they’d added either an occupation or the person’s reason for taking the class. Eight of them were library employees who were looking for ways to make their inventory last longer. The rest were simply book lovers. That makes sense, I thought with a smile. I qualified as one of those, too.
Two women strolled into the room and I stood up to greet them. “Hi, I’m Brooklyn Wainwright. Are you here for the book-repair class?”
“Yes,” the taller woman said. “I’m Celeste and this is Trudy.”
“Hi,” I said, popping open the packing boxes. “Come on over and pick out a book.”
“Cool,” Celeste said, and peeked into the box. “Some of these are beautiful.”
Trudy looked at me with an apologetic frown. “What did you say your name was? I didn’t catch it.”
“Call me Brooklyn,” I said, and added, “Thanks for reminding me.” She laughed, then nodded in approval as I pulled a sheet of name tag labels from my box of supplies, along with two markers. I quickly wrote my own name on one, peeled it off, and slapped it on my jacket. “We’re doing name tags.”
“Good idea,” Celeste said, and filled out tags for both of them. Then they perused the box of books for a few minutes while I checked my watch and wondered where everyone was.
“These look ratty enough,” Trudy said, grinning as she held up two faded classics. She looked around the room, then said, “Can we sit anywhere?”
I smiled. “Sure.”
Within twenty minutes, every student who’d signed up had arrived, including Robin, and my worries about having an empty classroom were over. There was the usual chattering while each chose a damaged book from the box and filled out a name tag.
Once everyone found seats, got comfortable, and introduced themselves to their neighbors, I moved out from behind the front table and waited as they grew quiet and attentive. I caught Robin’s gaze and smiled—and was abruptly hit with a wave of nervousness. I had to take a few quick breaths to calm down.
I’d never been nervous in front of a class before, so I blamed it on Robin’s presence. I decided I’d better avoid eye contact with her; otherwise I’d flub up everything and sound like a knucklehead.
“Let’s get started,” I said, then reintroduced myself and gave them an abbreviated version of my background in bookbinding. “Now, I know everybody hates this part of any class, but let’s take ten minutes and go around the room so each of you can tell us your name and briefly share what you hope to get out of the class.”
“That’s thirty seconds for each person,” an intense young fellow named James said, flashing a warning glance at his fellow attendees.
There were some mutterings and eye rolls aimed at James, but the introductions went smoothly and quickly. The eight librarians knew one another and all worked for the county. I asked if any of them worked in archives or preservation and thankfully, none of them did. Those archival people were an intimidating bunch who often thought they knew a lot more about book restoration than I did.
The last two attendees to introduce themselves were a retired couple named Sam and Rita. They had been holding hands during the other intros and now that it was their turn to talk, they laughed and giggled and patted each other’s hands as they finished each other’s sentences.
“We’re taking the class because we’re fledgling book collectors,” Rita said.
“Yeah,” Sam piped up. “We want to keep our books in good condition so we’re hoping to get some ideas here.”
“I promise you’ll get lots of great tips,” I assured them, then asked the question everyone else was probably wondering, too. “Are you two newlyweds?”
Sam grinned. “I guess it’s obvious, huh?”
“I guess.” Rita blushed as she nudged Sam with her elbow. “We were recently married after meeting up at our fiftieth high school reunion.”
“Ooh, how romantic!” Trudy cried, as everyone in the room
Two women strolled into the room and I stood up to greet them. “Hi, I’m Brooklyn Wainwright. Are you here for the book-repair class?”
“Yes,” the taller woman said. “I’m Celeste and this is Trudy.”
“Hi,” I said, popping open the packing boxes. “Come on over and pick out a book.”
“Cool,” Celeste said, and peeked into the box. “Some of these are beautiful.”
Trudy looked at me with an apologetic frown. “What did you say your name was? I didn’t catch it.”
“Call me Brooklyn,” I said, and added, “Thanks for reminding me.” She laughed, then nodded in approval as I pulled a sheet of name tag labels from my box of supplies, along with two markers. I quickly wrote my own name on one, peeled it off, and slapped it on my jacket. “We’re doing name tags.”
“Good idea,” Celeste said, and filled out tags for both of them. Then they perused the box of books for a few minutes while I checked my watch and wondered where everyone was.
“These look ratty enough,” Trudy said, grinning as she held up two faded classics. She looked around the room, then said, “Can we sit anywhere?”
I smiled. “Sure.”
Within twenty minutes, every student who’d signed up had arrived, including Robin, and my worries about having an empty classroom were over. There was the usual chattering while each chose a damaged book from the box and filled out a name tag.
Once everyone found seats, got comfortable, and introduced themselves to their neighbors, I moved out from behind the front table and waited as they grew quiet and attentive. I caught Robin’s gaze and smiled—and was abruptly hit with a wave of nervousness. I had to take a few quick breaths to calm down.
I’d never been nervous in front of a class before, so I blamed it on Robin’s presence. I decided I’d better avoid eye contact with her; otherwise I’d flub up everything and sound like a knucklehead.
“Let’s get started,” I said, then reintroduced myself and gave them an abbreviated version of my background in bookbinding. “Now, I know everybody hates this part of any class, but let’s take ten minutes and go around the room so each of you can tell us your name and briefly share what you hope to get out of the class.”
“That’s thirty seconds for each person,” an intense young fellow named James said, flashing a warning glance at his fellow attendees.
There were some mutterings and eye rolls aimed at James, but the introductions went smoothly and quickly. The eight librarians knew one another and all worked for the county. I asked if any of them worked in archives or preservation and thankfully, none of them did. Those archival people were an intimidating bunch who often thought they knew a lot more about book restoration than I did.
The last two attendees to introduce themselves were a retired couple named Sam and Rita. They had been holding hands during the other intros and now that it was their turn to talk, they laughed and giggled and patted each other’s hands as they finished each other’s sentences.
“We’re taking the class because we’re fledgling book collectors,” Rita said.
“Yeah,” Sam piped up. “We want to keep our books in good condition so we’re hoping to get some ideas here.”
“I promise you’ll get lots of great tips,” I assured them, then asked the question everyone else was probably wondering, too. “Are you two newlyweds?”
Sam grinned. “I guess it’s obvious, huh?”
“I guess.” Rita blushed as she nudged Sam with her elbow. “We were recently married after meeting up at our fiftieth high school reunion.”
“Ooh, how romantic!” Trudy cried, as everyone in the room