Category Archives: General

get mobile @ thelibrary

Mobile Features

The library at Waubonsee Community College offers many services  that support mobile technologies.  The two newest services this year include our “KwikBoost” charging stations and our “Library Text Alerts” service.

KwikBoost charging stations have been placed in locations within the Sugar Grove and Aurora campus libraries.  These stations offer reliable, fast charging for mobile devices.

Charging your mobile device is a snap with our KwikBoost stations
Charging your mobile device is a snap with our KwikBoost stations.

Don’t worry if you don’t have your charging cable with you, our KwikBoost stations are already equipped with connectors that fit  a wide variety of phones and tablets.  To use a station just plug your device into the appropriate cable, place the device in the caddy on front, then have a seat in one of our comfortable chairs and relax with a book or magazine.  You may even want to work on writing that paper you’ve been procrastinating on, but if you don’t we won’t judge.

Have you ever placed a hold on library materials and then found out they were already waiting for you after you got home?  Have you ever forgotten about having checked out a book and let it get overdue? Have you ever missed a notification from the library because you forgot about checking your student e-mail address?   We all have, don’t worry you’re not the first.  The Waubonsee Community College libraries now offer a great new service that lets you opt-in to receive text messages to help you stay current with your library account.

You can specify your cell phone to receive text message notifications for your library account using mywcc.
You can specify your cell phone, or other text capable numbers to receive text message notifications for your library account by using our Library Commons portlet in mywcc.

To get started receiving text messages sign in to mywcc and select the library tab at the top of the screen.  Next, click the “My Account” button in the “Library Commons” window.  From there, choose “Library Text Alerts”.  You will be presented with options for adding and removing  phone numbers and for indicating the types of notifications you would like to receive.    Simply make your selections and sign out of mywcc when you are finished.

Remember, your phone provider may charge you for text messages and you, not Waubonsee Community College, will be responsible for any charges incurred.  We will make every effort possible to keep the number of messages sent to a minimum.  If you ever want to change what notifications you receive just return to the “Library Commons” and update your preferences.

“One Today”

Richard Blanco’s inauguration poem:

One Today

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,

peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces

of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth

across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.

One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story

told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,

each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:

pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,

fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows

begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper-

bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,

on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives-

to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did

for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,

the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:

equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,

the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,

or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain

the empty desks of twenty children marked absent

today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light

breathing color into stained glass windows,

life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth

onto the steps of our museums and park benches

as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk

of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat

and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills

in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands

digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands

as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane

so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains

mingled by one wind-our breath. Breathe. Hear it

through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,

buses launching down avenues, the symphony

of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,

the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,

or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open

for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,

buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días

in the language my mother taught me-in every language

spoken into one wind carrying our lives

without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed

their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked

their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:

weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report

for the boss on time, stitching another wound

or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,

or the last floor on the Freedom Tower

jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes

tired from work: some days guessing at the weather

of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love

that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother

who knew how to give, or forgiving a father

who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight

of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always-home,

always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon

like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop

and every window, of one country-all of us-

facing the stars

hope-a new constellation

waiting for us to map it,

waiting for us to name it-together

The Sound of a Sentence

As Constance Hale says

The playful language found in children’s books comes naturally to us when we are young.

As we mature, our delight in sounds becomes less visceral.

[W]e often lose the child’s love of chaotic vowels and knocking syllables. Even when writing about poetry, we bog down in the language of academia. Our sentences get longer as we pile up clauses and struggle to state a thesis. Then, in our professional lives, we get tangled up in bureaucratese and forget our innate ability to play with sound and sense.

via The Sound of a Sentence – NYTimes.com.