A Week In Review Revue

In This Edition...We Skipped Fall, Convalescing Kat, and Librarian Conference Insights

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This morning as I shuffled out of the door to drive my two competent children to the bus stop, a couple of things occurred to me. 1. Christmas Grinch fleece pants, purple cable knit sweaters, and a softball t-shirt from 1992 that used to belong to your grandpa, while perfectly fashionable, was probably not the best outfit to wear on the daily trip to the stop, because it was 18 freaking degrees out! And 2. It was 18 FREAKING degrees out!

Mind you, I am not complaining about the temperature plummet. Nay, I am well aware of and appreciate the fact that winter descends once a year. Let's just say that I appreciate a little meander through Autumn along the way. You see, on a farm there are tons and tons of chores that need chorin' before one's homestead is blanketed in the white floof of hibernatin doom. I still have hoses to roll up and put away, pens that need scraped out, a couple of pens that need constructed, lavender that needs to be cut back, hay that needs to be moved and brought in, and a bunch of other before winter minutia that needs a doing. I enjoy doing said labor in the FALL, like when it's fifty degrees out. You know, fall temperatures.

So, no, I am not complaining. I am instead, good old fashioned belly achin. In fact, I am emitting sighs of the Grandpa of legend variety. I am pretty sure they can hear the exasperated air leaving my diaphragm all the way in Spokane. Sigh.

Part of the reason my mood is about as sour as half the candy section in the bulk bins at Winco is I am on my 9th day of being ill. Holy Kleenex, I am almost to double digits! Whatever this ailment is, I do wish it would take a hike. Part of the problem is my own dang fault as I never rested when it struck me. Picking up cattle and grocery shopping still have to be done whether you can breathe correctly or not. And all parents know that parenting doesn't just pause because your immune system is battling an unruly pathogen. Nope, nope, nope.

I think I am finally on the mend, but it is kind of hard to tell. This morning finds me again attending one of Professor Mucus' drawn out lectures. It's snottilating let me tell ya. Really congesting material. Blech.

Earlier this week I was conscripted to teach an after school craft class to the elementary age heathens at the library. Our most excellent (and much smarter than I) youth librarian, Miss M, went to the doctor because she was so sick, so I got voluntold to conduct her class. In full Rundown Ruth Mode, I acquiesed to the request, as I was told the class size had only averaged 6 to 8 kids each week. My substitute class had eighteen. Good times.

That night I stumbled home, thinking restful thoughts. The National Weather Service had forecasted a bit of snow, less than a half an inch accumulation. As I pulled on my peace sign fleece jammies that my Grammy had made me, I remember looking out the window and thinking, "Hmm, that looks like a lot more than a half an inch of accumulation worth of snow."

In the morning I woke up to several inches worth of snow covering my farm. The animals were elated. Rather, they were irate I think is the right word, so I hauled my still ill self out of bed, wrapped up in no small amount of clothing, and fed a serious amount of comestibles to the cold and annoyed critters.

I will admit that other than feeding the animals that day, I sprawled on the couch and watched a certain Canadian TV series for the entire day, for I had our annual All Staff librarian conference to attend the next day. I like to refer to our All Staff conferences as our annual "How To Get Yelled At" conference. Plus snacks. It really is amazing how many different trainings we've had on how to deal with difficult people of all ages, and yesterday was no exception.

I love to learn though, and it was with that sentiment in mind that I shuffled into the main branch of our library district, The Mothership as I lovingly refer to it. One can still learn even if they can't breathe correctly, I surmised as I took a seat at one of the craft paper covered, toy laden tables. Every table was a preschool bedecked wonderland. There were colored pencils in cups, color in book marks, toys of all kinds, and the paper table covering itself was just asking to be doodled on. I chose the table that had the shape blocks on it, for I knew that we had a quilter on our staff and because they were some of my favorite toys ever in first grade. Before long I had crafted a shape that my friend said looked like Optimus Prime. Despite my congested haze, I was smiling.

After eight hours of training, I have to admit that I was worn completely out. Not even crafting a doodle that looked like Zentangle Jar Jar Binks On Steroids was giving me enough levity to keep going. Part of the problem is the redundancy of some of our trainings. Libraries are changing, mental health issues are a challenge, and dealing with teens is a huge thing in our librarian realm. Each year our glorious admin team tries to deliver us some training that adds more tools to our dealing with people belts, and each year I see more and more attempts at trying to keep up with the broken wave that is human relations. Librarians are not mental health professionals or behavioral specialists, yet due to the current state of our society we are having to deal with all manner of brokeness as many other public agencies do. It's both sad and fascinating.

The words "self care" were thrown around a lot. Out of all the areas of life training, I will freely admit that I am the worst at "self care". After two decades as an adult, I am still learning about the care of one's self. Boundaries have been instituted, I have trained my brain to function in a way that doesn't drain me when I care for others, and sometimes I just stop and smell the cocoa butter (not a joke, I really do!), but there I was, listening to a lecture on how I couldn't care for others if I didn't care for myself while ailing. It appears I still have work to do.

But that's the thing isn't it. In college I once had this glorious British professor whose mantra was, "There's always more to learn." My entire existence is a living testament of those words. I never want to stop learning. I never want my brain to seize up like a 6.0 Liter Ford Diesel engine. Sure, there are a lot of things, big things, wrong with our world. Sure, I am just one person who tends to not take care of herself properly, makes mistakes, and is sometimes a complete cow, but at the end of the day I care and I am going to keep trying. After I spend a couple of days resting while clad in fleece, because, Self Care.

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And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's freshly disinfected and thoroughly Auto-Corrected, iPhone.

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