June

Over the years, I've gone to a lot of conferences, workshops, and professional events. I know this because recently I ran out of closet space. The problem? Book bags.

Book bags, or "swag," come with virtually every event librarians go to. Book bags are to librarians what T-shirts and baseball caps are to sports fans. When my closet door would no longer close, it's because I now have a couple of dozen of these bags.

For several years, I did 50 pushups, 50 abdomen "crunches" and 50 leg lifts every single day. It took me a minute and a half.

Part of the way I kept myself at it was by asking myself, "in 24 hours, you don't have a minute and a half for exercise?"

But then, with frightening suddenness, I suffered such intense shoulder pain that I could no longer raise my arms even to shampoo. I couldn't pull my wallet out of my back pocket.

The doctor told me it was tendonitis, no doubt brought on by my brief but intense daily regimen. Age may have had something to do with it, too.

I was bitter. It was like the time I threw out my back in my sleep. When you're doing something good (exercise is good, sleep is righteous), it seems to me you shouldn't be punished for it.

But there's the universe for you.

These days, I'm trying to put together a new system -- stress plus stretch. (My doctor prescribed physical therapy, not indolence.)

The reason I'm trying again is simple. When it comes to your body, you have just two choices: use it or lose it.

Which brings me to my actual point this week. Reading is the same way. The more you do, the better you get. The less you do, the worse you get.

This week I'd like to do a roundup of some library financial issues.

First, effective June 1, we doubled the fines for overdue materials. We continue to offer a few days grace for such materials -- and if you give us your email address, we'll even remind you to bring things back the day before they are due.

In brief, fines for most materials went from a nickel a day to a dime a day. Our fines do max out for most materials at $5 per item. While this probably won't be a big money maker for us, we hope it will encourage people to help us keep our materials moving. There's a lot of demand for them these days.

Once a year, planned about 9 months in advance, the directors of Colorado's public libraries get together for an afternoon, an evening, and a morning to have frank conversations about what's going on in our operations, our communities, and our profession. This confabulation always happens around Memorial Day, when the rates of mountain lodges are cheap. (We hold our meetings on the Western Slope as a convenience to the many geographically isolated libraries who do such good work the other side of the Rockies.)

Most of Colorado's public libraries serve small communities. But big or small, there were some trends:

A few weeks ago, I put out a call for stories about how the library changed lives. I'd like to give you a taste of some of the wonderful responses we've gotten.

This one is from Hannah Fenstermacher:

I've learned a few things over the years.

1. Almost everything important requires teamwork.

2. Significant achievement should be celebrated.

3. Nothing is ever finished.

In light of these three principles, I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge a big moment: a new library website.

When I was a kid (one of five), my parents could afford only one vacation a year: a car trip from north of Chicago to my mother's folks in Ohio. It was usually in the hottest month of the year.

The interstate highway program was still under development back then. For years, the trip took 10-12 hours, as we stuttered, stoplight by stoplight, on the two lane roads through Chicago, then Gary, Indiana (whose sky was always red, even at night), and across Indiana.

Eventually, with I-94 and I-80, the trip got whittled down to six hours, allowing no more than two potty breaks.

Imagine five kids in the back of a Ford four-door. No seat belts. Six hours. Pre-air-conditioning. Parents who smoked more or less constantly, interrupted only by the usual threats: "Don't make me stop this car! Do I have to come back there and separate you two?"

It's a wonder any of us survived.

I brought comic books and science fiction novels, because it didn't bother me to read in the car. But we usually had to fall back on dumb Interstate games -- finding a license from the farthest away state, looking for words on billboards, extra points for being the first to spot a VW bug, and so on.

Libraries change lives. They sure changed mine, and more than once.

For instance, back at the end of fourth grade I went to the downtown library. I saw Mrs. Johnson, the first librarian I had ever met (way back at the bookmobile, which was another life-changing experience). We got to talking, I don't remember what about, but I do remember that she gave me a book called "The Dialogues of Plato."

That might seem like an odd thing to give a 10-year-old. But there are at least two explanations.

First, I was an odd 10-year-old.

Second, Mrs. Johnson believed in the Great Books. "You can read?" she thought. "Then you should read about Socrates!"

She was right.

The first dialog I read posed a deceptively simple question: "What is wise?" Then followed the most amazing conversation. Everything the student said was questioned, and questioned again, and again.

Until then, I had no idea that thinking, that talking, could be so much fun.

The other kids in my class were interested in ... well, I'm not sure what they were interested in. TV? Sports, some of them. But I know what I was interested in.

The examined life.

I've been writing this weekly column about libraries for 17 years. My readers know what I think about libraries. (Hint: I like them. A lot.)

Over the years, I've met thousands of library patrons. In Douglas County, they're a remarkably literate bunch. By that I mean that they're not just readers. They're writers, too, whether that's a short note, a long email, a thoughtful letter to the editor, and even their own books.

They have library stories to tell, too. Here are just a few, sent to us recently.