Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

If you need to be reminded why you became a Librarian, or why libraries are amazing places, and still so relevant in the 21st century, watch this and be inspired.  “If you are a dreamer come in If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer If youre a pretender com sit by my fire For we have some flax golden tales to spin Come in! Come in!” --Shel Silverstein

I really hate reading books that fall under the same theme each week when I do storytimes--I get it, themes help reinforce learning, blah blah blah--I fall into the school of thought that if you love what you're reading, you communicate something just as powerful to kids! Fortunately, when I do school visits the teachers give me free reign, just glad that I am there and giving them a half an hour break from being in charge. :) At a recent school visit I did a couple of stories I LOVE and also shared some Shel Silverstein poems to boot, the below storytime was with the first graders (the Kindergarteners have less time with me, so just some books geared toward to them).  The BEST 1st Grade storytime: One of my favorite pictures from Extra Yarn , Marc Barnett, illus. Jon Klassen Extra Yarn , Marc Barnett, illus. Jon Klassen  How can you not love a story about a girl who has magic yarn that never seems to run out--she makes "sweaters for things that don't even wear ...

In this economy it is amazing that I not only have a GREAT job working at the Farm, but I also have a part-time job in a library, so I get to have my cake and eat it too. But, after nearly a year in BiggerCity Library I am feeling disinterested and craving library work like I did back in Michigan: I wasn't just a librarian, I was a children's librarian;  I planned activities that both the kids and I enjoyed; the Reference work was even more enjoyable because we weren't constantly having to deal with rude patrons and drunk homeless persons (I am not being nostalgic here, I really didn't deal with anything worse than someone occasionally looking at porn at my old library--and that was GREAT!); the library was a little smaller and more like a family; the city had a good school system and that small town feel. Maybe I am just too tired for it today. I didn't get enough sleep last night and I have been working my normal hours at the Farm and a ton of hours here to hel...

A new book of Shel Silverstein's poems are being published posthumously . Here is one gem. I heart Shel Silverstein! Happy Monday.  "Nasty School" Oh have you heard of nasty school? They teach nasty things and they have nasty rules. They only take nasties and rowdies and fools, So come, let’s take a walk through nasty school. You get to nasty school through a secret gate. The first rule is you must be late. Your hands and face must be all caked with dirt. There must be lots of grease and gravy spots upon your shirt. In class, instead of listening, you just talk, And make those awful squeaks upon the blackboard with your chalk. You must make sure your shoes are wet and muddy, And as for homework, you must guarantee you haven’t studied. You must put gum on everybody’s seat, And when there is a test you have to promise that you’ll cheat. Instead of teachers teaching you to make things, The bad schoolteachers teach you how to break things: They teach you how ...

Sitting at Mummy Dearest's, listening as she read Shel Silverstein to Little Fish, I realized that Shel Silverstein poems may be even funnier when you're an adult. And more profound. Here are some gems: "Rock-a-bye" Rock-a-bye baby in the tree top, Don't you know a tree top, Is no safe place to rock? And who put you up there, And your cradle too? Baby I think someone down here's Got it in for you. "Listen to the mustn'ts" Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child, Listen to the DON'TS Listen to the SHOULDN'TS The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS Listen to the NEVER HAVES Then listen close to me-- Anything can happen, child, ANYTHING can be. "Put something in" Draw a crazy picture, Write a nutty poem, Sing a mumble-grumble song, Whistle through your comb. Do a loony-goony dance 'Cross the kitchen floor, Put something silly in the world That ain't been there before. "The Bridge" This bri...

Holy Jesus. I will NEVER again feel guilty when I bring my books back a couple of days late. Mt. Clemens, MI Library book 76 years late PA library book 65 years late "Overdues" What do I do? What do I do? This library book is 42 Years overdue. I admit that it's mine But I can't pay the fine-- Should I turn it in Or hide it again? What do I do? What do I do? ~ Shel Silverstein

I am working really hard on a journey of self discovery this year. And honestly, I can't remember how it happened. It wasn't an intentional thing. Somehow, one day, I think I just started *gasp* paying attention. Paying attention to the way that I feel; paying attention to how things make me feel, how I react in certain situations; paying attention to this strange internal change coming over me. At first I swore that I was losing my damn mind. And then I attributed this unwanted, unrequested mindfulness on turning 30 this year. And then it dawned on me that I was beginning to not mind it anymore, this transformation. It's not visible, it's probably not even apparent to the people who know me best, but I am changing. I think differently. I see differently. I am slowly becoming different. Earlier this afternoon I had a weird confrontationy moment with TSO and it didn't feel good to leave for work feeling like things were unresolved. I drove away feeling ...

Was thinking of poetry all week. Shel Silverstein poetry to be exact. So, thought I would share one of my favorites by him. I applied to a program before I wound up at the Farm--a radio program in Alaska--and part of the application process was doing a tape recorded reading of something so that the radio head had some sense of how your voice would sound on the air. I actually read this poem...a random pick at the time. For some reason my mind slips back to this poem quite often. Where the Sidewalk Ends There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk...

*based loosely on Shel Silverstein's " For sale ." One Monster for hire! One Monster for hire! One jobless and helpful young Monster for hire! I'm really not budging, so stop judging! Do I hear Monopoly money? Aztec Gold or a few grand? Oh, isn't there , isn't there any one boss who will hire this recently trained and certifiably Masters-gained sobbing and slobbing young Monster for hire? Ok, so maybe I am wallowing in self pity today...just a little. I sit on the threshold of the final two major projects, the worst and most dreaded of the semester turned in this very morning--to the professor who I have had ALL semester long, who looked at me as though he doesn't even know me, who I hope will also allow his alzheimer's to fog out the memory of my paper and give me an A. And yet, in this almost-merriment of being so close to being finished I feel a little nervous about work and that feeling is heavier than the happiness. My position at the school libra...

This bridge will only take you halfway there To those mysterious lands you long to see: Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fairs And moonlit woods where unicorns run free. So come and walk awhile with me and share The twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known. But this bridge will only take you halfway there- The last few steps you'll have to take alone. ~Shel Silverstein Stumbled across this Shel Silverstein poem this morning while avoiding writing the paper that is due tonight. I have to critique a children's book, and have chosen Stellaluna ; a tre sweet book which I love! I just can't get focused...Argh! Reading the poem made me want to crawl back into bed...and...um...read the Three Billy Goats Gruff .