Last day. Thirty-one years at Tamarack Hill, and before that, before the childr…

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{
 "$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
 "id": "n_journal_2017_06_09",
 "createdAt": "1497045000000",
 "date": "2017-06-09T21:50:00.000Z",
 "body": "Last day. Thirty-one years at Tamarack Hill, and before that, before the children, the children's room of the public library in La Crosse. It is the only work I have ever done.\n\nI got there at 6:50, as always, and unlocked. Lenny Stroik had left a single yellow rose in a coffee can on the desk, with no card.\n\nNo classes on the last day. The children come through by rooms to say goodbye to their teachers and this year, it turned out, to me. Mrs. Kowalski's third grade brought a paper chain with a link for each of them and what they liked best. \"The shark books\" leads, followed by \"when you do the voices\" and, from a boy named Emmett, \"that you let me stay in at recess when it was bad.\"\n\nAt 11:15 the fifth grade came through on their way out of the building for good. I looked for Malik among them, and of course he is in high school by now.\n\nAt noon the buses went. I have always liked that sound, the diesels all starting at once.\n\nThen it was only the room. I did the inventory last week: 12,046 volumes, 17 missing, a personal best. I ran my hand along the 590s. I logged out of the circulation system and it asked me whether I was sure.\n\nI climbed up into the reading loft, which I have not done in ten years. Lenny built it in 1998 from a drawing I made on a napkin in the staff room. There are names written in pencil on the underside of the rail, where no adult would look, going back to the first year, and I read them all, lying on my back in my good skirt. I knew about two-thirds of them. Then I had some trouble getting down.\n\nI turned in my keys to Bunny in the office at 2:40. There are four: the building, the library, the workroom, the cabinet. The library key has been on my ring since August 1986 and has worn a groove in the others. She put them in an envelope and wrote OSTRANDER on it, and I thought, well, that is that, and was fine, and walked out to the car and could not get the car key into the ignition because of my hands.\n\nI did not cry at the party. I cried in the parking lot of an elementary school, in a Honda, at a quarter to three on a Friday afternoon, for about four minutes. Then I blew my nose and drove to Paper Birch and bought three novels at full price.\n\nR. had supper made: walleye from the freezer, and a rhubarb pie from the bakery that he is not supposed to eat, and ate. He did not ask how it was. He said, \"You're home early,\" and I said, \"I'm home,\" and he nodded.\n\nIt does not feel like anything yet. It feels like a Friday.\n"
}

personas/retired-couple/records/journal-2016-2019.yaml:211

- id: journal-2017-06-09
  kind: journal_entry
  about: [me]
  date: 2017-06-09 21:50
  body: |
    Last day. Thirty-one years at Tamarack Hill, and before that, before the children, the children's room of the public library in La Crosse. It is the only work I have ever done.

    I got there at 6:50, as always, and unlocked. Lenny Stroik had left a single yellow rose in a coffee can on the desk, with no card.

    No classes on the last day. The children come through by rooms to say goodbye to their teachers and this year, it turned out, to me. Mrs. Kowalski's third grade brought a paper chain with a link for each of them and what they liked best. "The shark books" leads, followed by "when you do the voices" and, from a boy named Emmett, "that you let me stay in at recess when it was bad."

    At 11:15 the fifth grade came through on their way out of the building for good. I looked for Malik among them, and of course he is in high school by now.

    At noon the buses went. I have always liked that sound, the diesels all starting at once.

    Then it was only the room. I did the inventory last week: 12,046 volumes, 17 missing, a personal best. I ran my hand along the 590s. I logged out of the circulation system and it asked me whether I was sure.

    I climbed up into the reading loft, which I have not done in ten years. Lenny built it in 1998 from a drawing I made on a napkin in the staff room. There are names written in pencil on the underside of the rail, where no adult would look, going back to the first year, and I read them all, lying on my back in my good skirt. I knew about two-thirds of them. Then I had some trouble getting down.

    I turned in my keys to Bunny in the office at 2:40. There are four: the building, the library, the workroom, the cabinet. The library key has been on my ring since August 1986 and has worn a groove in the others. She put them in an envelope and wrote OSTRANDER on it, and I thought, well, that is that, and was fine, and walked out to the car and could not get the car key into the ignition because of my hands.

    I did not cry at the party. I cried in the parking lot of an elementary school, in a Honda, at a quarter to three on a Friday afternoon, for about four minutes. Then I blew my nose and drove to Paper Birch and bought three novels at full price.

    R. had supper made: walleye from the freezer, and a rhubarb pie from the bakery that he is not supposed to eat, and ate. He did not ask how it was. He said, "You're home early," and I said, "I'm home," and he nodded.

    It does not feel like anything yet. It feels like a Friday.