Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

"Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return...." --from "Song of the Open Road," Walt Whitman For the whole poem I am SO GLAD to be getting out of Sticks for a few days. After a quiet, and somewhat lo...

I was supposed to leave tomorrow for Massachusetts and the Farm, but winter storm Draco (Malfoy) is headed our way and so I am leaving early, taking to the open road. I pray that no matter how old, how crooked, how arthritic, I never forget or lose this love of the open road ; this dog-like desire to bounce on the seat, stare out the window, breathe in the changing smells--tongue lolling in excitement. I don't want to lose this desire to see towns, cities, lonely country unfolding in front of me; to go over the bumps of hundreds of railroad tracks and know the different journeys available in that too. I will keep this need to look for familiar signs and traces of roads I've traveled on, walked on, lived on. I will never lose the appreciation of what it means to add seconds, minutes, and hours--a math sum of home. I am so excited to get back to the Farm; to spend Christmas with my dear Farm friends; to again walk the familiar paths and roads, to see the animals and gardens. Ca...

but Uncle Walt will have to suffice until I have more time: Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call’d riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.  -- Stanza 11, "Song of the open road," Walt Whitman