The New York Times recently published an article stating that librarians are facing a “crisis of violence and abuse.” So I just thought you’d like to meet your local librarian. 

WENDY—I earned my masters in library science in 1970 and got my first job. There was a little girl who came to our branch every day at the same time. She would read exactly the same book, and she did this for months. She never checked the book out, she only read the same few pages every day. We all wondered what she was doing.

One day I asked her why she came in to read the same pages. She told me she was teaching herself how to read by memorizing pages of the book so she could recite them to herself for practice. I told her she could take the book with her and keep it with her all the time, but she said she’d rather memorize.

Then the girl recited the first chapter to me. I knew

I was dealing with a gifted child.

I was able to get her tested academically and she was accepted into a school for advanced students. I don’t know what happened to her, but I think about her all the time.

MISTY—My dad went to libraries all his life, he always kept a stack of books by his bed. He taught himself Spanish by reading a book from Stanislaus County Library, just so he could communicate with his Spanish-speaking coworkers and make friends with them.

When his friends asked how he learned Spanish they were all shocked when he told them the library. This brought him into all kinds of homes and situations, helping Spanish-speakers in need.

EMILIO—I was 19 years old and bought a 1969 MGB I wanted to restore, and I literally knew nothing about cars. My brother was a talented mechanic, he could bring any engine back to life,…

Someone emailed me and said I was an idiot. Which is true, but not for the reasons they cited.

“How can you believe in angels and still consider yourself a smart person?” the letter began.

Oh, I haven’t always believed in angels. And truthfully, I wish I didn’t believe. It would be easier.

It all started in third grade. My teacher, Mrs. Shield, told a story of her own.

She was a little girl. She fell through a second-story window. She was bruised and battered. The paramedics said she would die.

But a man came to her. A man who only she could see. He said she would be in the hospital for a while, but she would be all right, if she could just hold on. She eventually taught third grade.

Yes, Mrs. Shield was as crazy as a sprayed roach. But I believed her. And I still do.

There is another guy I know. He talks about being in the hospital, after an accident. The doctors said he

was going to die, too. He was in his bed in a coma.

A nurse came into his room. She was a large woman with ebony skin and white scrubs. She leaned over his bed, held him tightly, and sang to him. She sang, “God is going to deliver you.”

When he woke up, nobody believed him. It was a hallucination, they said. He asked medical staffers who the woman was. They said no employees fit her description.

I know a guy from Alaska. He wrote to me and said that his son suffered brain stem damage after a hunting accident. The kid was going to die. No doubt about it.

When his son was unconscious, a strange woman found him and kissed his face and said he would not die, for he still had work to do on earth.

Today, that kid is 46 years old and…

It’s the New Year and, judging by people’s resolutions, they think they’re supposed to be doing all sorts of impressive things like losing weight, saving more money, training for marathons, etc. 

Well, I’m making some changes this year, too. Only I’m making little changes. Big changes never last for me. It’s little ones that stick. So I’m going to start by making my bed every morning.

When I was a kid, my mother believed, firmly, that making the bed set a positive tone for each day. I firmly believed that. So each morning I let my mother make my bed.

But now that I’m older, I’ve decided to make our bed every morning.

Another change I’m making: I’m going to play with my phone less. Phones are time-suckers. So I’m not going to play on my phone. Instead, I’m going to spend quality time playing on my wife’s phone.

I’m going to eat more bacon. Life is too short to deprive oneself of bacon. A woman named Susannah Mushatt Jones of Brooklyn, New York, lived until age 116. She

was skinny and healthy and she ate a serving of bacon every day. But frankly, I don’t want to live to 116, so I will also eat queso dip to offset things.

I’m going to give to homeless people more often. Every time I drive past a homeless guy I think to myself, “He’s just looking for drugs.” But my conscience knows better. And addicts need lunch too.

I’m going to run some 5Ks or 10Ks, for good causes. I’m going to do this because I enjoy running, because I like meeting people, and above all, because there is often free beer at the finish line.

I’m going to have more fun, and not apologize for it. More fishing trips. More camping trips. And I’m finally going to get around to making that honey-do list. In fact, I’m going to write…

I brought in the new year with a blind dog. She was seated beside me, wagging her butt. I think she could feel the energy in the air.  

Everyone else in my house was asleep because they are—in the literary sense—massive party poopers. Thus, I was alone in the den except for Marigold, the blind coonhound. 

Marigold had one eye removed. The other eye is dead. She lives in darkness. She moves by rote. When I turned on the TV, I could see her stepping carefully through the room, looking for me. Using her nose to feel the edge of the wall.

“Here I am,” I said. 

I’m used to alerting Marigold to where I am. We’re all used to acting as her Seeing Eye Humans.

Marigold crawled upon the sofa beside me as I watched the TV-people with weird hairdos perform a countdown.

Times Square was littered with thousands of giddy people who you could have blindfolded with strips of dental floss.

And when the ball dropped, everyone on the screen cheered. My

phone started blowing up with texts from loved ones. 

But in that moment, it was just me and Mary. 

“Happy New Year,” I whispered her. 

Her tail began smacking the sofa, making a gentle “Thwat!” noise. 

Then, she used her nose to trace the contours of my face. 

Marigold will use her muzzle to feel the shape of your mouth, to see what your lips are doing. At first we didn’t know why she did this. Then we realized that Marigold was feeling our faces to see whether we were smiling. 

The way we figured this out was, whenever she felt us smiling, her tail would wag. Whereas, if our mouths were slack, if we were not smiling, she would not move her tail. 

“I’m smiling, Mary,” I said to her. 

She moved her nose to feel my tightened cheek muscles, just to…