Artifacts of a Life - The New Testament

This New Testament belonged to my Dad. The pieces of paper are his notes from the class he took to become a Eucharistic Minister. I had seen both book and notes before, but I rediscovered them while cleaning out my parents’ house. I brought them home with me a few months ago and since then have been slowly reading the book; I constantly reread his notes.

I was brought up Catholic and remained very unquestioning so for years. In 7^th grade I seriously contemplated entering the convent, though that could be attributed to the totally cool Sister Roberta more than my own religious fervor. (Who wouldn’t want to be like Sister Roberta?) I made some serious mistakes when I was in high school and to try to get myself back on the right path, I taught CCD – the Catholic Sunday School (I know you’re asking what CCD stands for. I had to look it up: Confraternity of Christian Doctrine. Clears that right up, doesn’t it?)

In college, when I began to question everything, I began my drift from the church. By the time I married, I would not even consider a religious ceremony. I did not baptize my children.

Still, this book means a lot to me, not just because it belonged to my father, but because he belonged to it. I mean, he was so devoted to his faith that he took the time, after working all day (my Dad held at least two jobs until he retired, when he cut back to just one) he took the time to attend this class, to do some independent reading and reflection, and to serve his parish.

I have long wanted to read the bible through. I grew up hearing readings in church, we read some in the parochial school I attended for 1^st through 8^th grade, and I occasionally picked up the big family bible that sat on a shelf at the head of my parents’ bed (loved that one, in part, because of the intriguing illustrations and because of the entries in the family history in the back). I’ve tried before to start from Genesis and work my way through, but I never made it too far. I like the simple wording of this New Testament. It may not have the poetry of the King James, but it’s easy to read. And, yes, of course, I like to think of my father reading this very book. What did he think about that proclamation against divorce when his children announced their separations? Did he relate to Mary’s sorrow when he lost his own son? Did he find comfort here?

I’m reading this New Testament because I want to remember the good teaching of my family’s church, even though I don’t expect to ever count myself a member again. This book is more a part of my childhood, and of the adult I became, than any other (except for that big family Bible, which I spent more time with as a child).  The price printed on the cover amuses me. You can’t buy a book for $1.65 anymore. But you can’t put a price tag on this artifact of my life.

looking for a short book

The other day, I went into the fiction section of my local library with one goal: find a short book.

Like most teachers, I am overwhelmed this time of year and don’t leave myself enough time to read. And I have really missed having a story to follow. I’ve been reading student work every day, and I love it. I engage in student texts completely: pulling apart structure, analyzing word choice, parsing out trouble spots. I look forward to reading their work each day, seriously, I do.

And I’ve been reading a lot of articles and blogs about teaching and writing and teaching writing. I eat up those words about words. The Sunday Boston Globe has had some great articles lately; and engaged intellectuals has become a new favorite blog.

Still, despite all this wonderful reading, what I really want is fiction, really good storytelling. I took out a collections of Andre Dubus’ short stories a few weeks ago, and I did read a few, but the book was a week over due and I decided to give up on the great big tome. In fact, when I was driving my daughter over to the library so she could pick out a few things, I vowed not to check out anything. I had so much waiting for my attention already. But then, surrounded by all these wonderful books, I just couldn’t go home empty handed.

I walked into the fiction stacks and ran my eyes along the spines until a thin volume appeared. I pulled it out, read the dust jacket, returned it to the shelf and kept looking. I finally settled on The Devil’s Own Work by Alan Judd. I’ve never heard of the book, or the author, but the subject struck me (an author who may have sold his soul) and the length sold me (115 pages).

I’ve only managed a few pages so far; I’m reading midterm essays and trying to plan Writers’ Workshops that will address the struggles of each writer. But I’m so happy to have the book on my shelf. I think I can make some time this weekend to see how it ends.

Slice of Life - from school to library

Yesterday was the last day of school in our town so, of course, we went to the library.

My girls are great readers and when faced with a week of unscheduled freedom, they make sure to have some good books on hand. We are at the library at least once a week so you would think they would have a certain familiarity with what’s on the shelf that would equate to preplanning and quick decisions. But no, even if we had been there the day before, they still require browsing time.

That’s great for me. I either browse the fiction shelves, check the catalogue for matches from my “to read” list, or sit on the couch that has become our meeting place and read whatever is in my bag. We all love visiting the library and can’t imagine being there “too much.”

Yesterday, the librarians were all smiles. When we checked out, one practically sang, “Last day of school and you decided to come to the library?” “Where else would we go?” I called back. Her grin was priceless and I wished that my camera was handy. “Half the students in town are here today, getting started on the summer reading program or stocking up for a vacation week.” “Where else would THEY go?” I returned.

Our library is always busy, every time we go in, no matter the day.  But, until that quick exchange with the librarian yesterday, I didn’t really notice. It is a weekly destination for many families, and not just for the cool Zentangle workshops. They reserve rooms to work on school projects, get recommendations from the fabulous Young Adult librarians, flip through magazines and newspapers knowing there will be someone nearby with whom to discuss the news. The shelves behind the circulation desk are always crammed with titles patrons have requested that are sent over from other libraries. The public library is the place to be.

Is our community unique in its library patronage? I don’t think so. My unscientific observations on Facebook and the blogosphere confirm that people are reading . . . a LOT.

On the last day of school yesterday, my girls and I went to the library. After lunch, one brought her book out to the hammock and one stretched out on the porch with hers. It would make any librarian smile.