The Fire Still Burns. (just not the needles)

You may remember last September when I reluctantly packed up my lunch and my will to survive so I could head off for my first day at The Bad Job At The Middle School That No One Else Would Take. Due to a drop in student population and a disastrous situation in the 7th and 8th grade classroom, I was transferred into a new position. I wasn't particularly happy about it. In fact, I was rather miffed about the whole business. They took away my Cheerful Teaching Assistant, gave me two Less Than Cheerful Teaching Assistants and plonked me smack dab in the middle of a mess. They wished me well, promised all sorts of helpful support then went happily about whatever business it is that "they" do during the course of a day.

If ever there was a time to look at the bright side, that was it. I remembered how lucky I was to have a job given the state of the economy. I told myself that many others in my position were out of luck once they hit a certain step on the teacher pay scale. Most of the students were familiar to me, some I'd even had in my class since they were in Primary School. If things got really dicey, I'd repeat such trite mantras as, "At least you have your health..." and call it a day.

It was tricky. Fortunately, the room next door to mine happened to be one of the nicest places in any school: the library. I like the library. I like librarians. People tell me all the time what a wonderful human being I am for becoming a special education teacher. That's all well and good, but hear me now: The worst librarian in the whole wide world is still a better person than I am. That you can take to the bank.

The middle school librarian was not the worst one in the world. She was right up there with the best of 'em. She was the stereotypical version that we all tend to think of when the job title is mentioned. She was in her sixties, soft-spoken, cardigan-clad and wise in the ways of media, both print and digital. I loved her on sight. Stereotypes are bad except when they are comforting and then they are nice. This is even more true when you are transferred into The Bad Job At The Middle School.

We got to be good friends over the course of the year. I spent a great deal of time in the library and never once did she make me feel like I was wearing out my welcome. She helped me find new titles to try and always kept a TV/DVD player ready in case I needed it for particularly bad days. When the history of librarians is written, My Librarian will get a whole chapter if I have anything to say about it. She was a gem. Sadly, I only had her for a year.

When I say it that way, it sounds like she died, which was not the case. That would have made a good plot for one of the angst-ridden teen tomes shelved amongst the books she so carefully tended for almost thirty years. In real life, though, it was less dramatic. My Librarian looked around and noticed that kids had changed a great deal over the years. The job wasn't quite the same and the world had moved on in ways both good and bad. Time was marching forward and doing so more quickly than it had before.

It finally boiled down to two decisions:

1. The economic climate was really not conducive to retirement. Ideally, a couple more years would be needed to fatten up the portfolio comfortably.

2. #1 didn't really matter. The economy will always recover and lost monies can be found again with enough effort. Lost time is gone forever, though. You don't get that back.

She retired. I understood and supported her decision. I even encouraged it, although it broke my heart to do so. I would miss My Librarian but couldn't stand the thought of her not doing all those things she really wanted to be doing. I don't hug people often, but I hugged My Librarian on the last day of school.

One day in the spring as I was passing by the library, I happened to see My Librarian with the woman who would become her replacement. I took a deep breath and reminded myself of the bright side before I started having dark thoughts about this interloper. I knew I should give her a chance. I am, after all, an adult. I even went so far as to enter the library so I might introduce myself and give a somewhat sincere welcome. And that's when I saw...

My Other Librarian!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, it was true! My former school was no longer able to support her position and My Other Librarian was being transferred to the middle school. She was nervous and so happy to see "a familiar face" that it warmed my heart. Maybe I wouldn't have My Librarian anymore, but My Other Librarian is just as good, although she is not nearly as stereotypical. That's OK. I don't need the comfort quite so much now that I have a full school year under my belt. My Librarian was there when I needed her and now I can be there for My Other Librarian.

This, of course, is a rather lengthy way of saying that I didn't knit today. I should have knit. I have a workshop on Monday and the first half of it will be frightfully boring if I don't get that stupid sock past the heel stage so that there is a bit of mindless knitting for distraction. But I didn't even pick up the needles. Not once.

I was too busy reading The Fire Within and wondering how I might get the condo association to agree to my getting a dragon of my very own. This is what happens when you have your very own librarian. Knitting goes out the window and you start clearing off a shelf for your dragon.

If dragons need socks, then I am in trouble. I wonder if My Other Librarian can recommend a book on dragon care....

SA