Music distracts my boss, so I can only play it when she's out of her office. My tastes are ecclectic. I usually play something to please myself, but keeping in mind where I am. Suffice to say, I don't bring the Alice In Chains collection to the children's department.

Picture the scene:

The second floor of a small-town library on a weekday afternoon. It's an early-dismissal day, so the middle- and high schoolers wander in, knowing that chitchat and giggling are not frowned upon in the not-quiet department. They take over the round turret room where Story Time happens in the morning. The blue-violet carpet covering the floor and the deep, built-in bench that follows the circumference of the turret room is striped with sunlight streaming through arrow-slit windows.

The juvie refdesk is a few dozen feet away, across from the stairs and elevator. One third of the outside walls is filled with big windows. The sun pours in. Mothers with preschoolers are browsing through the bins of picture books. The children are ogling the parking lot and the blue sky, and jumping from the blue to the green tiles on the checkerboard floor where the craft tables are. Some of the older ones sprawl with books on the carpet in front of the desk.

A tech center down the hall has just finished up a "You and Your Computer" class for retirees looking to learn how to email their grandchildren. Some other old folks are making their way toward a photocopier to work on geneology projects.

A huge Christmas cactus, three feet wide, sits on the refdesk, in vivid fucshia bloom for the second time this year. Next to it, the CD player spins "Classic Sinatra: 1953-1960". Frank's voice is floating through the room.

The old folks approach the elevator to leave. And Frank starts to croon "You make me feel so young... You make me feel as though spring has sprung..." One of the older men, who needs a walker but whose ears are still sharp, smiles broadly and starts to sing along..."And every time I see you grin, I'm such a happy in-di-vid-u-al..."

Somebody edges the volume up. It catches the attention of giggly seventh graders, who start swaying back and forth to the music, bumping shoulders violently. One of them exclaims, "Cool! It's Frank!" Two elderly ladies join in singing. The three- and four-year-olds start to jump around to the music and swing their arms. Even the one mom who was on a mission, and no fiddle-faddle, sits back on her heels with soft eyes.

Three minutes later, the song ends, the spell breaks, the volume is turned back down, and everyone goes about their business, but the smile that possessed the room lingers. It invades the elevator like a yellow helium balloon in the wind, and it spills down the stairs burbling, following the people who leave. The phone rings, and the person at the circ desk on the other end asks, "What's going on up there? It sounds like a heard of elephants down here!"

I hope everyone here has a moment like that today.

Cheers!
Mary Anne