I've served on many boards. Most of them have much in common. They adopt policies. They scrutinize the budget. They hire, evaluate, coach, and compensate (or terminate) the executive who reports to them.

But you know what's uncommon? Boards that take a hard look at their OWN performance.

Over 15 years ago, my wife and I wrote an article called "Green Librarianship." It was based on a lot of research, just coming out at that time, about how our buildings were making us sick.

Back then, a few vendors tried to offer alternatives to the toxic glues used to hold down carpets, the formaldehyde-soaked pressboard used for insulation, and hermetically sealed heating, ventilation and air conditioning systems. And most of these vendors were seen as kooks.

Well, I did it. I wrote a book, and it got published. I unpacked my six free copies on a Friday night.

By Monday, I'd read it four times.

There's good news and bad news about being a published author. Here's the bad news.

The copyediting process caught several things I'd missed. For instance, I told the same story twice, in two widely seperated sections of the book. The editor asked me which one I wanted to cut, and I picked one.

But in the final review, both of them were still there. So I sent in another correction.

When I was in sixth grade, my fabulous public school teacher, Mr. Smith, sparked my interest in haiku, the Japanese verse form.

It fascinated me. Forty years later, it still does.

My own son, at about the same age I was when I encountered Japanese poetry, was captivated by another art form: film. In particular, he's absorbed by the tiny incremental repositioning of clay figures that adds up to the illusion of motion. It's called claymation, and Max is very good at it.