I really don’t like our ‘sorter’

We have a brand new book sorting machine in our library. Many years ago, someone up high in the library world insisted that our library be ‘state of the art’ whatever that means. I think it means they didn’t want people actually reading books, they thought people would come into the library and ‘process information’.  Or admire the architecture, I don’t know. Personally I don’t go to libraries to look at how the walls are decorated.  Anyway I might have mentioned how  we ended up with television sets and computers and way too many thing geared for our ‘entertainment’ as if we were some kind of video game arcade. Our library they insisted, would be everyone’s living room although I want to ask where are the coffee tables for our coffee table books. It’s funny even the cafe next door doesn’t have coffee tables. You can hardly fit a book on their piddly little cup holders.

Back to the sorter. This big behemoth of a machine, costing an amount that I’m sure would be too scandalous to publish on the internet, is installed in our already cramped workroom and supposedly checks in our books for us. We just have to put them on the trolleys. There are five bins, one for in-transit items, one for items for our branch, one for audiobooks, one for requests and one that is for everything else. The majority of the books that come through are sorted into the ‘everything else’ bin because half the libraries don’t have RFID yet. Unfortunately we still have to check in books that need book slips and the ‘eveything else’ bin, only one bin actually is ok to put the books back on the trolleys. And the problem is, these bins are not hip height, they are below waist height meaning we have to squat and continually lift books OUT of the bins and then take them again a fair distance to were we ordinarily check in the books.

All very tedious and backbreaking. It’s such a marvellous un-invention, a labour saving device that produces MORE labour, so that we need MORE people do do a job that usually only one person needed to do. And when the books get stuck on the little conveyer belt, we have to monitor that as well, not to mention the queues to the returns slot by borrowers wanting to return their books, which the machine requires one by one. It also has a funny voice that tells us when the bin is full, except it sounds like ‘bolufeul’ and every so often gives a temper tantrum.

I don’t think I’ve ever needed a receipt to say I’ve returned a book but apparently the machine wants the option to give me one, to add to the wads of silly eftpos receipts I carry in my wallet. If I buy lunch and already eaten it why do I need a receipt? I can’t return my lunch after having eaten it! I suppose its for those very few times that a book is returned to the library without being checked in properly but as many books coming from the legacy councils in Auckland don’t have RFID tags in them at the moment it’s not actually that useful. And I have no clue when that is going to happen.

Anyway as I said..I really don’t like it. I’m not against technology, just when it doesn’t work! I did ask if they actually bought the machine or we were just renting it, you know, to test it out. That way, if it didn’t work out, we could give it back. When you ask hard questions, you don’t get a straight answer. So, any fellow library management people with delusions of grandeur over their fully automated library – the moral of the story (yes, remember when stories had morals?) is if you are to spend loads of money on automation make sure you TEST it out before using it! Make sure it is user friendly and ergonomically sound. Don’t put money up front for a lemon, don’t believe the hype, and don’t buy  sorter that was probably designed for a biscuit factory. The scary thing is I was told that all our libraries will eventually have them.

For every tree is known by its own fruit. For from thorns men do not gather figs, nor of a bramble bush gather they grapes. Luke 6:44

Wellington, and memory

I went down to Wellington last week, and indulged in a little literary tour. I visited Katherine Mansfield’s birthplace, listened to some Christchurch writers talk about the earthquake, and, highlight of my trip, heard Lynley Dodd read Hairy Maclary.

I bought some bluestockings and a little beret from the ‘designer’ market on the wharf. I thought, well, when in Wellington I might as well dress as a Wellintonian. I met some ex-librarians well, okay library assistants, who had taken off for their studies, one lamented that she, while missing the library, did not miss the repetitive tasks, and the other was quite sad that Auckland didn’t subscribe to left-wing feminist magazines such as B*tch the way Wellington did. Hmm. But at least Auckland didn’t charge for requests. AND we kept our books up to date, whereas Wellington’s stock seemed to consist of lots of very old moldy copies making up the bulk of their collection.

I also tried to visit the National Library, only to find it had closed for refurbishment (or was it an extreme makeover?) and had moved along the road. It wasn’t called the National Library anymore apparently, it had changed it’s name to www.natlib.govt.nz.

The first time I’d been to Wellington was for my graduation, and I was pleased to go back there and see a bit more of the town I’d missed the first time around. The first day was wet and windy, but then the sun came out and it was gloriously fine.

I remembered reading Katherine Mansfield in my late teens, little Kezia lost in a rambling, bewildering middle class world in The Aloe and Prelude. To me Mansfield had described a perfectly incomprehensible world, that is, incomprehensible to a young girl of Kezia’s age at odds with her upbringing. Ironically, Mansfield only later in life could appreciate the idyll she once possessed, thrown away in her will to become a writer and stick it to the dull Wellington life she thought she had. Mansfield never wrote about her racy bohemian life except in diaries, she didn’t see fit to describe what was really just seediness, after all, who would want to read or try to understand that? Stories like that had bad endings, like tragic pop stars who inevitably ended up ruing the day they signed away their lives, no mystery there. What puzzled her was stability, how could people live in such confines and be really happy? Why all the fuss to have a garden party? What were they repressing? I love the irony of the rebellious teenager, later cherishing her memories of a priveliged childhood. Apparently she longed to return to New Zealand but by then it was too late, she died of TB in France at the aged 34.

Lynely Dodd’s stories celebrate life in New Zealand from the viewpoint of cherished pets.Hairy Maclary gets most of the glory, although coming close behind is Slinky Malinki. While she regaled us with amusing stories about animals I thought to myself, the majority of childrens picture books are about animals. Is it because they are easier to draw? What is it about animals?

While I liked to hear about Christchurch writers opine about the earthquake, I wondered if that meant writers had any obligation to record devastation and tragedy, if that indeed was a journalists job or a poets. To a writer, perhaps that meant a deux and machina plot device to squirrel away somewhere to be brought out as one of those collective moments everyone remembers, like Princess Diana’s car accident, once gotten over, it seemed like it was ordinary, in the course of world events, another tragic day like all the other days of tragedy. My Dad once worked for the Herald, and he used to bring home the newspapers written by night to greet us in the morning with yet another car crash on the front page. It was always the same story but with different people, and they had people at the scene to record all the gory details. Wilson and Horton (the company that owned the Herald) once published a book called ‘New Zealand’s Darkest Days’. It was a black book which recorded with detail all the tragic days of New Zealand’s history complete with photographs and death tolls.

In his own way I remember my Dad being quite excited when there was any bad news, as it sold newspapers and people wanted to keep them as souvenirs, why I don’t know, just as the Woman’s magazines put out ‘Collectable’ issues when Whitney Houston died.

I suppose writing is really a way of remembering, but I’m finding lately my memory blotting out things that don’t need to be remembered and then looking at things a different way after the passage of time.

 

 

 

 

2012 The Year of the Book

Sorry not much library gossip to be had, only the usual complaints, the air conditioning being on the blink which means having to work in a fridge, and coping with hordes of kids over the summer, who have only now gone back to school. The New Year also meant another celebration, actually, we seem to celebrate the New Year three times each year, 1) the Western Calendar, 2) the Lunar Chinese Calendar and 3) Matariki, the Maori Calendar. I feel rather dubious about celebrating it three times a year, as if we can’t quite make up our minds which year we are really in.

Perhaps you may have noticed there seems to be some hysteria over this being 2012? As far as I’m aware it has something to do with the Mayan calendar, but as so few of our patrons are Mayans I am not sure what all the fuss is about. Apparently, according to calculations, the entire world will end on November 21, 2012. I know because there are many books being published on it with doom-laden titles such as ’2012, a survival guide’ and ‘Apocalypse Now, 2012′. They are shelved in the non-fiction. However, these books were published prior to 2012 so I am not sure how they can be so sure the world will end. Is it a slow disintegration or will it just be wiped out in one day? Will that mean the surviors will all become best-selling authors chronicling their survivorship like the people who penned ‘Tomorrow, when the war began’ ‘Left Behind’ or even ‘Terminator, Judgement Day’? Even Margaret Atwood jumped on the bandwagon giving her greenie spin on things with ‘The Year of the Flood’ wich I thought rather odd, I mean, come on Miss Atwood, Noah’s Ark already happened…but in her version, only the misfits survive ( they also happen to be Canadian).

2012 is also deemed to be ‘National Year of Reading’ but only in Australia. We Kiwis had a quiet chuckle over this, wondering if people were so illiterate in Australia that the aussies needed a whole YEAR to encourage people to read, whereas we Kiwis do it naturally everyday. We do have a New Zealand book month, which is going to be in March whereby booksellers promote their books, but seeing as we are librarians, we don’t get involved so much, after all, people can take out books for free in libraries why would you need to buy a book unless you were desperate for your own copy?

I always find it funny that people on TV promote reading. Television presenters especially, or sports stars (their own biographies, ghostwritten, of course). I do find some authors can be just as egotisitical and prone to celebrity-itis as movie stars are. I actually have much respect for authors who write books, period and don’t feel the need to push their opinion on everything, use their name to endorse other people’s books or write columns just because they are ‘personalities’. For that reason I tend to keep away from book festivals. Perhaps on the odd occasion I’d like to hear an author speak but I’m not too interested in their craft of making up stories. If you have a gift you have a gift there’s no need to brag about it.

I do have a favourite author though and that is Alison Holst. She is lovely and she signed my bread book, which is a very practical book with recipes that work! I admire her in her resolve to teach New Zealanders how to cook, because it is skill that is not being taught in schools anymore.

Went into Whitcoulls to try and buy a book, any book by Jules Verne. Nothing in stock. Worse, the lady I talked to didn’t even seem to know who Jules Verne was. Good Lord I thought. It’s like going into a church and asking for a Bible only to have someone tell you there aren’t any . Actually that happened at one Anglican church in Auckland, and I was so shocked that I contemplated throwing one through the million dollar stained glass windows. Yes, dear reader, I am an iconoclast.

Mysterious Murder

I thought about writing another book, but when will I find the time, working at the library just takes it out of you..the last thing I want to do is add another book to the pile, what if nobody reads it..it would be a waste of trees.

But then I thought, maybe it would get it out of my system. You see, there’s this whole genre of books in the ‘missing’ category. I don’t mean these books go missing (well that too) but people who write about people who go missing.

Because that’s what happened to a friend of mine, and I think she deserves a book. Heaven knows she’s had enough of the papers and women’s magazines, and its not like I can paint a picture (why improve on perfection? She was stunning as she was). She’s been on tv, she was a beauty queen (ok, second prize, but you know, sometimes life deals you a Monopoly) and she just happened to be one of my good and closest friends.

I could be all investigative, publish her diaries, interview all he knew her but there’s this thing. Apparently, in New Zealand, if you say anything about her tragic death, the police will hunt you down like a pack of wolves. They’ll rubbish you, invade your home, ignore your calls, disrespect you, and call your friend names.

So maybe I should just not say anything. Lord knows I tried. Several years ago I wrote something on Wikpedia, and they removed it because it was apparently libellous.

I thought about her family. Do they want to remember? No. Her mum specifically told me not to write or even contact her, it was just too painful. Well it’s been seven years now. The curse hasn’t lifted. It’s time for some spritual warfare I reackon. I have learned that the world doesn’t really know the meaning of ‘justice’ and it’s futile to even try as you’ll be fighting a losing battle. Why pay a bunch of lawyers to feed of your own misery when the only vindication that’s really needed is the day I meet her for real up in Heaven?

So anyway. If anybody wants to read a story about New Zealand’s most mysterious disappearing girl, perhaps drop me a line. If not, well, I know you may be busy and have other things to do. It’s not going to be ‘Sweet Valley High’ but it may be good to have something to read over the summer. Just don’t read it on the beach at Piha.

Warren Paul Deane 1969 – 2011

Warren was a colleague of mine who was killed last month in a horrible hit and run … I won’t go into details but it was all in the papers, and I didn’t know he was in a coma for five days. I had  just heard the news that he died through the grapevine at work.

He worked in our learning centre for about two years before leaving to pursue his dream of becoming a learned philosopher at University of Waikato, my old first year alma mater.

I went to his funeral in Hamilton with workmates from the library and learning centres to say goodbye and celebrate his life. That day happened to be his birthday, he would be 42. It was a lovely service and I’m only sad that I didn’t really know him sooner. I always thought in the back of my mind he’d come back to the library after graduation and show off his credentials and boast that he now ‘officially’ knew the meaning of life, something he’d been wanting to know all his life.

I wrote a few words down because I didn’t want to forget him. I know he’s at peace now, and his ashes are spread at Raglan where he liked to go and spend time.

The Big Brothers and Sisters of Hamilton was the charity he’d have liked to have been a part of had he not died. They asked me to write a few words as I’d pledged a weeks’ wages to them in lieu of flowers. I thought that was what he’d liked me to do, knowing times are tough for people unemployed these days.  (so, no Bay Of Island cruise for me! grr). His first job when he came to New Zealand was with our library learning centre, and he was a natural.  I mean he was terrific with patrons, could talk to them about anything and everything, and just was a really friendly man.

So..big breath, hold the tissues..let me tell you about Warren.

I would like to say that I never had a real big brother but when Warren was here on earth I always thought of him as a big bro and would have really liked to have got to know him better. I worked with him in the library at Henderson, he was the learning centre guy for a while and I helped cover his breaks, so I never really got the chance to properly chat or even get to know him on a deeper level but I always felt that he was a good bloke, he was always polite with me and treated me like a lady.

He had a thirst for knowledge and amazing computer skills, got on really well with people from all walks of life – if he liked you he really did go out of his way to help you, but if something ticked him off he wasn’t shy about letting you know. He had this cool British accent that sounded like something off tv like East Enders and big giant tattoos that looked kind of funny on his pasty white skin – he liked to go out to the beach and get tanned and hang out with ‘the natives’ little did people know he was at home in his adopted country and that really he was one of us!

I was really sad when he died because he was studying to become a learned philosopher and he had almost made it to graduation, going to my alma mater where I also studied the same subjects for my first year of varsity. It was a shame that he got killed when he was only sticking up for what was right, I shake my head at some people these days but lucky he trusted in Jesus so I’m sure he made it to Heaven, and I may see him again one day.

On the day of his funeral it was his birthday so we celebrated by remembering all the good times we had with him, and one of those times I remember was when he came for a meeting one day and made my team leader who is usually so deadly serious librarian-type almost laugh out loud (in the library?! Noooo!) when he pulled funny squashed faces at her outside the meeting room window.

Now some people couldn’t handle his, well, he WAS a bit –in your face- kind of person, but he was only trying to make us laugh, and we needed that. If I were to have a big brother, I think I would have chosen Warren because he really cared about people and he was the adventurous type. He liked to go fishing, he liked to opine on the meaning of life, and he also liked gadgets and computers, he could hack into them in 10 seconds flat, he was an ace at games, and he just had this huge appetite for life  – he knew he only had one life to live so he lived it well and took every chance he could get.

I hope that those who remember Warren instead of flowers will give to the Big Brothers and Sisters of Hamilton in his memory because had he lived he would have really have liked to be a part of this charity that involves spending spend time with  family we might not  otherwise have. We may be adopted, transplanted, abused, not sure who our real family is, or alone, I think we all need to feel wanted and loved and special and this is a way to do this in the best way possible.

Miss you Wuzza

Lots of love

From one of your little sisters..Selina

Yammer?

I got in trouble again…this time for posting an ‘inappropriate’ pic of myself on this new thing called ‘Yammer‘ which is like a council facebook social network. Apparently my pic is meant to be a photo, no cartoon avatars allowed. So the one I use for Any Questions is not good enough?

Well after long and hard searching in my photo albums I found one that could pass off as acceptable. You see, that’s the problem with images of librarians. We all wear glasses, we can’t see properly, and people think we are sexy when we’re not. So that’s why people swear at us online and ask us out on dates all the time.  Ok the last part isn’t true. I have never been asked out on a date in a public library. The patrons are too scared of us because they think WE KNOW EVERYTHING.

An appropriate photo?

Bible reading on Fridays

Has been going on for some time now. I really enjoy it, and so do the ladies in the group. My friend did tell others in her church, so one day I was surprised to see a whole bunch of gatecrashing teen kids curious about what this ‘Bible Reading’ was. Surprise surprise…it was me (and everyone else) reading the Bible.

I’m sure it’s been done before. Funny thing is…some librarians seemed really against it. Wonder why?

So far we have read through the Book of Acts, today we finished Romans, and next we might tackle the Gospel according to St Luke. (my friend likes to shop at St. Lukes, so we thought it was fitting). We have also read some of Genesis, and got up to Noah’s Ark and the great Flood.

People call it ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told’..if you can’t read it out loud in the library..where else can you read it?

If you like to come along, feel free, we sit in the teens area and start around 1pm.

I was give a very olde King James Bible, actually it does say on it ‘appointed to be read in churches’ . Unfortunately, this church I am going to at the moment does not allow much time for Bible reading out loud on Sundays, as the pastor gets up and preaches, and there is a reading, but I haven’t figured out who gets to read which parts and why yet. It is very selective. You can’t just put up your hand and say ‘I’m going to read this part now’. You have to ‘get with the program’ and follow what everyone else is doing.  Also, they do not seem to read from the King James.  I am finding all sorts of differences and bits missing when I try to follow along with my Bible.

I am not sure why somew people seem to have such a huge problem with the King James. It is beautiful and just right. The words flow of the tongue. There’s no confusing footnotes and there’s  no dispute over which version is accurate. It is easy to understand and memorise. So why do people bother following all these other Bibles? I had a hunch that maybe they are trying to sell something like the ‘New Improved Version’ and cheat a lot of unsuspecting church going people of the knowledge of salvation.  It was as if someone took a great disliking to the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ (maybe they had a reverse lisp) and had run the Bible through a wordprocessor to come up with something that looked like a Bible but wasn’t. Somehow people ended up with a Bible that avoided the word ‘sin’. ???? Yes what were they thinking? You don’t mess with God’s Word.  So don’t judge a book by it’s cover.

You can find the Bible at 220.25 BIB in the Dewey Decimal System. The King James Bible is 400 years old this year. I highly recommend reading this English translation.