Doing the Work of Reference: Practical Tips for Excelling As a Reference Librarian - Softcover

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0789013231 ISBN 13: 9780789013231

Verlag: Routledge, 2001

Inhaltsangabe

Become more versatile, competent, and resourceful with these practical suggestions!
Becoming a first-class reference librarian demands proficiency in a wide range of skills. Doing the Work of Reference offers sound advice for the full spectrum of your responsibilities. Though many aspects of a reference librarian's work are changing with astonishing speed, the classic principles in this volume will never go out of date.

This comprehensive volume begins with hints for orienting yourself to a new job and concludes with ideas for serving the profession. On the way, Doing the Work of Reference covers such diverse topics as working with student assistants, offering reference services to remote users, and keeping up your professional development. In addition, you will find strategies for dealing with technological change--not high-tech information that will become obsolete before the ink is dry, but ways of approaching the process of change that will work today, next week, and ten years from now.

Doing the Work of Reference will help you increase your competence in:

• getting along with other staff members
• marketing the library to users and faculty
• handling ephemeral materials
• keeping students’attention in library instruction courses
• maintaining good relations with faculty
• increasing your subject knowledge
• and much more!
  This comprehensive guide is an essential handbook for librarians in the trenches. Whether you are a new librarian or a veteran at the reference desk, Doing the Work of Reference will help you burnish your skills.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Linda S Katz

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

OUT OF SIGHT

By T. J. MacGregor

PINNACLE BOOKS

Copyright © 2002 T. J. MacGregor
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-7890-1323-0

Chapter One

1

THE TOWNSENDS

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Renie Townsend believed in signs-not the road variety,but those that seemed to rise unbidden from some placewithin the hidden order of things. And on June 8, all thesigns seemed to be pointing to the same thing, that sheshould stay home and let her husband and daughter headout together on their camping trip to the Everglades.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a difficult choice. Renie hatedcamping. The bugs, the hard ground, the sleeping bags thatstank of mothballs, the flimsy tent, the absence of lights andair-conditioning and a decent bathroom: it spelled disasterin her book. Youth hostels were fine when you were eighteen,but she was forty-four and liked her creature comforts, Itseemed, though, that for the last six months, she and Andyand Katie had been running in opposite directions frommorning till night. Now that school was finally out, Andyhad gotten some time off from the ER and they had a chanceto spend a long weekend together.

She had been hoping for a resort somewhere and, if notthat, then at least a motel on the beach up the coast. ButKatie had informed her in that blithe, offhanded way endemicto young teens that she and her dad were going camping inthe Everglades. And they hadn't asked her if she wanted tocome. That was what had prompted her to say she was going,too.

You'll hate it, Mom, Katie had said. Bugs, humidity,snakes, the hard ground ...

I'm going.

As it turned out, the camping trip wasn't just a criticalturning point in their lives. It was the worst decision theyever made.

2

The first sign happened shortly after eight that morning.

Andy was outside, loading the Jeep, and Renie was standingin front of the fridge, wondering what else she couldjam in the cooler. Did she have time to run up to Publix tobuy a new, larger cooler? Would there be room in the canoefor three people, two coolers, and all their camping gear?Probably not. But Christ, she had to have cold water, lotsof it. Never mind that the ice would be melted by tomorrowmorning. As long as it lasted, cold water would go a longway toward mitigating other physical discomforts.

She flipped open the lid on the cooler, wondering howthe hell they were going to lug this thing through the Everglades.But the couldn't remove anything. Tonight theywould have the cold chicken she'd baked and the potatosalad she'd made and a can of baked beans. Camping food,for sure. She had grapefruits and cereal with milk and freshstrawberries for herself and Andy for breakfast and the usualcoffee yogurt for Katie. She had bread for tuna fish sandwiches tomorrow for lunch. That left canned shit for dinnertomorrow night because by then the ice would be melted.No point in packing anything for tomorrow night, shethought, and removed the hot dogs and veggie burgers.

I'm going to be an insane woman by Sunday morning.

No, no, no. It would be fine. She would do okay on thislittle jaunt into the wilderness. She would slather herself ininsect repellent and turn on the little reading light that clippedright on to the book, and make sure that she was having agood time.

And that was when Katie started screaming.

Until just then, Renie never had understood the phrasebloodcurdling scream. But that's what this was, a sound soprimal that she felt it in her cells, her blood, at the very coreof her being. As she slammed open the French doors to theback porch, she had visions of Katie lying on the groundnext to her trampoline, her spine broken, her body paralyzedfrom the neck down. She had visions of Katie lying at thebottom of the swimming pool, her hair drifting like paleseaweed around her.

She exploded through the porch door and the humiditystruck her instantly, air of a texture like cotton. The screamingcollapsed into shrieks.

In the morning light, the pool looked tranquil, inviting,not even a tipple on the surface. She knew even before shecould see the bottom that Katie hadn't fallen in. The surfacewas too still, too perfect. She rounded the corner of thehouse, where the trampoline was, and spotted her daughter.Katie wasn't on the ground. She was standing at the fence,her back to Renie. Not dead, not injured, she's okay ...

So why the hell was she screaming like that?

"My Gods Katie, what's going on?"

Katie's head whipped around, horror frozen in her eyes,one hand stabbing at something Renie couldn't see, the otherplastered against her mouth. She was trying to stifle hercries and they sounded like great, heaving hiccups.

Renie stopped beside her, struggling to catch her breath,to stem the assault of adrenaline that now raced through herbody. She followed her daughter's fingers to the grass, wherea tiny bird lay on its back, chest moving up and down sofast that Renie knew it was dying. She knew it before shesaw the foam caked at its beak, knew it before she slid herhands up under it and felt its heartbeat faltering.

"It's ... it's dying, oh God, Mom, it's dying," Katiewailed. "Do something. It's in pain."

Give her something to do, get her out of here. "A shoebox, get me a shoe box from my closet and an old towel,a soft towel. Quick, go, go ..."

Katie took off and Renie, with the bird now lying in hercupped hands, rocked back onto her heels. She raised herhands to the light, so she could see the bird better. It wassuch a little thing, a baby mockingbird, and it probably hadfallen out of its nest somewhere at the top of the tall ficustree to her left. Or perhaps the mother had pushed it out ofthe nest because it was sick. She knew from experience thatwild birds rarely survived such injuries.

Over the years, she and Katie had rescued injured doves,ducks, crows, and all but the ducks had died. Baby birdsoften took a long time to die, hours of excruciating writhingand wheezing while their organs shut down. She didn't wantto bring this little mockingbird along in their canoe, on theircamping trip, not in a shoe box or any other kind of container.It was already suffering more than she could bear. So shedid for the bird what she had done for her father. She movedher hand in small, tight circles over its little head, openingthe energy center, making it easier for its spirit to depart.Then she pressed her thumb and index fingers over the slitsthat served as its nostrils and, with her other hand, gentlyclosed its little beak.

It was over in seconds, the suffering done, the life gone.

She started to cry, she couldn't help it. She cried andclosed her hand over the little bird and waited for her daughterto return with the shoe box.

3

She and Katie buried the little bird in the backyard, in amongthe marigolds, the violet Mexican heather, the flaming vines.Other pets they had lost over the years were also buriedhere, the Townsend pet cemetery.

Katie patted the dirt with her hands and made a cross outof twigs. "At least it died fast," she said. "I ... I justcouldn't stand seeing it suffer like that."

"When we get back from this camping trip, we'll buy anew plant for the grave."

"Something blue."

"Perfect."

"Did you talk to Dad yet about getting a dog?"

"I'm planning to do it on this camping trip."

Pets were a touchy subject. During her and Andy's sixteenyears together, they'd had all sorts of animals, from...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Routledge
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2001
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0789013231
• ISBN 13: 9780789013231
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 387
• Herausgeber: Hales-Mabry Celia
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: BOOKS etc..; cs@booksetc.co.uk; ; BOOKS etc.; Aldershot; Vereinigtes Königreich
• Verantwortliche Person: as - Schwabe GmbH; https://www.as-schwabe.de/; ; Merkurstra�e 10; Eutingen im G�u; 72184; Deutschland