Yesterday I went out in the cold, hard rain and drove to the Barnes and Noble down the road, where the perpetually bright-eyed Maureen had asked me to spend a few minutes speaking with local school librarians and teachers about young adult books. I had pictured the weather keeping most of these good people home (I'd have understood, honest), but when I got to the store I discovered not only my dear friend Joel (the elementary school librarian who had given my son such a wonderful start and has a starring role in my fourth book), but deeply-invested-in-young-people sorts from my own former middle and high school, my son's former high school, local Catholic schools, schools where I've conducted writing workshops, and elsewhere.
It was, in a word, heartening—spending this time in the company of those who care so much about the kids who wander into classrooms and libraries looking for light. Our few minutes stretched into nearly two hours. We spoke of boys and girls, and how their reading patterns differ. We talked about the role of research in personal work. We told stories about how blogs connect young readers with authors, and why that makes a difference. We considered the influential role of readergirlz. In Nothing but Ghosts, my third YA novel, I chose to celebrate, among other things, the power of librarians in the lives of the young and searching. Yesterday reminded me how precisely right that decision was.
I came home to two notes from my friend, Denise, who faces her second chemo treatment today. She'd read Brooklyn, and loved it, as I had hoped she would; she had the most interesting things to say. In addition, the pair of earrings that I'd bought for her had just arrived. Her email contained a photo of her wearing the promised colorful head scarf and the gold pyramidal flare. "Thanks to you," the note read, "I am officially a Way Cool Woman, and I have the photo to prove it."
Yesterday, on this blog, I was writing of beauty. Denise is shoulders back and spine tall and unimpeachable radiance. She has always been, and is even more so now, a most immaculate beauty.
I wonder if every reader has a librarian who nurtured their love? I know I do, and I think of her often :)
I'm so glad to hear there are still librarians like that out there.
And my prayers go out to your friend...may she continue to stand tall and stay strong.
Best thoughts to Denise.
I so enjoy talking to the librarians in our local branch. It is always a lovely part of our weekly library trip.
You touch a soft spot in my heart because my mother ran a very small library for many years, and I sometimes worked with her on Saturday and Sunday mornings.
As for your friend: all my good thoughts to that beautiful spirit.
Thanks for helping to fuel the connectors, Beth!
Sounds like a wonderful experience, with great, true connections!
I think you create these experiences by being so wonderful, Beth. Nice.
Beautiful post. I agree with Melissa.
Hearing about people like that just gives me so much hope for the future.
It's with deep trepidation that I write a comment on this blog, but I promised an extraordinary friend that, not being a fan of blogs, I would look at hers. The caution comes in part from my obvious clumsiness at the turning of a phrase. I have to admit that this blog seems to be a place to exchange ideas and inspire - a place that can enable the shrinking of distance. What it cannot provide is the joy of looking into a friend's eyes as we converse; the sparkle that appears as she talks about her son and husband, the luminescence at the recall of children, students and the genesis of ideas, the deep truth that your friend loves and embraces the things in life that truly matter. A heavy sense of melancholy enveloped me as I left the bookstore on Friday and while I tried to conceal it I imagine it was as obvious as the cold October rain. It was like the reaching of a point of denouement and knowing that the end would be realized all too quickly. Until next time I guess a blog will have to suffice, but I still have my doubts.
For Denise, I'd like to send a photo of a yellow flower that's looking up. (I don't think I can attach it here so I will have to find another way.) Gloria Pinkney once told me that yellow was the color of hope. I've been in your husband's shoes and know that he's wishing he could take those treatments in your place if it were possible. Please add my prayers to those of your loved ones and hang on to the knowing that even though the chemotherapy seems endless, it will come to an end. Know also with certainty that your indomitable spirit and deep inner beauty will prevail. Of that I have no doubt.
It's with deep trepidation that I write a comment on this blog, but I promised an extraordinary friend that, not being a fan of blogs, I would look at hers. The caution comes in part from my obvious clumsiness at the turning of a phrase. I have to admit that this blog seems to be a nice place to exchange ideas and inspire - a place that can enable the shrinking of distance. What it cannot provide is the joy of looking into a friend's eyes as we converse; the sparkle that appears as Beth talks about her son and husband, the luminescence at the recall of children, students and the genesis of ideas, the deep truth that your friend loves and embraces the things in life that truly matter. A heavy sense of melancholy enveloped me as I left the bookstore on Friday and while I tried to conceal it I imagine it was as obvious as the cold October rain. It was like the reaching of a point of denouement and knowing that the end would be realized all too quickly. Until next time I guess a blog will have to suffice, but I still have my doubts.
For Denise, I'd like to send a photo of a yellow flower that's looking up. (I don't think I can attach it here so I will have to find another way.) Gloria Pinkney once told me that yellow was the color of hope. Denise, I've been in your husband's shoes and I know that he's wishing he could take those treatments in your place if it were possible. Please add my prayers to those of your loved ones and hang on to the knowing that even though the chemotherapy seems endless, it will come to an end. Know also with certainty that your indomitable spirit and deep inner beauty will prevail. Of that I have no doubt.
Joel,
Such a beautiful thing, your words here. You more than turn a phrase.
Thank you for daring to visit this blog world.