longer than I should (kind of like my blog entries), which means I've probably forgotten the best thoughts I had while reading them, which means everyone else I know has already reviewed the same books, probably better, and tweeted them far and wide, which means...well, you get the picture.

My name is Tracy, and I'm a book addict. I love talking with other people about what we're reading, and I love sharing my thoughts about what I've read with other people. Is that the same thing? In any case, I'm extremely lucky to be have a number of outlets for my addiction. As a librarian, many of my co-workers share this fondness for books, if not always to the obsessive level at which I find myself. I've had opportunities for getting to know publisher representatives at conferences, and I try to repay their kindnesses by sending along my thoughts about the many advance copies of upcoming books they send me. I have an account at Edelweiss, which the uninitiated might think is a Sound of Music Fan Club, but no, is actually an online community of publishers, booksellers, and librarians offering purchasing opportunities for booksellers and digital advance copies for book pushers (I told you it was an addiction). Recent improvements have made it a fantastic spot for sharing reviews with colleagues and publishers, and most recently, for voting for favorite books among librarians nation-wide in, to be shared with patrons via the new LibraryReads program, who love to know what librarians are reading (as well they should). Similarly, while I continue to refuse to get back on Facebook, I haunt Goodreads, which allows me to see what the general public is reading and enjoying as well as friends and family. I finally gave in and got a Twitter account, which is quite busy considering I use it only for keeping up with book, author, publisher, and library-related news. I've said it once, and I'll say it again...authors are my rock stars. And I try to participate in GalleyChat, a monthly chat about the advances my fellow librarians are reading sponsored by the fabulous Earlyword. 

And, you know, it's starting to feel a little like I'm that kid in school who can't manage to keep up with the rest of the class. Or that person in the neighborhood who has the smallest house and not nearly as many bells and whistles as the people next door. Don't get me wrong. I adore being part of all of these stomping grounds. But I'm amazed at how far ahead everyone else seems to be! They're putting out multiple reviews a month and seem to have read everything out there before it's ever published. I do read a few advances a month, but there's plenty out there I haven't read even AFTER it's been published, so I'd like to pull one of those out once in a while as well. And while there's a time and place for every type of book, my taste generally seems to run to less literary books than some of the people on these sites, so even when I've read several advances in time for a GalleyChat or a LibraryReads voting deadline, they're not necessarily the books everyone's talking about. I don't know how these folks manage to read everything they do as far ahead as they do!

So, I keep working at it. I'm nothing if not stubborn. I threw myself into it this morning and wrote several reviews of books that I really feel strongly about and want to share, maybe convincing someone to try one who wouldn't have otherwise. This is why I wanted to be a librarian from the start. It takes time to then post your review to all these places and hit all the people who might be interested, but it can be worth it. Last week, a friend submitted a 4 of 5 rating for a book I'd suggested to her, but which I'm not sure would have come across her radar otherwise. After I posted my reviews to what felt like a million places this morning, the author of one of them squealed "thank you!" back at me. Last time I commented on GalleyChat, the publisher retweated it to its thousands of followers. And I persevere. I may eventually be persevering via fewer venues, but I persist nonetheless.

But at the same time, I'm not going to lose the love I have for books by trying to keep up with all those people out there who seem to be ahead of me in their zeal for commenting on new books ahead of publication. Three of the four books I reviewed this morning have already published. One was published several months ago, but I decided to share my fondness for it anyway. I mostly only review books that I want to recommend, and I'm going to do so whether the book is new or not. If I can fit in some of those same advances everyone else is tweeting about, great. I have an unofficial 50 page rule, the general spirit being that life's too short and there are too many good books out there to keep reading something I'm not enjoying, advance publicity or not. I also really like listening to audio books, which generally don't come out in an advance form ahead of the print release, so if that means everyone's talking about it before I get there, well, then I'll have something to look forward to.

And now I must go get ready for my library's upcoming Book Buzz, at which we'll have not one, not two, but THREE major publisher representatives live and in person to tell us what's going to be hot this Spring and Summer. I'm a lucky girl.