Can’t feel nothing small

For immediate release:
May 19, 2022

Contact: Stacey Embry, Director, Morgan County Library.

Another rollercoaster of a week, but honestly it is just me.  The Lumineers song, Ophelia, has this lyric, “and I don’t feel nothing at all, and you can’t feel nothing small.”  That’s me, I can’t feel nothing small.  Don’t dig too deep into the obvious grammar issue of this line, I did after I typed it.  I can’t fell anything small, that is me.  My emotions are always big and that is the reason I am constantly in the front seat of an exhilarating, but sometimes frightening, wooden rollercoaster ride.

On Monday, I looked up to see a family with three huge stacks of books at the circulation desk.  When I went up to start checkout, I mentioned our limit; 25 for most, 50 for home-school patrons.  They immediately started sorting and I said, “let’s see how it goes.”  Meanwhile they ask if I am the lady who writes in the paper, yep, that is me, sorry.  After I checkout 50 items, I tell them that I will override the limitation if they want to check out the remaining items.  “Can you do that; I don’t want to get you in trouble.”  At this moment the daughter said, “She is the boss.”  Yep, correct, and you want more things to read, well, you can bet I will take care of you.  The daughter then mentioned I would probably write about them in the paper, yep, correct again. 

A good part of the ride to be sure.

That night, before I headed to bed, the ride went sideways.  I found out that a former colleague had unexpectedly passed away.  I went to bed in utter shock and woke up the next morning with the yucky realization that it had really happened.  I am having a hard time finding the right words to say about her, I have typed and deleted multiple times.  Various people have shared words, photos and videos for her, her students left post its on her door, and the halls will be filled with students in tie-dye and Crocs on Friday in her memory.  I have cried, smiled, laughed, and cried again. I cried, not only for her family’s loss, but for ours.  I have smiled at her beautiful smile shining back in the photos shared.  I have laughed at videos of her singing “All the Single Ladies” and racing a student in class.  I cried again when I heard the story behind her tie-dye Crocs. 

Life is so fragile.  The family that checked out that large number of books told me that they would be sharing them with some children that have recently lost their father.  

I arrived at work on Tuesday with that feeling of clarity we have when we realize how precious our time here on Earth is. And like all good rollercoaster rides, there was a quick plunge, as a library issue reared its ugly head. 

It is sad how quick we forget, or that we even have to be reminded by someone else’s tragedy.  Yesterday, as I was weeding, I had to review our books on grief and loss.  One title was, “Transcending Loss.” 

tran·scend: transitive verb. 1a : to rise above or go beyond the limits of. b : to triumph over the negative or restrictive aspects of : overcome.

Rising above is hard when you can’t feel nothing small.  But you know what, I would not trade my ride for anything, I will embrace all my big emotions.  We will all continue our fragile presence on this Earth.  I will transcend the ugly things that honestly don’t count.  I will live with a giggle and “they will fire me for this” attitude, enjoying each second I am given, I can see her rolling her eyes and saying, “Oh, Stacey.”    Here I am, crying again. 

Upcoming Events: 5/25 Early Sign-up for Summer Reading Program, 5/25 Story Time at 10am. We are extending the Little House Reading Challenge through the end of June.