Sweltering, according to a dictionary, is “uncomfortably hot.” And that’s all the description we needed to describe days when all you had to do to work up a sweat was sit still.
In my experience, the worst days of summer arrive when the corn is high and the earth’s respiration goes straight from the fields to the clouds.
I’m grateful the month started out below average in my part of the Midwest. My sisters gathered for our “weekend” together, visiting each other and relatives from both our parents’ families.
Cool temperatures prevailed in the weeks that followed. I, for one, enjoyed the respite from typical summer temperatures.
My mind gets sluggish in heat. I’m much happier in winter when I can pile on blankets and sweaters and sip hot cocoa and lots of tea. In summer, I try to drink lots of cool water, but even in AC, ice melts pretty fast at my house.
My three sisters are much more outdoorsy than I am — to their credit and their health. They all kayak and hike and pickleball. They never lost the art of play. I guess I was always the serious kid. I liked some sports, including swimming, but one after another, they slipped from my routine after my jobs grew more distant and my commute locked me in my car from forty to one hundred twenty miles daily. The girl who loved to ride her bike to a park with a book, find a shady spot and read easily switched her loyalty to audio books.
Today, I just hope to keep my electrical use to a minimum until sunset. Then I may walk out to check the mail and run the washer. And I need to put “new clothesline” on my shopping list. No reason to run the dryer if I don’t have to.
I find the idea of understanding meterological terms and measures much more fascinating than living through them. I’m still grappling with dew points versus humidity as a way to measure relative air comfort, but I keep trying.
Sharon’s photo of an early 20th century postcard of her hometown library
The only thing that you absolutely have to know, is the location of the library.” –Albert Einstein, theoretical physicist
Decades ago — way last century — I took a walk to my local library with an older girl from around the corner. It was early in summer vacation after first grade. We came back to my house with an application for my library card and I begged my mom to let us walk back so I could get some books.
I came home with five of them and decided that day I wanted to be a writer.
So began my lifelong love affair with libraries.
When I got my library card, that was when my life began.” – Rita Mae Brown
My hometown library was one of many built through the largesse of Andrew Carnegie. As a child, I walked up the front steps, pulled open the heavy doors and glanced as the portrait of Mr. Carnegie before racing up or down the steps to the rooms that housed the books I wanted to read. Sadly, several years ago, someone broke into the building and stole the portrait. Hard to believe.
I spent so much time there growing up that the librarians knew me well enough to hire me as a page when I got old enough for a job. I worked there — very part time — for four years. And the library board was the first regular news assignment I had for my hometown paper.
I now live outside a tiny town in north central Illinois where the village board contributes the payroll for someone to sit in the school library on Saturday morning to check books out for anyone in the neighborhood. I believe the school district may be the boundaries for the village’s generosity.
Google can bring you back 100,000 answers. A librarian can bring you back the right one.” —Neil Gaiman, author
I also live about 45 minutes south of the wonderful libraries at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. Having been a student there, I became familiar with several of the campus libraries and take advantage of guest status from time to time.
And I have district resident access to the library at a community college about 30 miles from my house. I haven’t used it much since my kids stopped attending classes there.
But mostly I borrow books on line from the two libraries where I ante up cash for cards annually. The closest Illinois community with a library has a pretty small collection, but they’ll order almost anything on line for me. That’s been handy when I’ve been doing research for talks I’ve made to a few groups I belong to.
I ransack public libraries, and find them full of sunk treasure.” —Virginia Woolf, author
I also buy a card from Rockford, Illinois. That system just opened a new main branch building on the site of the former main branch along the Rock River. The spot, it turns out, was a hazardous waste site from previous use in manufacturing and power generation. The new building is gorgeous, and I’ll probably make a stop there one of these days.
But I am a huge fan of RPL’s online services. I borrow extensively from their digital audio collection, since my fiction consumption is almost exclusively audio these days. I never thought anything would surpass the experience of holding a book in my hands and curling up in a comfy chair with a seasonal beverage near me. But I started listening to audio books on my commute to work and have never gone back. Now I listen while I wash dishes or cook or other occasional house chores. And, of course, I still listen in the car.
Whatever the cost of our libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.” –Walter Cronkite, journalist
There is a persistent misunderstanding about libraries being free. They really aren’t, although they feel like it. Most are tax supported in one way or another, and when I pay for a card in districts I don’t live in, my few dollars are equivalent to what district residents pay in taxes. I think the cost is the best bargain on anyone’s tax bill. And for me, who reads 100 books a year, the cost is far less than if I bought all those books myself.
I do like to buy books from my friends, and have bought a few paperbacks and hardcovers when they don’t have audiobooks. (And apologize for not getting around to them in a timely manner.) I’ve been thinking about buying an old fashioned autograph book because I rarely have anything for them to sign when I see them in person.
The clash of ideas is the sound of freedom. –Claudia Alta “Lady Bird” Johnson, first lady of the USA
But all this is to say I love libraries and think everyone needs to support them. I hate the censorship some libraries are facing. Ideas should be widely circulated, whether you agree with them or not, so we can better understand each other’s experiences and points of view.
I say all this in July, because I happen to think libraries are a national treasure and one of the surest ways to make sure we all have the opportunity to learn our shared history and plan for a well-woven future. I admit, I’m an idealist. But without years of library time, I wouldn’t even know what ideals we might reach for.
But as it winds down, it the perfect time to offer kudos to my friends who are on the lists for short story awards this spring.
At Malice Domestic 36 — which begins with pre-conference activities April 25 and opens officially April 26 — there are five nominees in the Best Short Story category. There are links on the website’s Agatha Awards page if you want to read the short stories. There are also links at malicedomestic.net for general information (include late registration).
The Derringer Awards (could there be a better name for a mystery short story award?) came out on the last day of the month. Check them out on The Short Mystery Fiction Society Blog. The categories there are Flash, Short Story, Long Story and Novelette.
And in my own short news, I submitted a short story to an anthology. Fingers crossed, it gets picked. I’ll let you know.
Today marks the Lunar New Year — the first day of the Year of the Dragon — a year I find personally auspicious. It’s my year, after all.
I was born in the Year of the Dragon — I’m old enough not to go into details — and I always look forward to my own year in the Asian zodiac. You might say, I’m “fired up” about the New Year. (Don’t groan too loudly.)
This year, especially, since I effectively took January off for an extended visit with family and friends, I really feel like now is the right time to start a new year.
I’m ready to set some goals. Outline some projects. Block out time on my calendar. Start fresh.
Since Feb. 10 is also the feast day of Blessed Alojzije (Aloysius) Stepinac of Croatia (learn about him here), it seems fated that I should talk about some New Year’s traditions from my Croatian side.
Yes, the dragon represents the Asian year. But the pigs with their gold coins represent an old Croatian tradition.
First, though, you should know that in Croatia (a country known for its potent plum brandy), people believed that the way you behaved on New Year’s Day would set the tone for your entire year. Ideally, you should have a neat house and everyone in it should be quiet and well behaved all day. That may have been due to overindulgence in plum brandy the night before, but I can’t say for sure.
The main course, if possible, was pork on New Year’s Day.
They didn’t eat chicken, because chickens move their feet backward as they scratch the soil. Having chicken on your table could bury all the year’s good fortune.
They didn’t eat rabbit because the timid creatures run away, carrying good fortune with them.
They didn’t eat fish because they swim away from you, prosperity slipping away in their wake.
They did eat pork because pigs, when they root around for food, dig forward. As they uncover treasures to munch, they also uncover heaps of good fortune for the new year.
So put some pork on your table tonight and enjoy the fortune of fresh, new year!
Now that I’m moving into my third year of “mostly retirement,” I’ve finally realized I’ve been keeping myself nearly as busy as I was when I worked full time.
But I don’t have to.
Last January, I resolved to start a new timekeeping habit. I’m glad I did. I’ve already added a page to my spreadsheet for 2024.
My first year as a personal timekeeper wasn’t perfect. I missed whole weeks — many of them while traveling to and from a variety of writing conferences. I also didn’t keep great records when I tried to squeeze in a little writing time while on family trips. Then I lost a couple weeks toward the end of 2023 when I caught the worst cold I’ve had in years! I can’t remember the last one that sent me home to bed. (I tested; it wasn’t covid.)
But I learned a lot from the incomplete data that I managed to collect. (I do love data.)
First, I have to cut my conference attendance. They are tons of fun and I love seeing old friends, making new ones, and learning tricks of the writing trade. But I’ve decided I can only do one writing event in 2024. Going virtually cold turkey will be hard, but I have to do it.
I’ve also known for a while that I was over committed to volunteer projects. Especially ones that play to the strengths I developed over years of working. I’ve always been taught to give back, and once I stopped working full time it seemed like there was more time to give.
But a couple of volunteer roles that were simple when I took them on developed “project creep” when other board members dropped out. Things still had to get done.
And there was one role I stepped into a few years ago that didn’t give me a full “job description” when I said yes. I’ve since discovered that other board members took on some of the tasks no one mentioned to me. And I learned “on the job” about other expectations I wasn’t prepared for. That one group consumed more than half of my “volunteer giving” hours in 2023.
The other 11 groups I helped in 2023 took slightly less than half of all my volunteer hours last year. One “group” is my former full-time employer, which still asks me to fill in from time-to-time. I tote it up with the volunteer time because I could say no. (But they still pay me, so I say yes.)
While I willingly agreed to do more “for a while” when board compositions changed, “a while” is over.
I’ve already finished my commitments to two of the 11 groups. The terms I committed to range from a year, or two, or three, to indefinite. I’m giving some serious thought to resigning from a couple others. And you can bet I’m counting the months until I finish my term for the major time-sucking organization (TSO).
I did a quick calculation of how the percentages would have looked without that TSO in 2023. I’d have had 43% in volunteer time; 36% in learning and research; and 21% in writing and revising. That’s still not where I want my writing time to be, so I’ll have to trim more of the volunteer time.
My goal for 2024 is 50% of my time in writing and revising, 30% in learning and research, and 20% in volunteering. That’s one day a week in “work hours.” I think that’s still pretty generous. And I think I can do it.
Just remember, if you ask me to do anything in 2024, don’t be surprised if I just say NO! Don’t take it personally. I still love you and your organization. But I really want to finish some of the writing projects that I’ve dabbled with for decades.
And I won’t even mention all the stuff around the house that I haven’t done because of everything else. But that’s another story….
sharon p. lynn 