Listen Through the Decades
(Click the book cover to listen to the reading on YouTube.)
1940s
When Mrs. Frederick C. Little’s second son arrived, everybody noticed that he was not much bigger than a mouse. The truth of the matter was, the baby looked very much like a mouse in every way. He was only about two inches high; and he had a mouse’s sharp nose, a mouse’s tail, a mouse’s whiskers, and the pleasant, shy manner of a mouse. Before he was many days old he was not only looking like a mouse but acting like one too—wearing a gray hat and carrying a small cane. Mr. and Mrs. Little named him Stuart, and Mr. Little made him a tiny bed out of four clothespins and a cigarette box.
This was read by Chelsea. I am a Youth Services Librarian at the Port Orchard branch. I’ve worked for the Library for a year and a half.
For quite a while, Francie had been spelling out letters, sounding them and then putting sounds together to mean a word. But one day, she looked at a page and the word “mouse” had instantaneous meaning. She looked at the word, and the picture of a gray mouse scampered through her mind. She looked further and when she saw “horse,” she heard him pawing the ground and saw the sun glint on his glossy coat. The word “running” hit her suddenly and she breathed hard as though running herself. The barrier between the individual sound of each letter and the whole meaning of the word was removed and the printed word meant a thing at one quick glance. She read a few pages rapidly and almost became ill with excitement. She wanted to shout it out. She could read! She could read!
From that time on, the world was hers for the reading.
This was read by Peggi, I’m a Library Assistant at the Poulsbo branch and I’ve worked for the Library for seven years.
“Feeling the capacity to be, to live, to act, to pour out the spirit of their souls into concrete and objective form with a high fervor born of their racial characteristics, they glide through our complex civilization like wailing ghosts; they spin like fiery planets lost from their orbits; they wither and die like trees ripped from native soil.
“Your Honor, remember that men can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread!”
This was read by Josh. I am a Library Associate at the Port Orchard branch. I've worked for the Library for eight years.
1950s
The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
All that cold, cold, wet day.
I sat there with Sally.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish
We had something to do!"
Too wet to go out
And too cold to play ball.
So we sat in the house.
We did nothing at all.
So all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
Something went BUMP!
How that bump made us jump!
We looked!
Then we saw him, step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
This was read by Kelly. I am an Associate at the Kingston branch. I've worked for the Library for twelve years.
After the keen still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth. Before Kit’s eyes a miracle took place, for which she was totally unprepared. She stood in the doorway of her uncle’s house and held her breath with wonder. The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her. The dried brown leaves crackled beneath her feet and gave off a delicious smoky fragrance. No one had ever told her about autumn in New England. The excitement of it beat in her blood. Every morning she woke with a new confidence and buoyancy she could not explain. In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.
This was read by Jenn. I am a Public Services Supervisor at the Manchester branch. I’ve worked for the Library for seven years.
I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination—indeed, everything and anything except me.
This was read by Wilson. I am a Public Services Supervisor at the Silverdale branch. I’ve worked for the Library for eight years.
1960s
Harriet squatted under the window and wrote out everything she had seen. Then she wrote:
THAT FABIO MAY BE BAD BUT I DON’T BLAME HIM. I WOULDN’T WANT TO BE LIKE BRUNO EITHER. BRUNO LOOKS LIKE A BIG DUMB BEAR.
ONCE I THOUGHT I WANTED TO BE FRANCA AND LIVE IN THAT FAMILY. BUT SHE’S SO DULL IF I WAS HER I COULDN’T STAND MYSELF. I GUESS IT’S NOT MONEY THAT MAKES PEOPLE DULL. THERE IS A LOT I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THIS THING OF BEING DULL. I BETTER FIND OUT BECAUSE I MIGHT BE IT.
WHAT IS IT LIKE TO HAVE BROTHERS AND SISTERS? ONE THING, WHENEVER THEY YELLED IT WOULDN’T ALWAYS BE AT YOU. SOMETIMES IT WOULD BE AT YOUR BROTHER THEN YOU COULD LAUGH.
WHAT IS TOO OLD TO HAVE FUN? YOU CAN’T BE TOO OLD TO SPY EXCEPT IF YOU WERE FIFTY YOU MIGHT FALL OFF A FIRE ESCAPE, BUT YOU COULD SPY AROUND ON THE GROUND A LOT.
This was read by Kathleen. I’m a Children’s Librarian at the Sylvan Way branch. I’ve worked for the Library for six years.
“You know that’s the reason you’re not happy at school. Because you’re different.”
“I’m different, and I’m happy,” Calvin said.
“But you pretend that you aren’t different.”
“I’m different, and I like being different.” Calvin’s voice was unnaturally loud.
“Maybe I don’t like being different,” Meg said, “but I don’t want to be like everybody else, either.”
This was read by Deanna. I am a Public Services Supervisor at the Port Orchard branch. I’ve worked for the Library for 20 years.
“We have the tiger by the tail,” Paul whispered. “We can’t go down, can’t land … and I don’t think I can lift us out of this. We’ll have to ride it out.”
Calmness drained out of her. Jessica felt her teeth chattering, clamped them together. Then she heard Paul’s voice, low and controlled, reciting the litany:
“Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear’s path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
This was read by Charles. I am a Supervisor at the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. branch. I’ve worked for the Library for three years.
1970s
There were lima beans for dinner and I hate limas.
There was kissing on TV and I hate kissing.
My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my railroad-train pajamas. I hate my railroad-train pajamas.
When I went to bed Nick took back the pillow he said I could keep and the Mickey Mouse night light burned out and I bit my tongue.
The cat wants to sleep with Anthony, not with me.
It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
My mom says some days are like that.
This was read by Sarah. I am a Collections Technical Services Librarian at the Sylvan Way branch. I’ve worked for the Library for over ten years.
September 16
Yesterday I remember thinking I was the happiest person in the whole earth, in the whole galaxy, in all of God’s creation. Could that only have been yesterday or was it endless light-years ago? I was thinking that the grass had never smelled grassier, the sky had never seemed so high. Now it’s all smashed down upon my head and I wish I could just melt into the blaaaa-ness of the universe and cease to exist. Oh, why, why, why, can’t I? How can I face Sharon and Debbie and the rest of the kids? How can I? By now the word has gotten around the whole school, I know it has! Yesterday I bought this diary because I thought at last I’d have something wonderful and great and worthwhile to say, something so personal that I wouldn’t be able to share it with another living person, only myself. Now like everything else in my life, it has become so much nothing.
I really don’t understand how Roger could have done this to me when I have loved him for as long as I can remember and I have waited all my life for him to see me. Yesterday when he asked me out I thought I’d literally and completely die with happiness. I really did! And now the whole world is cold and gray and unfeeling and my mother is nagging me to clean up my room. How can she nag me to clean up my room when I feel like dying? Can’t I even have the privacy of my own soul?
Diary, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow or I’ll have to go through the long lecture again about my attitude and my immaturity.
See ya.
This was read by Charity. I am the Custodial Supervisor for Kitsap Regional Library. I’ve worked for the Library for three years.
“At this certain time, in this certain village, lived this certain person.” It was a small boy, she said, of about their rains, who walked to the riverbank one day and found a crocodile trapped in a net.
“Help me!” the crocodile cried out.
“You’ll kill me!” cried the boy.
“No! Come nearer!” said the crocodile.
So the boy went up to the crocodile—and instantly was seized by the teeth in that long mouth.
“Is this how you repay my goodness—with badness?” cried the boy.
“Of course,” said the crocodile out of the corner of his mouth. “That is the way of the world.”
This was read by Tori. I’m a Youth Services Librarian at the Kingston branch, and I’ve worked at the library for seven years.
1980s
Most children in Matilda’s place would have burst into floods of tears. She didn’t do this. She sat there very still and white and thoughtful. She seemed to know that neither crying nor sulking ever got anyone anywhere. The only sensible thing to do when you are attacked is, as Napoleon once said, to counter-attack. Matilda’s wonderfully subtle mind was already at work devising yet another suitable punishment for the poisonous parent. The plan that was now beginning to hatch in her mind depended, however, upon whether or not Fred’s parrot was really as good a talker as Fred made out.
This was read by Connie. I am a Library Assistant at the Poulsbo library. I’ve worked for the library for 19 and a half years.
Then, all at once, she discovered the real drawback to being an old woman. Her heart gave a leap and a little stutter, and then seemed to be trying to bang its way out of her chest. It hurt. She shook all over and her knees trembled. She rather thought she might be dying. It was all she could do to get to the chair by the hearth. She sat there panting, clutching her chest.
“Is something the matter?” Calcifer asked.
“Yes. My heart. There was a scarecrow at the door!” Sophie gasped.
“What has a scarecrow to do with your heart?” Calcifer asked.
“It was trying to get in here. It gave me a terrible fright. And my heart—but you wouldn’t understand you silly young demon!” Sophie panted. “You haven’t got a heart.”
“Yes I have,” Calcifer said, as proudly as he had revealed his arm. “Down in the glowing part under the logs. And don’t call me young. I’m a good million years older than you are!”
This was read by Linda, I’m a Library Associate at Poulsbo branch. I’ve worked for the Library for seven years.
None of them were the men we knew. The newspaper stories were like dreams to us, bad dreams dreamt by others. How awful, we would say, and they were, but they were awful without being believable. They were too melodramatic, they had a dimension that was not the dimension of our lives.
We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom.
We lived in the gaps between the stories.
This was read by Suzanne. I am a Library Associate at the Poulsbo branch. I’ve worked for the Library for 19 years.
1990s
The glasses were so glittery.
The quarters were so shiny.
And the purse played such
nice music, not to mention
how excellent it was for
storing school supplies.
“Look,” Lilly whispered fiercely.
“Look, everyone. Look what I’ve got!”
Everyone looked.
Including Mr. Slinger.
He was not amused.
This was read by Kirstin. I have worked for the library for 31 years. I am the Youth Services Librarian at the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. location.
I want Sam to stop liking Craig.
Now, I guess maybe you think that’s because I am jealous of him. I’m not. Honest. It’s just that Craig doesn’t really listen to her when she talks. I don’t mean that he’s a bad guy because he’s not. It’s just that he always looks distracted.
It’s like he would take a photograph of Sam, and the photograph would be beautiful. And he would think that the reason the photograph was beautiful was because of how he took it. If I took it, I would know that the only reason it’s beautiful is because of Sam.
I just think it’s bad when a boy looks at a girl and thinks that the way he sees the girl is better than the girl actually is. And I think it’s bad when the most honest way a boy can look at a girl is through a camera. It’s very hard for me to see Sam feel better about herself just because an older boy sees her that way.
This was read by Ashley. I am a Library Associate at the Manchester and Port Orchard branches. I’ve worked at the Library for one year.
None were unfamiliar with the place they camped, though they would not have thought to go there on their own. No one but the very stupid or the very brave ever did that. Even on a dare. Some folks who lived their entire lives in the community that was but a mere blip on most maps had never set foot on the property.
Those that knew the story best, those who could tell it best, would gather the others and speak in low, earnest tones. As the campfire burned to an ashy bowl of red-hot embers, the boys would ramble on, piling up horror upon horror, like cordwood stacked under a blood-red-barked madrona tree.
This was read by Emma. I’m a Public Services Supervisor at the Poulsbo branch. I’ve worked for the Library for twelve years.
2000s
Wednesday
Today we had Phys Ed, so the first thing I did when I got outside was sneak off to the basketball court to see if the Cheese was still there. And sure enough, it was.
That piece of Cheese has been sitting on the blacktop since last spring. I guess it must’ve dropped out of someone’s sandwich or something. After a couple of days, the Cheese started getting all moldy and nasty. Nobody would play basketball on the court where the Cheese started getting all moldy and nasty. Nobody would play basketball on the court where the Cheese was, even though that was the only court that had a hoop with a net.
Then one day, this kid named Darren Walsh touched the Cheese with his finger, and that’s what started this thing called the Cheese Touch. It’s basically like the Cooties. If you get the Cheese Touch, you’re stuck with it until you pass it on to someone else.
The only way to protect yourself from the Cheese Touch is to cross your fingers.
But it’s not that easy remembering to keep your fingers crossed every moment of the day. I ended up taping mine together so they’d stay crossed all the time. I got a D in handwriting, but it was totally worth it.
This one kid named Abe Hall got the Cheese Touch in April, and nobody would even come near him for the rest of the year. This summer Abe moved away to California and took the Cheese Touch with him.
I just hope someone doesn’t start the Cheese Touch up again, because I don’t need that kind of stress in my life anymore.
This was read by Aleah. I am the Youth Services Librarian at the Silverdale branch. I’ve worked for the Library for seven years.
“Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren’t the only one who...who worries about...what it would be like if...”
I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.
This was read by Stasi. I am a Library Assistant at the Sylvan Way branch. I’ve worked for the Library for a year and a half.
“I know you’re still young, but I want you to understand and learn this now,” he said. “Marriage can wait, education cannot. You’re a very, very bright girl. Truly, you are. You can be anything you want, Laila. I know this about you. And I also know that when this war is over, Afghanistan is going to need you as much as its men, maybe even more. Because a society has no chance of success if its women are uneducated, Laila. No chance.”
This was read by Amelia. I am an Adult Services Librarian at the Silverdale branch. I’ve worked for the Library for less than a year.
2010s
The only thing dragons love more than parties or tacos, is taco parties (taco parties are parties with lots of tacos).
If you want to have some dragons over for a taco party, you’ll need buckets of tacos. Pantloads of tacos. The best way to judge is to get a boat and fill the boat with tacos. That’s about how many tacos dragons need for a taco party. After all, dragons love tacos.
This was read by Alexis. I am a Associate at the Port Orchard branch. I have worked for the Library for eight years.
[Friend 1] So Nick has a crush on Charlie, right? … We’ve all been thinking it!!
[Friend 2] They do seem really close. ... But Nick’s not gay, is he?”
[Friend 1] Well I guess we don’t know.
[Friend 3] He doesn’t look gay. And didn’t he have a crush on that girl Tara Jones?
[Miss Sing (P.E. Teacher and Coach)] You can’t tell whether people are gay by what they look like. … And gay or straight aren’t the only two options. … Anyway, it’s very rude to speculate about people’s sexuality. … Go home, lads.
[Friend 1] I can kinda see it. Nick and Charlie.
This was read by Tammy. I am the Executive Assistant at the Kitsap Regional Library, and I’ve worked here for over 43 years.
Eleanor had a long-held theory about men. She truly believed that for most men, all that talk of “being in love” or “finding the right one” was absolute nonsense. Marriage was purely a matter of timing, and whenever a man was finally done sowing his wild oats and ready to settle down, whichever girl happened to be there at the time would be the right one. She had seen the theory proven time and again; indeed she had caught Philip Young at precisely the right moment. All the men in that clan tended to marry in their early thirties, and Nicky was now ripe for the plucking. If someone in New York already knew so much about Nicky’s relationship, and if he was actually bringing this girl home to attend his best friend’s wedding, things must be getting serious. Serious enough that he purposely hadn’t mentioned her existence. Serious enough to derail Eleanor’s meticulously laid plans.
This was read by Nari. I'm an Associate at the Port Orchard branch. I’ve worked for the Library around seven years.
2020s
We fight for those
Who cannot fight for themselves:
The winged ones,
The crawling ones,
The four-legged,
The two-legged,
The plants, trees, rivers, lakes,
The Earth.
We are all related.
This was read by Liz. I am a Library Associate at the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. branch. I’ve worked for the Library for two years.
People say to think seven generations ahead when making big decisions, because our future ancestors—those yet to arrive, who will one day become the Elders—live with the choices we make today.
The investigation. I think back to Ron’s suggestion that enrollment could help my efforts. Could he be right? I feel ashamed for allowing the thought to flicker even for a second.
Another thought vies for brain space: As he reminded me this morning, Jamie is here temporarily. The FBI is concerned only with what’s happening right now. They cannot fathom that their actions might have far-reaching effects.
Maybe it’s even more important for me to be part of the investigation because I’m the only one thinking seven generations ahead.
This was read by Kaitlyn. I am a Human Resources Generalist at Kitsap Regional Library, and I’ve worked for the Library for four years.
I remember something Gurley told me, the night we sat up in the Missoula train station. We had been robbed and nearly killed in Taft. We were as beaten as people could be. And here she was, gearing up to start the fight all over once we got back to Spokane.
“How do you do it?” I asked her. “How do you keep getting up every day and fighting when winning seems impossible?”
She thought about it, and then she said, “Men sometimes say to me: You might win the battle, Gurley, but you’ll never win the war. But no one wins the war, Ryan. Not really. I mean, we’re all going to die, right?
“But to win a battle now and then? What more could you want?”
This was read by Hannah. I am a Library Associate at the Sylvan Way branch. I’ve worked for the Library for 29 years.