The Story Keeper: Part II

Wednesday, March 9, 2022

As I worked with a small group of students using the button maker, another student came in, hunting me down. What’s so urgent?

“Mrs. Garza! I have to show you this!”

She holds a folded red bandana. Usually students either show me their own copies of a book I recently added to our collection. A published piece of writing from language arts class. A LEGO mini-figure. A new mani. A second ear piercing.

Walking toward the desk, she slowly unwrapped the bandana. “Look what I have. I need to be careful or it’ll break. It’s over a hundred years old.” Leaving the bandana on the table, she cradled it. A book, but not one I recently added to the collection. It was old. Over a hundred years old. A yellow envelope peeked out from underneath the front cover. I almost didn’t want to touch it, but I couldn’t wait to hold it.

Leather. Old leather, with pieces so worn they had fallen off. I needed gloves to handle it and here she was, brining it to school wrapped in a bandana and plopped into a backpack. Our new library bound books can barely take the brunt of a middle schooler’s backpack. “Where…”

“I got it at a garage sale! The lady gave it to me. I didn’t even have to pay for it. She said it belonged to her grandfather.” Another story about an hour after the previous grandfather story. Must’ve been National Grandfathers Leave Something Special to a Loved One Day and I didn’t get the memo. “Look at the letter!” she exclaims excitedly. “It has actual writing from the 1800’s.” Definitely an artifact because it’s actual writing. Opening the cover, she explains how the page had fallen out, or rather, broken out. There it was, a note with actual writing on it.

I tried not to gasp. I’m not sure if the book is worth anything, but the page was glued onto a sheet of paper which was glued onto an envelope. Yikes! I’m not an archivist, but this one may or may not be worth taking to an archivist. Wanting to check the publication date, I tried to open the next page to find information. It was too brittle. Not wanting to damage it, I opened pages that wanted to be opened. The print is still in decent condition.

I imagine I would’ve fallen in love with this book had I been able to see it back in the 1800s. Sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. I saved the title for last. A book of poems by John Milton. I spoke a little of what I remember about John Milton, which isn’t much, and his famous Paradise Lost. I asked for permission to take pictures. I suggested she check into having an expert take a look at it. What thrilled her most was the note written inside and the fact she got it free. At a garage sale.

This was a second story to add to my collection in the same day. My campus was without a librarian last year and library activities halted. It’s taken me a while to get the flow of it, get to know the teachers, and get to know the students. They are coming in more frequently now, teachers and students. And they’re sharing their stories with me. Even if they were free from a garage sale. I call that a win.

The Story Keeper

Tuesday, March 8, 2022

“Everyone has a story to tell. All you have to do is write it. But it’s not that easy.”

Frank McCourt

We received two shipments of delayed book orders I placed last semester. Supply chain issues. I’m new at my campus after spending my first five years as a librarian at an elementary school. I went back to the middle. What people don’t know is there are more steps to getting books onto the shelves than what meets they eye. “They already come with the barcodes, why can’t you just scan the book and check it out to me?” Not that easy. Not that quick.

First, I have to make sure I received everything. Publishers make mistakes, so I have to check that all of the pages-of the correct book-are in order, match the cover, match the correct series, match the genre. I load the records. Not only that, I have to go through each record to check for errors. This is the ELA teacher equivalent of grading papers. It’s time consuming. Sometimes I edit records and change genres to match what we have at our library. Example: mystery books are labeled suspense books on my campus. When everything is ready, I send the records to our district systems librarian so they are added to our catalog.

I lay my hands on each book, label them with corresponding genre stickers, print new call numbers if needed, stamp the inside with the date received and label them with our school’s address. Then I pay for them. Well, the district does, but I have to enter financial information on a program that never has liked me. Each book is inventoried and the final touch is a bright yellow NEW sticker above the call number.

They’re enticing. So much so that I want to check all of them out and keep them to myself.

These aren’t the only stories I get.

Yesterday, I chatted with a student while she worked on a 1,000 piece Harry Potter puzzle I set up in our maker space. “I love puzzles. I have so many at my house. And I love books. My mom does too. That’s why I love coming here.”

“What do you do with your puzzles when you finish them? Do you pull them apart and swap them out or do you display them?”

“Modge Podge. I pour Mod Podge on them and attach them to canvas so I can hang them in my room.”

“Cool,” I say, pointing to my Wonder Woman puzzle displayed above the graphic novels. “I do the same, but I use foam core on the back. Heat the blade of a box cutter and it slices right through to trim it.”

We continued with the conversation of books. She described a tattoo her mom wants to get: a girl holding a stack of books ascending a staircase with one side of her parted hair turning into a bookcase. I oohed and ahhed, imagining something similar to what I’ve pinned to my Pinterest boards. “My mom also has tattoos her grandfather drew. He would be my great grandfather. He escaped Germany during World War II and he drew a lot during that time. He came to the United States. I’m half Jewish.”

“Your great grandfather fled Germany during World War II?” I had collaborated with this student’s teacher to prepare them for a unit on the Holocaust. “Does your teacher know this?”

“No.”

“Have you written this story? Have you told it?”

“No.”

“You have an important story to tell.”

“Yeah, my mom says her tattoos tell stories. One arm is for the tattoos her grandfather drew. Her left arm is for her vacations. She loves fish and the beach. She has a mahi-mahi, a catfish, and a turtle. One time, we went to visit my grandfather in Oregon. We went in a red van so she has a red van on her arm too. I’m not sure where we’re going this summer, but I think she’ll add another fish.”

She continued adding pieces to the puzzle.

“Thanks for sharing. I think you have a good story you need to write.”

I went back to the third cart of books awaiting processing. Of all the new stories that made their way into the library this past week, this has been my favorite.

Stories That Move Too Fast

Sunday, March 6, 2022

Stories have changed. I listened to stories my grandmother told me. Family stories, but stories nonetheless. Words crafted through inflection, intonation, pauses, unique voices, language-Spanish for us, and sometimes even songs. Words held in the air after they’ve been spoken as they traveled to listening ears. Some documented, but most absorbed into memory either to be retold or forgotten.

Stories have changed. I enjoy lingering over the words in a book, connecting with authors I’ll never meet and those who have long been gone. It’s an intimate space, those pages of a book, where writers pour out their creativity and share vulnerability through their characters and finely crafted thoughts through words. Perhaps some stories happened or they are inventions of things that wish to have happened, wandering all of the places in the world where readers will find them.

Stories have changed. We once waited a week between episodes of favorite TV shows, anticipating what’s to come, figuring out plot twists and who-done-its. Now we can gorge ourselves on Netflix series throughout a weekend, but is it any different than reading a book cover to cover in a day?

Stories have changed. What once was a well captioned Instagram photo or Facebook post is now “too long” for us to read. Use less words, but lots of hashtags. How does that even make sense? We have to post to stories that disappear in a day. What do we put there that makes us want it to disappear?

Stories are moving too fast-the ones that are run by algorithms at least. I need time to think about what I’m reading. I like time between TV shows. (Is it even called TV anymore?) I’ve always been a slow reader, so maybe it’s just me who has a problem having to press my finger on a digital story so I can take in the content. Lives are flashing too fast before my eyes and it feels as if, in the age of being connected, I’m losing connectivity. Is it because I’m older? Is it because I like to take my time and don’t feel like I can ever catch up? I can’t figure it out.

It’s exciting to see how things change, but stories, they still connect us. We still share them. And I think they’re too important to shorten for the sake of scrolling.

Severe Weather Drill

Tuesday, April 27, 2021

Fourth graders to start the day. The teacher reminds me we have a severe weather drill at 9:00, ten minutes before I’m scheduled to leave. I shoo the teacher out of the room so she can get her full planning meeting. I’ll review procedures, I reassure her.

“Do you want to hear a story?”

Of course they do. So I start…

“When I was a kid, we had tornado drills. I grew up in what’s called tornado alley. We also had these things called textbooks. Now, they’re mostly online.” I pick up a heft dictionary to demonstrate. “During tornado drills, we all grabbed the biggest textbook, the only time we used it–I don’t even know what subject was, but when we got into the hallway, we crouched down against the wall, single file with someone in front of us. We opened the book in half and put it over our heads and necks. Inevitably, J.C. was somewhere in that line. I prayed with my heart and soul that he wasn’t in front of me. This kid, no matter how far away you were, always sliced the air with a bodily stink bomb. If J.C. wound up right in front of you, forget it. You could smell it from the other end of the hall. Don’t be a J.C. during the drill.”

Priorities.