So today I was accused of being a “copious NOT taker”.  Let’s see….. that means that I’ve done a lot of nothing.  

Yep, that’s about right. My friend, fellow library buff and tutor Elaine made this statement about me (no, despite what we all know is needed, she’s NOT tutoring me, copiously or otherwise).

Elaine, others and I have been participating in discussions about redesigning our local libraries. There are public meetings where our local architects Steve and Jim provide useful information as they are highly competent and qualified to do this work.  The same cannot be said about me, as Elaine has properly observed.

Here’s how it works:  Steve and Jim came with Power-points, each slide communicating valuable information to us who are NOT informed:  the history of the library, the usable space, the infrastructural needs, demographics, the proposed uses of the library in the future, the aesthetic designs planned, and so forth (yes, this is a partial list; they are very well prepared). In turn the “public” (i.e., people like me) attempt to ask or communicate our thoughts about the needs and desires as users of the library as if we have some sort of deep understanding of how libraries are built or function.

For example, I asked if we could have a dinosaur. Really.

I’m always shocked that neither Steve or Jim have rolled their eyes at me like a teenager, as if questioning their very existence. Rather, they patiently explain that a dinosaur may NOT be a priority over, say, Wi-Fi.

In between these exchanges, I furiously take notes (Side note – why do we say furiously? I’m not angry, just writing fast – heck, maybe there’s a “Fast and Furious Not Taker” movie franchise waiting for me to star in. Vin Diesel, you’re on NOTice). In any case, I jot down phrases in my handwriting, which can only be described as a language so far beyond chicken scratch that not even chickens understand it (they are, after all, the smartest of flightless birds).  Millions of years from now archaeologists will find these notes, and in a vain attempt to translate them will believe that I was participating in a program to genetically modify dinosaurs. (I found the book in the Library – see Jurassic LarryLand).

So as it goes, I do try to translate these into copious emails. It seems worthwhile, but perhaps Elaine is correct. I may NOT understand my NOTs, meaning that others may NOT understand such copious amounts of NOTs.  Yep, that’s about as clear as I can make anything sound.

In the end, I’m glad Elaine and I are both here. The process of public opinion may not be so much in guiding the actual work as it is to emphasize the need and support the activity.

Rather, we need careful and competent folks like Steve and Jim to be able to communicate these needs to us in the community. We need people like Elaine (and the others in the Friends of the Children’s Library) who have contributed their time over so many years to the betterment of our children.

Like mine.  My now-journalist daughter was raised at the library. My wife made it a priority to go to storytime readings when she was tiny. She bonded with Miss Mary-Pat, and always walked out with a stack of books. She insisted on getting her first library card on her fifth birthday, with her picture in a little dress. She did her Girl Scout Silver Award project on creating a teen center with Miss Barbara, and Miss Mary-Pat was at the award ceremony. And for my 60^th birthday she gave me a copy of Stephen King’s On Writing, marked with her notes, in the vain hope that I’d actually learn how to write my nots more clearly (yeah, good luck with that).

A good book is a wonderful thing – no internet experience is as rewarding as a warm day under a tree with your head buried in someone’s story. I hope our city takes that into consideration, and that we get the libraries that we deserve.

Or at least a dinosaur. Please?