Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

Eric Carle's sloth is pretty much my spirit animal these days. I am in week 3 at the new library--I've yet to cook up a code name for it--and feel like I am slowly, painfully slowly getting things. I am still struggling with learning how to do all of the finance work, as I had a F.O. at my last job. Last week I met up with local directors and felt a little better hearing about similar concerns, but a little worse when they kept saying words and IL acronyms that I did not understand! Oh, Ohio libraries how I miss you so. I miss a lot of things in fact. I miss my Youth Services Coordinator, PrairieDawn, and our friendship and shared jokes after years of working closely and sharing an office. I miss some of my old staff. I miss my old regular patrons. And sometimes when ChicagoBoy does things that frustrate me--I mean come on, the dirty laundry bin is RIGHT THERE!!! WHY IS YOUR DIRTY UNDERWEAR ON THE FLOOR--I miss my old single life a little bit too. I came to IL to be wit...

Cars to some people are just cars, but all of my cars have been special to me because I spend so much damn time in them. Never having very much money since getting my first car, I've always nursed my cars along, aided mercifully by my Dad and brother A3 (both mechanics). I spent hours in our garage learning oil changes, checking and filling and changing tires, changing wiper blades; learning what Dad considered the bare minimum. If only I'd paid attention I would have learned everything about cars, including how to replace an entire engine--yes, my Dad and brother actually did this over the course of several months using a lift that my Dad designed and built! I would be able to again wiggle under a car and actually know what to do. Even if it just meant handing my Dad tools, or sitting in the car and pumping the gas or brake pedals to get fluids coursing through lines, that time meant being with my Dad, and those are hours I will never get back an...

Yesterday I lay in the grassy courtyard of my apartment building, sweating under a sweltering summer sun. I'd risen and done my chores and then wanted nothing more than to lay in the sun like a cat, stretching and sunning myself, napping too perhaps. I read. Then I closed my eyes and missed the Farm. I pretended that the sound of honking horns and cars speeding by were lowing cows and rumbling tractors; the dry grass underneath me became a soft Farm field; the squirrels' chatter and birds' whistles made it more plausible. And yet I wasn't very far from the Farm, in the knowing that we were both under that same hot sun..and somehow that made it all right. " The Sun" Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone-- and how it slides again out...

A picture I snapped of the Farm on a hazy day. I miss it so... Every year I sit in awe of two personal anniversaries: May 31 and March 6--the days I moved to and then moved back to the Farm . It was 3 years ago yesterday that I made the move back to New England (from Michigan) and in some ways picked up where I'd left off 3 years earlier, and in other ways began/continued? another chapter in my life. Last year I probably reflected on March 6 by going for a walk around the Farm, taking in the late winter, perhaps examining the sap buckets, wondering where I'd be a year from now (and who would have ever thought Ohio!?); maybe I mulled over another year past as I baked bread. This year found me wishing I was at the Farm for another anniversary, instead I spent the evening trying to stifle strong feelings of homesickness and a longing to get in the car and drive far from the library in Ohio, not stopping until I hit the Massachusetts line. I am sitting in my apartment, wond...

Back in the Mitten for the weekend, I am thinking a lot about the Farm and how I still think of it as home; going back through my old pictures reminded me of what I was doing at the Farm this time last year.  Today marks one year since a tree fell on my little cabin in the woods. A year ago I came home to utter chaos, and yet, I had many reminders that day of the many forms friendship can come in. Thinking of and missing my Farm and my Farmers today, this little slice of Uncle Walt felt appropriate: "To a Stranger" P assing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me, I ate...

"A Star"   Beauty was that Far vanished flame, Call it a star Wanting better name. And gaze and gaze Vaguely until Nothing is left Save a grey ghost-hill. Here wait I On the world's rim Stretching out hands To Seraphim .  -- Patrick Kavanagh These are the nights: cold and brutal, when the day's winds have died down and we wait for clouds to part and reveal a winter sky; often conditions could become perfect and a stillness lay thick and dark in the night, and in the sky, and on my heart--heavy and present, a hand pressing into my chest. Be still, m y child, it seemed to say. And I was. I taught statues; motionless as a child hiding in a game. I sat and numbed, my exposed skin reddening--my nose and ears. Chill would creep into my joints. The game I played at was something about stars, finding them on those perfect nights. And now I am gone from the farm and the country-quiet nights where the stillness is tangible. And tonight I am wishing for one of tho...

Day 4 at OhCity Library under my belt. I feel whelmed. I am so glad tomorrow is Friday. OhCity Library is amazing, and I'm not just saying that--it is ranked really high on Hennen's Top Ten list of American Libraries. To say the least, coming to work here has been very humbling. This library is a librarian's wet dream--not only does our library offer a bajillion programs and services, but people in the community use the shit out of our library! So, not only am I learning all the systems and meticulous cataloging, filing and organization of everything in the Children's department, but I am also learning the names of of a million staff (tons of people work here!) and the kids who frequent. I am also trying to get used to many things: I can't take a shower before I go to bed, roll out of bed in the morning and put on a ball cap, jeans and a tshirt anymore. I have worn heels 3 out of 4 days this week. I do not enjoy this. I am a jeans kind of girl. I eat most of my ...

for moving day. Maybe it's because Sandburg's also from the Midwest, or maybe it's just because he promised me that everything is going to be come out alright...either way, I am moving on and this felt apropos: "Caboose Thoughts" It's going to come out all right—do you know? The sun, the birds, the grass—they know. They get along—and we’ll get along. Some days will be rainy and you will sit waiting And the letter you wait for won’t come, And I will sit watching the sky tear off gray and gray And the letter I wait for won’t come. There will be ac-ci-dents. I know ac-ci-dents are coming. Smash-ups, signals wrong, washouts, trestles rotten, Red and yellow ac-ci-dents. But somehow and somewhere the end of the run The train gets put together again And the caboose and the green tail lights Fade down the right of w...

My Farm boss FlavaFlav and I have often found ourselves talking about "examining the Farm with fresh eyes,"--this is usually a conversation that happens around holidays or board meeting weekends, when tons of non-Farmers are around. The sentiment was repeated again this week as we have begun to cook our big Thanksgiving meal, as we begin to look around us again and look for the flaws, seeking out that fresh perspective. And this is what leaving is for me, this half-existence of looking at things with a fresh perspective, not of a stranger, but rather, as a person soon to be estranged. To vacate the house and pack everything up means finding the holes in the wall where the pictures hung; seeing the uneven-ness of the paint job in certain corners; noticing how dingy things look when the room is alight with afternoon sunshine. But more importantly, it also means noticing the sharp contrast of the night sky and it's milky stars; being amazed by a cliched-ly perfect Indian s...

River (Take Me Along) - Bill Staines Remember the other day when I wrote about things that I will miss ? Well, here is another song that will always remind me of the Farm; the memory of swaying to this song as the chorus rose us around us; of smiling with satisfaction at this community that I think of as home. This was my first morning meeting song and the one I requested as my last morning meeting song when I left the Farm some years back (before I returned again). *Sigh*

Bill Staines - Sweet Wyoming Home Monday-Friday we have a morning meeting before we head off (back) to work; we cover that day's meetings, appointments, driving and events among other things. We always end with a reading and a song. This is one of my favorites and one which we sang last week. Sitting in my sister's noisy house I am missing the silence of sunrise outside my little cabin windows; thinking about all the things I am going to miss after I move to Ohio--songs like this are one of many things.

This poem felt appropriate today as we remember the death of my Dad, 4 years ago today. After a death we become silent somehow, shadowy, present but mute. I remember the first few days after my Dad died as a blur; the first few weeks as a haze; the first few months me as a mindless machine, sleepless, constantly working on papers--finishing grad school that semester was a blessing, so much to occupy my mind. Though today I am no longer steeped in my grief, I find that loss is a cloak that is occasionally thrown over the shoulders, much to the surprise of the wearer. I still miss my Dad so much, so acutely some days that I feel sick to my stomach. So, today I will listen for him: in my brothers' laugh, over a phone, hundreds of miles away; in the words of our song . I will see him in the fall leaves' brilliant colors and in the richness of the Farm at this time of year. I will think of him in the words my Auntie Louise sent to me after his death: "People say 'keep a...

The Postal Service - "Against All Odds" (cover of the Phil Collins song) I am not sure what brought it on, but I have been missing my Dad a lot this week. I can't believe that this October will mark 4 years since my Dad died, since it all still feels so fresh at times. When my Dad died I spent hours pouring over the same CDs. When nothing that my friends said or did made me feel better, I somehow felt comforted by Ray Lamontagne, The Weepies, and this Postal Service cover which I played about a thousand times that first week. This song came on my iPod shuffle today while I was driving and tears came into my eyes--funny how songs can carry such an imprint.

Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos. -- Charles M. Schulz I have been missing lately. Missing my best friends L&K since I got back from the Virgin Islands, where we were able to spend tons of time together; missing MummyDearest and her family since their recent move to North Carolina; missing my other bestie Kim and our frank conversations; missing College Kim and how we can watch God -awful chick flicks and laugh insanely; missing my family.  Missing the family dinners; the conversations around the table; missing the very way that I would sit with my back to the deck, feeling the breeze blow in and over the lattice work, reaching in to ruffle my shirt as I leaned forward and listened to my Dad's stories. I miss...

I lost a friend in high school, not a best friend, but a friend who I saw nearly everyday; Paul and I had become friends through our activities in the school's theater department. It's funny how, after Paul died, I remember thinking of him every single day for a really long time and wondering, "will there ever be a day where I don't think of him?" And that day came, and perhaps I even wondered at myself the next day for not thinking of him the day before. And then many more days passed, and now my thoughts of Paul are fewer and much farther between: sometimes when I go home and pass not too far from where he died; sometimes thinking of him when I attend the church I grew up in, thinking of that cold winter day and a church packed for a funeral. And tonight I think of Paul after watching Glee--a show I am sure he would have loved. Sitting and thinking of Paul tonight, I began to wonder if I will ever get to that day when I don't think of my Dad e...

I am so excited for our cruise, but at the same time I am very aware of the little things that we will be missing while gone. I just have to pause and recognize these things for their minute loveliness: TSO's and my seedlings are growing every day, and as silly as it sounds, I really look forward to the progress. I am wondering at the fact that the plants will be so much bigger when we get back. Such is the wonder of the life cycle of plants. The lilac bushes (which are my favorites) have begun blooming in the city. The Farm is at a slightly higher elevation, which means it's always a little cooler here and things open a little behind the times here too. I am bummed that we might miss that first burst of overwhelming fragrance. The view of the mountains around growing into even deeper shades of green. Ok, now that I've gotten that out of my system, I am ready.

"On the beach at night" On the beach at night, Stands a child with her father, Watching the east, the autumn sky. Up through the darkness, While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading, Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky, Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east, Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter, And nigh at hand, only a very little above, Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades. From the beach the child holding the hand of her father, Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all, Watching, silently weeps. Weep not, child,Weep not, my darling, With these kisses let me remove your tears, The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious, They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition, Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge, They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again, The great sta...