Retro Library Badges

I want all of the stickers!

I’m so nerdy, subscribe to a sticker club. It’s like an ’80s sticker store, but in the mail. I purchased a year’s subscription for my mini-me two years ago as a birthday gift. I didn’t cancel the subscription, but decided to gift it to myself. Plus they offer a teacher discount, so how can I cancel? I’ve been hoarding stickers ever since. I don’t want to use them, but I totally need to use them. I have no business buying a sticker album either. Yes, they sell those too.

Deconstructing the mailing envelope.

Every month, I receive a shiny holographic envelope with another sparkly zippered pouch packed with stickers. Oh happy day, snail mail, my favorite! I’m sure I can repurpose the envelopes, so I hoard them along with my stickers.

Last week, I received a badge machine I ordered for our library’s maker space. Bingo! I packed up my sticker stash and envelopes. I’ve never used one, so it was time to play. I cut out circles from the envelopes and the front page of the ‘zine that comes with each pack. The covers have fun prints, so I read them, rip the cover, and save them along with everything else.

After several failed attempts at making a badge and before deciding to send it back, reading the directions might help. I left out the important metal base. Went back to try again and alas, awesome, shiny, 80s style buttons. I decided to make a few for students to see if they’d like them. I wasn’t sure if they’d go over well. My idea of cool stuff is not their idea of cool stuff. Once spotted though, our regulars all wanted one.

Taking it a step further, I decided to make some donning the covers of popular books. The backgrounds aren’t shiny because we print them out, but sure enough, students are looking for their favorite titles. My library assistant made a template so all we have to do is place the image of the book cover on the circle templates, print, and cut them out. We have books on the 2022 Texas Lone Star Reading List ready to print. One of our student aides has learned how to make them and the task is now hers to supervise others.

I’m hoping these will motivate students to read. Even if they don’t, it will bring them through our doors so we can have a little bonding time, chatting. About books. Or stickers. Or about what it was like growing up in the 80s. (Hello, primary source, here.) And they’ll leave with a mark of library coolness.

Thursday, March 3, 2022

Flashback to the ’80s

Tuesday, March 2, 2022

Two students came in this morning to print flyers they made for next week’s Spirit Week, kicking off spring break ’22 (is it really that time already?). One of them is a student library helper that has taken on the task of checking out books to students so we can work on more pressing issues. Like making sure no one tries to bite a Chromebook. True story, but not under my watch.

One of the scheduled spirit days is “Dress as Your Favorite Decade.” They asked if I’d be participating. “Heck yes! Totally the 80s for me.” Then I began reminiscing. They asked what it was like and how I dressed. My answer? Pretty much like I do now, except everything was neon. Big hoop earrings. Side pony tails. Leg warmers. Fingerless gloves. Rectangular sunglasses. Rubber bracelets stacked from wrist to elbow. Miami Vice jackets with huge shoulder pads.

Miami Vice…my celebrity crush was Don Johnson, among many others. “Ooh, Ms. Garza, was he cute?” They proceeded to Google him. “No! Not yet! You can’t Google the Don Johnson now. You have to search for the 80s Miami Vice Don Johnson, they won’t look the same. Don’t do it!”

Too late. They give each other an odd look. Sure enough, it’s not the Miami Vice Don Johnson. We dig a little deeper and find one of Crockett and Tubbs donning their signature pastel t-shirt and suit combos. Sigh… “I know, he was way too old for me.” My library assistant chimes in, “But if it’s a celebrity crush, it doesn’t matter.” I mull it over. “True, but look at him now, ewww! It’s just ewww! He’s old enough to be my dad! Gross!” They agreed without having to agree with me. “Okay Ms. Garza, we’re going to come check out your outfit.”

“The flyer says you’re giving out candy if people participate. I’m totally going to get some candy!”

I print their flyers. We chat a little more about how we plan to dress up and other 80s celebrity crushes. For about ten minutes I was 13 again, swooning over a Google search instead of a poster in Teen Beat magazine.

Sport & Shave Ken and Hot Dogs

Tuesday, December 21, 2021

Christmas morning dropped a fresh male onto the Barbie dating scene when one sister scored endless Barbie dates with Ken. And not any Ken. Sport and Shave Ken was handsome and he required grooming. He arrived from Santa, complete with a marker for a DIY beard, a razor, and a small container to hold water for the tiny razor. We scribbled a beard all over Ken’s face, even where real facial hair wouldn’t grow and hey, why not try his chest while we’re at it? Sis, the gift recipient of honor got first dibs on shaving him. Sure enough, the water was all that was needed to shave that facial and chest hair off his body. We slapped him with imaginary Aqua Velva and set him aside for a nap.

All of the Barbies we renamed Barbie Linda, Barbie Susan, and Barbie Cindy scrambled to get ready for their dates. Kissing Barbie Linda wore her best chiffon gown, complete with lip prints. Peaches and Cream Barbie Susan wore her flouncy pale peach colored gown, and Loving You Barbie Cindy chose a gown with red velvet hearts. Ken would arrive soon and choose his favorite. This was way before The Bachelor, but boy, were we onto something.

We fussed over getting the girls ready. Which would be the lucky one? The plan was for Ken to arrive to a non-existent Barbie house in a non-existent convertible to go to dinner at a non-existent fancy restaurant. We decided Kissing Barbie would be the selected One since she already owned a stampable lipstick made just for her, complete with a puckering kissing sound at the press of a handy-dandy button built into her back, right between her shoulder blades. Such a perfect power couple, shaveable Ken and Kissing Barbie Linda that already knows how to kiss. What could go wrong?

A little brother, that’s what.

While we chose outfits and planned conversations to go with a handsome date, somehow, Ken disappeared. So engrossed in the details of a glamorous evening, we didn’t think anything of Ken taking a nap that lasted a little…too…long.

Mom, doing Mom things, walked into the kitchen and started yelling. “What are you doing?” We weren’t doing anything other than getting the girls ready for a date, why all the commotion? Until we realized she wasn’t speaking to us. Cold winters meant the burners on the gas stove blared on high in the kitchen and the table was our favorite play space. This Christmas was a cold one, not surprisingly.

She ran to the stove, turned off the burner, grabbed something from my brother, the flames rising high, threw it in the sink, and turned the water on full blast. “Didn’t you smell that?”

Umm…”No.”

“What were you thinking?”

Umm…Ken and Kissing Barbie are going on a date. We stared, speechless. Was it really Ken or was it a hot dog?

“Why weren’t you watching him?”

Umm… “We were watching him. We shaved his face and chest. He took a nap to get ready for his date.”

Not THAT, HIM!” Mom pointed to where my brother was right before he ran away. “He could’ve set the house on fire!

What in the world did she speak of? We only planned to get the girls ready for a date with Ken. He was clean shaven and ready to go. Kissing Barbie Linda was the lucky one, why would the house catch on fire?

Sis looked around. We all looked around. Then we smelled it. Melted plastic. Ken, not a hot dog. In the sink. Doused with water. We retrieved him, his slacks dripping with water. His hair, singed and stuck to his scalp. A shiny blackened face tried to greet us as we attempted to wipe off sticky charred marks off his cheeks. Let’s try the razor. We can shave it off. Nope, didn’t work. We washed and scrubbed and rinsed poor Ken to no avail. Barbie Linda, Barbie Susan, and Barbie Cindy, were stood up through no fault of their own. Not because they weren’t pretty or dressed up or lacked confidence, but because poor Ken was burnt to a crisp.

Sigh. After some tears, the date continued with a non-existent Ken, driving up in a non-existent convertible, to a non-existent Barbie house, to have dinner at a non-existent restaurant. Except there was room for Barbie Linda, Barbie Susan, and Barbie Cindy. Plus plenty of air kisses sent to whomever would take them with multiple presses of Kissing Barbie Linda’s shoulder blades. Love hurts.

Summer Camp

Tuesday, June15, 2021

The closest thing to summer camp I ever experienced was in the backyard, curled up-fetal position-in an aluminum arm chair screaming my head off when those horrid June bugs whirred around me and crashed into my arm or leg or forehead. It’s always the forehead because everything in the universe has a special attraction to it. My uncle bought sparklers a week before 4th of July and he’d light them for us. I was afraid of those too. I’m no dummy, I didn’t want to catch myself on fire. Lights, bugs, and fire weren’t my favorite things.

I did want to go to summer camp, though. It looked fun from the comfort of our couch on a hot summer day, flickering on the other side of the TV screen. Pile up in a bus with friends, lug around a ton of luggage (don’t forget the swimsuit), and wave the parents goodbye for a week or two of bunkmates in a rustic cabin with plenty of outdoor activities. Of course, they never show the mosquitos, and you can’t smell the bug spray. It looked fun though.

My sister and I had healthy imaginations and a knack for re-creating and staging things we missed out on. Especially during summer breaks. Long summer days at Nana and Papa’s were the norm while my parents worked. Occasionally, my dad “watched” us while Mom worked twelve hour shifts sewing the pockets onto Levi’s jeans or inspecting the denim to make them. I don’t recall where Mom worked that summer, but we did experience our own little camp. Once. Under the bed.

I took my first-born role seriously and coordinated a real camp-out complete with a campfire. One of my cousins was with us that day, so the three of us grabbed a flashlight, matches, and my mom’s votive candles. Mom’s bed was high off the floor so we easily fit underneath. The bedspread hung down low enough to conceal us. We had the perfect tent. On our tummies, we prepared our camp to tell ghost stories.

I arranged the candles in the middle and lit them. We sang goofy songs and started telling ghost stories, made up on the fly. The candles flickered and went out. Strike, no light. Strike, no light. Strike, no light. We used all the matches to no avail. Without a campfire, we can’t tell good ghost stories. I remembered watching my mom when she cooked and a burner didn’t cooperate. She’d rip up a brown paper grocery bag, twist a strip, and light it with another burner. Then she’d turn the faulty burner back on, the gas flow would pick it up and voilĂ , it’s on.

Aha, I can do that! We wriggled out from underneath the bed and I retrieved a paper bag. Mimicking the procedure, I handed my sister hold the lit up “match stick” and bring it into the bedroom while I scrambled for a candle. The flame quickly made its way down and before we could light the candle, it found her finger instead. “Oww!” She didn’t quite know what to do as the flame grew and there was no time for the candle. I grabbed her arm and led her to the kitchen sink. “Throw it in!” I ran the cold water, doused the flame and put her finger under it. I went to the fridge and took out the tub of margarine and doctored the burn slathering some onto her finger, another kitchen observation.

I returned to the sink to make sure the flame was completely out. There wasn’t much left of the singed paper bag strip. I was relieved the flame didn’t get worse. It didn’t occur to me that we shouldn’t light candles under the bed either, but hey, we wanted to go camping. We crawled under the bed to try again, but it wasn’t the same. Camping mood extinguished, we didn’t continue with the ghost stories either. Putting the candles back, we left no evidence of our outdoor adventure. Dad didn’t suspect a thing.

Senior Skip Day

April 20, 2021

My sister’s impromptu and welcome visit this weekend prompted a backyard hangout around the fire pit. Defaulting to high school memories, we discussed skipping school. Rule follower here, mostly. Classic first-born people pleaser characteristics. I wore my responsibility with honor, like a Hogwarts prefect. Except that I grew up in a small town where everyone can easily find out your business.

The first time I ever skipped school was the spring semester of my senior year. I think it was the first time I was absent since my bout with chicken pox when I was in kindergarten. Starting with first grade, I was in the running for the Lifetime (Sort of) Achievement Award for perfect attendance, the most embarrassing award I received at the end of every year. After that first absence, I went to school sick. No one sent me home because I learned to deal with discomfort. Boxes of Luden’s cherry cough drops were staples in my backpack. Halls eventually took over and Chloraspetic throat spray tamed my raw sore throats during winter months.

When most cool kids planned to skip school, they took off out of town. There wasn’t anything to do, so unless there was a plan to hide out in someone’s home and run the risk of being seen driving around during the school day, most kids drove an hour to the nearest big “city.” We heard about mall adventures, proved with matching Guess t-shirts or sunglasses or earrings. First, it must have been nice to have a car to leave town. Followed by knowing how to get to the mall without an adult. And having money to shop for matching Guess shirts.

One day, when my mom asked if I wanted to go shopping, I wasn’t sure what she meant. We usually ran errands on weekends. It’s mid-week. She said we’d go shopping. I didn’t think much of it until she added the part about missing school. Being a responsible mini-adult, I asked about missing class, making up class work, and returning to school. She assured me she’d write a note to excuse the absence.

We took off on our excursion with Uncle Danny tagging along. Uncle Danny was the best shopping partner. He still is. I wasn’t with friends, but we wound up at the mall. We hit the mega-clearance aisles and I wound up with two prom dresses. A bit guilty about getting two, my mom mentioned the other one could be saved for my sister the following year. They were such a good deal, she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to save major cash on another prom dress.

We ate out at a real restaurant. Took our time. Ran a few errands and headed back home by late afternoon.

The following morning, Mom wrote a note. I opened it and re-read it several times before I made my way to the office. There it was, her note, explaining that I was absent from school because I had a cold. I was nervous turning it in because I clearly had no signs of a cold. I mean, when I did have a cold, I reeked of cherry cough drops. I gave it to the secretary. My stomach churned. They took my note and I lingered as if waiting to be reprimanded. Surely they could see my lie. Or rather, my mom’s little made up story of a cold-less cold.

“Okay, get to class.”

That was it? I went back to class. It was so, easy. And I only had a few months left to do it again. Only I didn’t do it again.

I don’t remember having my classwork pile up on me. I don’t remember anyone making a big deal out my absence. I picked up where I left off. I couldn’t even skip school, the right way, but I did it. And it was one of my favorite days. My induction into adulthood.