I am still mildly squid-like, but this post is still not about that

This year I decided to do a Birthday Book Club (the process of getting it set-up and running and approved and re-approved sometimes made me squid-like with annoyance, but I'm over that squidiness). Basically, parents make a small donation to the library, I pick out a book for their child, put a special bookplate on the first page, and include a note in the catalog indicating that the book was donated in honor of whoever (that way the students can look him/herself up in the catalog, which is pretty cool). I write out a birthday card for the student and put it in their mailbox the day of their birthday, or sometimes hand-deliver it if I happen to run into the student.

In the card I give to students I let them know that they will have the first opportunity to check out a book, and I have the books in a special display at the circulation desk. The vast majority of students, however, have not even come in to see the book, let alone check it out. When I hand-deliver the cards students often act as if I have just handed them an envelope full of anthrax; they repeatedly demand to know what's in the envelope, and act skeptical of my assurances that once they open the card, they will know what it says. I think I need to come up with a better way to advertise what's going on to students--in part so kids will get excited about it, but also so they stop treating me like a terrorist.

There has one notable exception to the typical series of events, which gives me hope that things might turn around. I had put a birthday card in a girl's mailbox while she was home sick (this may be another part of the problem; a lot of kids have been home sick for their birthdays lately). Shortly after she returned to school she was in the library with her Geography class, and we were in the middle of discussing something else completely, when she said, "Hey, didn't my parents donate a book?" Which made her, officially, the first student to come seek out the book that had been donated in her name. So I got the book to show her and she was so excited. When she opened up the book and found the bookplate with her name she just lit up, and started showing it to her friends. When I told her she could check out the book and keep it over Thanksgiving break so she'd have time to read it. . . I don't think she actually, technically, squealed for joy, but it was close. It made my whole day, and most of the next day, too.

There have been other positive outcomes from this whole project. When I went to get the mail on Wednesday there was a check from a parent who had donated a book for the Birthday Book Club, and who I'd spoken to over Family Weekend. She said that she was going to make an additional donation in support of the library, but that was almost a month ago, so I assumed it was an idle offer (or, that if she did make a donation, it would be for $100 at most). But when I opened the mail on Wednesday I found a check from her for $1,000. Which I know, in the grand scheme of money, is not a lot. But it is the equivalent of 10% of my annual budget. And while the money is, obviously, a huge gift, the bigger message there--that this parent, and her daughter, believe in the library and support what I do--is what I am overwhelmingly grateful for.

These are the types of things I need to remind myself of when I get squid-like with frustration.

I am a giant squid of annoyance, but this post is not about that

Student: Do you have this movie? (waving book for English class)

Me: Yes, but only on VHS.

Student: Ooh! Is that DVD?

At least it's productive procrastination

I've put the e-text battle on the back burner for a while, and today decided to turn my attention to the myriad other things I need to be doing: all my shelving, designing the course I'm teaching next month, writing an article, developing a research manual. . . .

I got none of that done.

But I did re-arrange my office. And it felt good.

I love my office. It's huge. It gets great light. But there are no cabinets or cupboards and the only shelves I have are. . . oddly shaped for lack of a specific term. And there are lots of windows and multiple doors, which means little usable wall space. In addition to being my office it's also my workroom for processing books and other such things. So it's a hard space to arrange in any workable way. But the chaos in there had gotten kind of epic, and I decided I needed to tame it, thinking that it might make it easier for me to work in there.

Up until this afternoon my desk had been in the middle of the room, and office space and workroom space kind of blended together. Which was good in that I could wheel my chair from desk to worktable without standing up, but bad in pretty much every other way imaginable. I had no walls or shelves near my desk, and the chaos in each area easily infiltrated the other area. So I moved my desk into a corner and pulled some shelves around so now a) there is a distinct difference between office space and workroom space and b) I have shelves! Near my desk! Where I can put things!

Before moving furniture (and as I continue to put things in their new places) I've also been purging and sorting. I found a file I've been looking for since June, so that was nice. I also found a copy of the AACR2—and bunch of papers rubber banded together which appeared to be the revisions to the AACR2. Which just highlights how painfully out of date my professional reference collection is. I don't even want to think about what version of the DDC I'm using.

I also now have one giant "to be filed" pile, as opposed to five separate, smaller "to be filed" piles. When that filing will happen, I have no idea. I'm saving the cleaning and re-organization of my filing cabinet for the next time an office-related nesting instinct takes hold.

I'll Kurzweil your DAISY

Last night I wanted to see how easy it was to use Kurzweil to convert a DAISY book to mp3 but was stymied when I couldn't get version 4.0 of Kurzweil 3000 to properly open or convert the xml file of the DAISY book.

I have been trying to think of some way to say the above without it being so nerdtastic, but I am up to my proverbial elbows in e-text and have a hard time talking about it in any other terms. Besides the technical terms, the only other words I can think of when dealing with accessible e-text are, generally speaking, profanities.

People who are all excited about e-text being easy and accessible and act like anyone who still reads on paper is clearly a technophobe refusing to drag his knuckles into the 21st century (most of their gushing confuses me a bit, as they seem excited about getting rid of paper books because we now have e-books that. . . look like paper. I already have something that looks like paper. It's called paper. Google it) are rarely, if ever, talking about truly accessible e-text. They are talking about e-text that is available to non-LD readers who only want to read commercially popular text. Which is nice and all, but if you really want me to be excited about e-text in needs to be more than just a different format for the same people to read the same things. The (as yet unrealized) promise of e-text is that it can provide access to people who—due to physical or cognitive differences—have difficulty accessing traditional print. And that's a lot more complicated than making it possible for you to easily carry the collected works of James Patterson in your carry-on the next time you go on vacation.

I believe that access to e-text should be seamless for the students who need it. They shouldn't be the ones downloading extra software and conversion programs and text-to-speech programs and troubleshooting and solving issues (never mind having to scan the books themselves). Yes, these are great things for students to learn and know how to do in order to learn independence and self-sufficiency. But asking a student to do that in order to read a novel for English class is equivalent to asking a non-LD student to build a printing press before she can do her reading. It's a completely unreasonable barrier to access.

Which has me running between multiple computers on two different floors and keeping so many different tabs open in my browser that I swear I heard Firefox sigh with relief when I finally closed it. And the only thing I'm trying to figure out is how to easily make a novel accessible via a text-to-speech program with curricular reading supports. A simple novel—one that's already been scanned and converted to DAISY, even, which is the hard part (and a feat I'll be attempting soon). We're still many, many hurdles away from easily providing access to textbooks electronically (one of the biggest of those hurdles being textbook publishers).

It feels like this should be easier than it is. When I read about e-books (which I’ve been doing a lot) people mention again and again the potential e-text has for providing access to people with disabilities. But they’re rarely talking about cognitive disabilities, and they’re almost never talking about curricular access.

My boss keeps telling me that once we've really got this figured out we'll be able to publish and present at conferences. Conferences that are some place a lot more glamorous than Hartford. And if we do get this process anywhere near seamless, it would be very exciting and definitely put us at the forefront of this issue. But as I’m working on this it’s not so much “one step forward, one step back” as it is “one step forward, unscalable brick wall."

Now on to everything else. . .

I was going to post yesterday but the conference was a whirlwind (I barely had time to get into the vendor hall to stock up on free pens), and then I got back to school and was on duty till 10 (after being up since 4), at which point I hung out on the couch for a while in order to get the energy up to go to bed.

Anyway.

In case you can't tell by the fact that this post is not about me freaking out about my presentation, my conference was yesterday. After getting up at the aforementioned 4am I drove to Hartford--very little traffic that time of the morning, for those of you looking for an easier commute. Getting set up was a bit nerve wracking, as the projector was not exactly the most intuitive system I've ever encountered, and the microphone from the next room over was somehow feeding through the speakers in my room. But I figured it out (partially by begging for help from the guy in the next room).

By the time 7:30 came there were six people in the room waiting for me to present, which is two more people than I thought would be there, so that was cool. And then as I started another person came in. And another. And then more. Eventually there were about 20-25 people there, which is WAY more than I anticipated (and if any of those people are now reading this blog: Hi! Thanks for coming!). And it went really well. People were nodding along, and smiling, and they all clapped at the end!

The response, overall, was really amazing. I had several people tell me that it was helpful and informative and that there were things that they could bring back to their schools and put to use, which was really gratifying. I love going to conferences and workshops that are inspirational or aspirational in tone, but a) I don't think I'm really at that level quite yet and b) the best workshops I've ever been to give me something based on those aspirations I can put into practice. My greatest hope in doing this was that I would be able to give the participants something--an idea, a tool, a new understanding--that they could take with them. To be told that I've done that. . . wow.

Giving back professionally is far more energizing than I anticipated it would be. It's a total high, and I'm hooked. For the rest of the day yesterday I was thinking about what else I could do--whether it be more presenting, or writing, or even developing more of an online presence to share the work I'm doing.

The rest of the conference was great, too. I'd been so anxious about my session that I'd forgotten how much I love being able to spend a day with my peers getting that inspiration (I was able to spend two sessions with Jamie McKenzie, who is amazing and gave me a lot to think about--much of which I may write about later), as well as generating ideas that I can bring back and put into use. Given that I don't work with another librarian, it's nice to be able to spend time with other people who know what it's like to do what I do. Also, free pens!

We were supposed to give our name badges back at the end of the day, but I kept mine. If anyone from CASL/CECA is reading this, I'm sorry, but this is my first ever presenter badge and I couldn't help it. I promise I will give back all of my badges for any future conferences I present at. Unless they're really cool.

Heartbreaking

I know I work in a private school (which I often refer to as an independent school, as it feels less weird to say), but I believe passionately in the fundamental importance of public education. I went to public schools. My dad, the most amazing teacher I have ever known, teaches at a public school. I taught at a public school. Some of my best friends are public school teachers.

Also, I don’t think all charter schools are, by definition, bad, but I certainly don’t see them as a cure-all for our public school system—particularly when a charter school, by its very existence, undermines the education public school students are getting. It’s like blaming someone for having a broken leg when you’re the one who pushed him down the stairs.

Since I’m not a lawyer and am not intimately familiar with New York’s education laws, I won’t mention the fact that what they’ve done here is pretty much illegal.

And what of library services for the charter school students? This could have been an amazing opportunity to make that space the center for these schools that—due to poor planning—are sharing limited space. What a squandered opportunity.

I have an inkling as to how the library blogosphere will react to this—it just shows that we as school librarians need to be better at promoting what we do and how important it is and blah, blah, blah. But I don’t think for a second that that’s what’s going on here—look at how lovingly that library was renovated, with all sorts of support from people from within and outside the school; that is not a librarian with weak PR skills. This was a decision made by shortsighted idiots who aren’t going to be convinced by research, or arguments, or evidence, since they operate on the assumption that everything they do is Right.

The fact that this beautiful library is now being used, in part, as a Teacher’s Lounge has, I’m relatively certain, raised more hackles than if it were being used as a teaching space. And I get that. But I’ve worked in schools with and without a dedicated space for teachers, and the availability of a Teacher’s Lounge makes a difference in the attitude and energy of the faculty, and the overall climate of the school. I get that Teacher’s Lounges are important, and are far more than a place to drink a cup of coffee in quiet (not that that’s not important), but I can’t imagine being able to use that space as a lounge in good conscience.

More here: Stephen Krashen at Substance News and here:School Library Journal

Would my microwave make a good audience?

I just finished delivering my conference presentation to my kitchen table, and I can say, based on the reaction, that it's pretty awful. I clearly need to practice more—and fix some significant errors in slide arrangement that made me feel even more awkward than the average person talking to her kitchen table. And add some slides. And be more familiar with my notes. And have more and better examples. And maybe some jokes. And be less nervous. And, generally, suck less. That would help tremendously.

I wish I had a real live person to practice in front of, as I think I would feel less awkward talking to a person rather than my furniture. Or should I try talking to my couch rather than my table?

I am generally pretty confident when presenting to faculty at school--and rarely even practice beforehand. But in presenting to other school librarians I'm worried I'm going to get called out on not knowing or doing something that a "good" librarian would be doing; I'm worried I'm not going to make a good enough case for what I do and why I do it.