Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

I know I've posted this before, ages ago in a different life, but all this cold and tucking in and waiting it out made me think of this gem: "An Old Man's Winter Night" All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to that creaking room was age. He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss. And having scared the cellar under him In clomping there, he scared it once again In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night, Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar Of trees and crack of branches, common things, But nothing so like beating on a box. A light he was to no one but himself Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what, A quiet light, and then not even that. He consigned to the moon, such as she was, So...

Though I think for the first time, in all the time since discovering the Farm (over 10 years ago), I don't want to go back, but rather forward, I still miss it terribly at this time of year; miss it in that awful yearning way, the same way I miss my parents home of my childhood, now someone else's. I miss it in the spring too. The Farm in its seasonal vestments harkens me back like family, calling me back at it's dying time and for it's birthing season too. I spoke with TSO yesterday and nearly wept at his voice, so homesick for the place and for my other friends there too, and for times gone; the uniqueness of the place. I am looking for the Farm in our autumn here, and though not finding it entirely, am contenting myself in the brilliance of the crisp colors, the blustery days, the painfully beautiful sunrises, and the most splendid and silvery moons. See that wisp of a  moon? "My November Guest" My ...

Hearing about the blizzard that's supposed to hit New England has left me longing to be in New England again; to be hunkering down for the storm; to be eating hearty, wintery meals while watching swirls of white through windows; to be cozying down for the evening in front of a fireplace. I have this very clear memory of reading this lovely Robert Frost poem for the first time. The poem felt perfect in the solitude of a sleepless night, while winter happened all around us, and I became the man in the poem, living in an old farm house. "An Old Man's Winter" All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to that creaking room was age. He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss. And having scared the cellar under him In clomping there, ...

As I was driving out to my new city this past weekend (which I will hence forth refer to as Sticks, since it's in the middle of nowhere), I was marveling at the loveliness of the corn fields and trees and wide, open spaces. My heart was swelling with contentment. I must have looked like a lunatic, stopping to snap a photo on my camera, sending it to my brother with the caption, "Look! Fields again!" I am so happy. So happy to be getting back to the country; so happy and grateful for this new job/opportunity. I was and still am heart brimmingly happy! I am living in this glow that I know will eventually fade, so I am clinging to it and just being happy it's mine for a while. Ah,  the fleeting wonder of things, like the fall, which is creeping up on us. Fall makes me think of this poem...which makes me think of The Outsiders, and damn it! Now, I have to watch the movie...   "Nothing Gold Can Stay" Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest...

"October" O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost-- For the grapes' sake along the wall. -- Robert Frost Every October I think of Frost's "October;" I think of 11th grade English and my teacher, Mr. K.; a younger me memorizing this poem. I can see it so clearly; laying on my bed, "Mother Nature's Son," p...

Today marks two months since the tree fell on my cabin . Two months of wonderful friends like B1&B2, Mummy Dearest and Family, M&N and Family--all absorbing me into their lives even more; giving me a bed and a room of my own in each place. Each place is unique: my room at B1&B2's a quiet guest room which they've given over to me; drawers now stuffed with my things, half a closet taken by me; a bed that the cat Mabel occasionally naps on, next to me. Mummy Dearest has given over her daughter M's bedroom to me. Large, curtained windows which I pull back at night so that I may see the first rays of the dawn when I wake early, even before the kids across the hall. At M&N's I sleep with Bob Dylan--or at least see a poster of him before I fall asleep, which on occasion leads me humming a Dylan diddy while I read in bed. I love that at the two latter houses when I sleep over on my weekend the kids are glad to see me when I wake, enjoying that we've all had ...

Today is a great day. It is a sit-back-and-take-stock kind of day. It is a nose hair freezing day; it is a be glad to be inside listening to the wind howl, and not outside in it day. It is a look outside and see the swirling mists of white and enjoy it because you can turn your head and feel the warmth of a blazing fire nearby kind of day. As the year wanes and former Farmers arrive for visits, I am thankful; thankful for their visits and thankful that we have a lovely, big house to use for hosting friends and hosting parties. Our friend and former Farmer--"once a Farmer, always a Farmer" (sounds a little Narnian)--Becca, arrived yesterday. After dinner she and I went over to Mummy Dearests' place and hung out and talked; so good to catch up with former Farmers because we just pick up where we leave off, reminds me how truly like family we are to one another. I was able to take the day off to hang out with Becca, and thus far have spent the day sitting and talking wi...

Something lovely after all those library related posts. An Old Man's Winter Night All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to that creaking room was age. He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss. And having scared the cellar under him In clomping there, he scared it once again In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night, Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar Of trees and crack of branches, common things, But nothing so like beating on a box. A light he was to no one but himself Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what, A quiet light, and then not even that. He consigned to the moon, such as she was, So late-arising, to the broken moon As better than the sun in any case For such a charge, his snow upon the roof, His icicles alon...

A poet has been chosen for Obama's Innaguration. Article here . My favorite innaguration poem was from JFK's Innaguration,written by one of my favorites, Robert Frost. Original written copy to the right, for those who can't read his writing: The Gift Outright The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia. But we were England's, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed. Something we were withholding made us weak. Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender. Such as we were we gave ourselves outright (The deed of gift was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become. ~ Robert Frost

Sunday morning flew by because I didn’t want it to. Nathan was leaving for the farm and I wanted desperately to cram myself into his luggage, and I was dreading going back to work and the start of summer classes which were to begin the next day. It is always hard to part with good friends, no? Whenever I get sad I try and find a poem that makes me feel better, so without further ado, some lines from one of my favorite poets: “And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: 'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!' We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall…” ~ Mending Wall, Robert Frost Thanks for coming to visit Nathan-see you in June!

When I was a kid we moved a lot-7 times by the time I was 7 years old-and as happens with many children, I was very lonely even with older brothers and a an older sister to play with. The house we finally settled in, the one that my parents still live in today, and the home where my nieces and nephews now play was like the house in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe , when I was a child. Though not as large, at seven it seemed endless and possibilities abounded, having moved into the country from the city of Detroit. There was even a time when we were playing hide n' seek, and I like Lucy, the youngest of four, hid behind a doorway. Unlike Lucy, regrettably, instead of a world in Narnia, I discovered a land of adventure yes, but more so of my own imaginings. It was on that very rainy day, when hide n' seek had ended-the older children tiring of it sooner than I should have liked-that I discovered a doorway into new worlds. I grabbed some books and hid behind my fathers old, so...