Aftershocks

I had been at my job as children's librarian when a patron announced that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. How tragic, I remember thinking. A random incident, an unfortunate pilot error. Minutes later, another plane hit the other tower. Not so random. The world suddenly shifted.

Americans could no longer be complacent. For the first time ever, many of us felt fear for our personal safety. We were no longer invincible. Terrorists had struck our Achilles' heel, momentarily crippling us.

Two weeks previously, we had taken my parents into New York City for their 50th wedding anniversary.  We'd taken a bus tour, which took us right under the walkway connecting the twin towers.  My mother took a picture of the towers from the Ellis Island ferry.  My California brother, who'd flown out to join us that day, called me on September 11 to make sure I was okay. We both were reeling from being so recently there, seeing those buildings so sturdy and unshakable, unable to imagine them reduced to dust and shrapnel.

At home, just a 50-minute drive away from New York City, it was difficult to believe such tragedy was happening on a day so serene in my neighborhood. Six local families had lost loved ones. Friends who commuted to the city for work regaled us with stories: The man who stayed home that morning because it was his anniversary. The man who worked in another part of the city who spent the rest of the day trying to get home, eventually walking because mass transit was stalled, until he found a motorist--a stranger--heading in his direction who gave him a lift home. The family who fled Battery Park to rent the house across the street from us.


The worst situations seem to bring out the best in us. 9/11 made heroes out of everyday people. There were plenty of heartwarming and heartbreaking stories.

So what has happened to us in the last ten years? We're at once comforted and annoyed by the imposition of security measures in public places. We do a double-take at swarthy, Middle-Eastern looking men. We wonder if some other covert plan is in the works to take us out. Who is friend? Who is foe?

I think it was good to revisit that day, to remember how our country bonded in those days and weeks afterward. Because time and distance has caused us to forget, a little bit, who we are, how we should be. Even those of us who weren't there that day were changed, and it's good to see how it strengthened us and unified us.

We have moved on. But no, we should never forget.

The Tipping Point

All this excess water in the northeast portion of our country has hit home.  Literally.

I have been seeing tons of photos and videos of my hometown and the area surrounding it, along the Susquehanna River, in the aftermath of tropical storm Lee. That, and my husband tuning in to an ABC special on TV about 9/11, are sucking me into a profound sadness this fine evening of soft temperatures, nearly full moon, and serenading crickets.

So much destruction, so much heartache.  So much hard work ahead of so many people.  I can’t even imagine.  My daughter-in-law-to-be’s childhood home up to its windows in water.  My family amusement park totally washed out.

I feel so helpless.  I feel so heartsick.  I feel so guilty.  Here I am, dry, safe, enjoying electricity and food and my comfy furniture.  Taking my blessings completely for granted.

I know in the coming weeks I will feel compelled to help somehow.  I will roll up my sleeves, lace up my work boots, slide my hands into my work gloves, and do something, somewhere, for someone.  How can I sit by as time slips past and forget?

Game Over!

Yesterday I dismantled my giant gameboard.

In case you didn’t know, I work in the children’s department of the local public library.  And I built a giant gameboard for our summer reading program.

Blame it on the Smithsonian.

I had been tooling around the internet and noticed an article about a giant chess board at the Smithsonian.  While discussing summer programming with the children’s staff, I said, “Hey, the Smithsonian has a giant gameboard.” And my boss said, “Make it so.” Or something like that.  (Probably more like, “Ooh! Wouldn’t that be cool!”)

So I did.  I made a giant gameboard.

How did I start?  I googled “giant game board”, saw tons of chess and checker boards.  But I wanted a different kind of game, one that could be adapted to our summer theme, “One world, many stories”.  A homeschooling mother had devised a game using cardboard squares spread all over the floor, making a giant die out of a box.  The kids had to answer study questions correctly to move ahead.  A teacher had devised a game using questions from the class study of space.  I needed to use the resources at hand.  I had 60 carpet sample squares, and a theme.  How could I tie “One world, many stories” and the library together?  Books, world, books, world… Each book is a world unto itself, right?  My questions could pertain to the various worlds in various books. 

Next I worked out the mechanics of the game.  I chose travel to be my vehicle—a journey around the board to a destination.  A departure square and an arrival square.  Three squares that sent the player ahead one or two spaces.  Three squares that sent the player back two or three spaces.  Two detour squares—one that sent the player significantly ahead, the other sending the player back.  Six question squares (answer them correctly, move ahead extra spaces).

Eight weeks of summer reading, and I wanted to rotate the questions.  So I wracked my brain to come up with 48 questions, six per week, drawn from books our young patrons might have read.  Curious George—Africa.  Madeleine—France.  Babar—Celesteville.  You get the idea.

All the directions cards and questions were laminated for durability (they had to hold up for two months), and I duct-taped them fast to the carpet squares.  The question squares were a special challenge because I wanted to change them every week.  I put each question card inside a plastic sleeve and left the opening side open when duct-taping them to the carpet squares.  Then I trimmed the answer cards to fit under the plastic sleeve, just peeking out so that the kids could see the “Pull out for answer” I had typed at the top.

Now the fun.  Scrambling around on the floor, arranging the squares.  I made duct-tape arrows from one square to the next to indicate the direction of the game.  Then I walked through, stopping at each instruction to make sure I progressed satisfactorily.  At one point I discovered that one square sent you ahead two spaces, where you landed on a square that sent you back two spaces.  You could be stuck in the game forever!  Rearrange!

I found some square gift boxes, stuffed them with packing paper, covered them with colored paper, and stuck adhesive spots for the dice pips (using a “real” die to make sure the pip positions were in the correct places).  Then I covered them with clear Contac paper for durability.  (In hindsight, I should have covered them with colored duct tape and made the spots out of a contrasting color of duct tape.)

I posted a direction sign on an easel next to the game, and waited for the players.  Once the kids found out about it, it was a hit.  Brothers and sisters, grandmas and grandkids, teenagers, everyone wanted to try it out.  We tried to keep a tally (libraries love stats).  Our best week saw about 100 players.  Solitary players grabbed total strangers to play with them.  Kids tossed me the die when they were finished, saying, “That was a good game.”

It was awesome.

I changed the questions every week to keep the game fresh (after the first time through, the kids had memorized the answers).  While most of our patrons are generally not prolific or avid readers, I noticed occasionally a book which was mentioned in my game going off the shelf.

I’d made three dice.  The first two disintegrated after copious patching (with duct tape), the third badly dented by the end of the eight weeks.  (A few small patrons mistook them for soccer balls, apparently.  Or a good place to sit.)  The gameboard tape was curling at the edges, and the plastic sleeves on the question squares had to be replaced halfway through.  After two months, the duct tape arrows were skewed and twisted.

My game had lived a good life.

Now, for my next trick…

Could be a giant maze made out of duct tape.  Or a giant jigsaw puzzle (I have a giant cardboard box propped against my desk for that).  Or maybe an igloo made from milk jugs…

Stormy Weather

It’s a dreary, rainy evening and beef barley soup is bubbling on the stove, garlic bread toasting in the oven.  The forecast for the week is more of the same—storm clouds every day through Sunday.

A week ago we emerged into sunshine after bracing for Hurricane Irene’s wrath, which hit us not nearly as violently as we’d anticipated. Unfortunately, my New England friends were not so lucky. Some folks from my old neighborhood went powerless for almost a week.  School was delayed from opening for three days.  But it’s the Vermonters who bore the brunt of the storm in the least prepared way.  Sure, Jersey flooded, but Jersey always floods.  Nothing new there.

A VT stream during quieter times.

For over 15 years I’ve attended writers’ workshops in central Vermont.  The sudden view of the mountains as I cross the border into the state never fails to take my breath away.  It is at once green and rocky and rugged and tranquil.  Pennsylvania is a beautiful state, but there’s just something different about Vermont.  I spent the summers I didn’t make it up there yearning for it.

So now as I listen to the rain on my window, I think about those Vermonters who are still stranded in their mountain homes, or cleaning up their flood-ravaged properties.  The other day I found a website that showed where roads were closed and bridges washed out.  The road that runs through the picturesque little hamlet of Chester, the route from the Vermont Country Store to my workshop—closed.  The road leading to the Weston Priory—closed.  I can imagine the industrious monks on the mountain, like a busy hive of bees, repairing and restoring their compound.

The Katrina debris we cleared

I want so much to be there, to help somehow.  I itch to clear debris, tear out drywall, install insulation.  After Hurricane Katrina, I made four trips to the Gulf Coast for cleanup and recovery.  Surely there’s some relief organization somewhere that’s organizing work crews for Vermont.  From what I can ascertain by scouring the internet, the biggest problem are the roads—or in some cases, the sudden lack thereof.  I guess once outsiders can get in, maybe groups of recovery workers can help.  That may take months.  Even years.

I’ll be waiting.  In the meantime, if anyone knows what else I can do (besides pray), I’d be glad to hear it.

Am I Crazy??!

People have been suggesting I start a blog for a long time.  So, here it is.  Now, what exactly should I put here? I don't have a product to peddle, a service to broadcast, or a cause to garner support for. But I do have a lot of interest in a lot of different things, a lot of curiosity, a lot of questions, and a lot of opinions. I'm still the new kid on the block in my neighborhood (we've been here for 15 months) so I don't have a lot of social outlets. I spend entirely too much time lurking around on Facebook, vicariously keeping up with my old friends in New England, wishing for more new friends, both online and in-the-flesh. Is it too creepy to seek out strangers to become my virtual friends?

This is the gal whose maid of honor was her pen-pal--back in the pre-PC snail mail days.  (Let it be noted that I did meet her in person several times before I asked her.)  This is either an indication of my level of sanity (or lack thereof), my real-life social ineptitude, or my keen ability to attract kindred spirits through my engaging written word.  Stay tuned and you can figure that one out for yourself.

I find it at once intriguing and a bit scary to think of people I don't know reading something I've written and approving of it, and even agreeing with it.  I don't regularly follow other people's blogs (except my son's--exfandingyourhorizons.com, in case you're interested) but on the occasion when I stumble on one when I'm searching for an obscure recipe or trying to identify a mystery plant in my yard, I am fascinated by their creators.  They don't even know I'm there, eavesdropping on their lives.  Obviously they don't mind, because they've put their stuff out there for me to find.  Just think--I found someone else who planted Fairy Tale eggplant!  Someone else who tweaked a recipe for pickled green beans!  Someone else who wanted to create a giant gameboard!  It's reassuring to know that there is someone else in the universe who shared an experience with you, even if you've never seen her face, heard her voice, or know her address.

Fairy Tale Eggplant

So, I guess that's why I'm here, writing this right now.  Maybe to feel a little more normal, a little less eccentric.  A little less lonely.  I've always felt more comfortable behind a keyboard than with a phone pressed against my ear.  It's easier for me to break the ice with text than with small talk.

You, reading this right now:  Why are you reading this?  Who are you?  I'm curious to find out.