From the time I submitted my final paper for Foundations of Library and Information Science until the spring semester officially began on Tuesday of last week, I had just over five weeks to live life on my own terms without assignments or quizzes or articles or textbook chapters or discussion boards. A significant amount of that time was eaten up by holiday preparations and the holidays themselves, which were, despite a case of strep throat and just over a day lost to a stomach virus, uniformly lovely. But just as noteworthy in blogging terms as Christmas baking and parties and presents was that during my break from school, I rejoined the ranks of readers, consuming six books. Let me tell you about them, please.
Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
The circumstances: Since I started my expanded teen gig back in the fall, I've been feeling not so cool about the fact that I don't read much young adult fiction these days. Additionally, every time I think that, I want to punch someone over the name young adult fiction. So when I got tired of being the only person in the world who hadn't read this trilogy and when my long-time stooge (non-internet friends will know her as Sam the page) offered them to me in audiobook format so I could listen to them on the way home for Christmas, I knew my time had come. I actually got a head start on them by listening to the first one as I did some holiday baking and then consuming the second in day I spent languishing in my bed of sickness. And because I couldn't wait any longer, I polished off the third a few days later several day before I began my trip home.
The verdict: A few disks into Hunger Games (because I didn't actually read them with my eyes, I have no concept of the number of pages or chapters), I thought to myself that I could totally understand the mass appeal of this book--but it also seemed a little formulaic to me. And then a disk or so later, I acknowledged that I too had been sucked in, formulaic or not. I really enjoyed the first one, and I was eager to see the story develop in the second . . . but that's when the hopelessness and futility started to make me itch. I would still say that I liked Catching Fire, but things were starting to fall apart for me, and by the time I started Mockingjay, I was worn out by the misery. Much like my final verdict on watching Lost, I can only handle characters I've grown to care about being miserable for so long before self-preservation kicks in, and I have to remove myself emotionally from the story. That happened here. And in case you are wondering whether I was rooting for Peeta or Gale (and yes, I just had to look up how to spell their names on the internet), I was rooting for everyone except Katniss. She was my least favorite. Maybe I was rooting for Haymitch most of all.
The Magicians by Lev Grossman
The circumstances: After the Hunger Games saga, I was in the market for something else to listen to on my drive to Kentucky, so I explored some options. What I really wanted was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo as it was the January selection of my online Peeps book club, but there was a hold list at the library, so I went with the coworker recommended Magicians instead. I also got the book itself in case I got four hours into the story and wanted to keep going while I was at my moma's house and not in the car. I listened to it all the way home, but never felt the need to crack open the book while I was in Kentucky. I put another four hours into it on the way home, and I was still waiting for something to happen. When I got back to work, Jonathan had started listening to it as well, and though I was further ahead, we shared a similar feeling that something was lacking, but I forged ahead and finally finished it on a lazy Saturday.
The verdict: I hated the person who narrated the audiobook which I'm sure influenced my overall experience, but I just didn't enjoy it. At all. I tried to--I kept expecting for it to click with me as so many people had extolled the greatness of the book, but I never got it. I don't recommend anyone ever reading this book (least of all you, my dear imaginary readers), but if you think you might someday read it, go ahead and skip down to the next paragraph to avoid some spoilers. The book is about this teenager who gets accepted to a magical college (leading someone to mistakenly tell me that the book was like a grown-up Harry Potter, which is the most insulting thing anyone's ever said about Harry). The kid is completely unlikable (even worse than Katniss Everdeen) and profoundly unhappy to boot. But when he discovers this magical world waiting for him, he's sure that he's figured out why he's been unhappy. And then he's unhappy being magical. And then he's unhappy some more. And then later, he's unhappy. Also he's obsessed with this series of books he read as a child where a family of English children are sent to a manor in the country side and discover a portal to another world where animals talk and there's a wicked queen to defeat and they become royalty. The land is governed by wise,moral and very stately rams who might as well be named Aslan, because my goodness, it's such a blatant rip-off of the Chronicles of Narnia that I wanted to scream. And then it ends badly and the most likable character dies and it just gets worse from there. The dumb kid (who's in his mid-twenties by the time the book actually ends) never stops whining and wallowing in his own unhappiness, and there's actually a sequel (and a third book coming soon) and a movie to be made of the mess, but I've washed my hands of it all. Don't ever read this book.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson
The circumstances: By the time that I got home from my holiday trip, this audiobook had come in for me--plus I bought the paperback as a little present to myself, so I was ready to give it a whirl so I could attend book club for the first time since we started it back up--and so I could go see Daniel Craig as I have a strict policy about not seeing movies if I haven't read the books. I listened to about a third of it, but the names were confusing without being able to see them, so I switched to the print version. I started it on a Saturday evening and finished it before bedtime on Sunday with plenty of time to spare before book club on Monday.
The verdict: It's a slow start, and the Swedish names can be a bit confusing, but once I got into it, I was hooked. The mystery bit was intriguing, and I found the main characters really interesting, and although it ended up being fairly graphic and brutal in places, I thought it was well worth the read. I still haven't seen Daniel Craig, but I'll get to that eventually. My enjoyment of this one made me place holds on the remaining two books in the series, but so far I haven't made a start on them yet. Maybe during spring break . . .
Julie & Julia by Julie Powell
The circumstances: I saw Peep Martha the morning of book club, and she warned me that I might get the chance to choose the next book since I was showing up at chat and hadn't had a turn picking yet, so I did some research that day so I would feel prepared. I was looking for something that would be a light change of pace form the intensity of Dragon Tattoo, and everything I knew of this book fit the bill, so I picked it. So with only one more week between me and the start of the new semester, I decided to go ahead and try to make a dent in it, so that I'd be prepared for our February book chat even if my classes did try to kill me. Luckily, in that week, I had another trip to Kentucky, but this time I would be a passenger--and be traveling twice as far to get to Pinkie's birthday party, so there were plenty of reading opportunities along the way.
The verdict: I laughed out loud at the book enough in the car that my moma wants to read it. I'll have to warn her about Julie Powell's potty-mouth, but even with her propensity of dropping the f-bomb enough to make me blush, I really enjoyed it. It was often insane and sometimes unintentionally sad, but it was still a delight. And now I get to watch the movie--which I always thought looked cute but was unavailable to me because I hadn't read the book.
Since the start of my semester, I've also read a few gems such as the back cover of Bossypants by Tina Fey, which had me in fits of hysterical laughter, and two chapters in The Neal-Schuman Library Technology Companion, which is a real page-turner, let me assure you. Next up is a couple chapters of Information Representation and Retrieval in the Digital Age. I'm pumped about that as you might imagine. It was a joy to be back in the land of the pleasure reader for a while, and I'm determined to not let so much time pass before I sneak back for another visit. In the meantime, for those of my faithful followers who are not hip-deep in library textbooks, what are you reading?
Showing posts with label library. Show all posts
Showing posts with label library. Show all posts
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Monday, August 8, 2011
39 days
Forty days is a biblically significant amount of time. Thirty-nine days is nothing special. At the time of this typing, I am somewhere between thirty-nine and forty days away from the opening of the Main Library's Teen Center. Today I feel so overwhelmed by it, it might as well be a flood or a fast or some other horrendous-sounding f word. (No, not that f word, people.)
When I get busy at work, I like to make lists. It wastes time I could be spending getting actual work accomplished, but then when I do get around to the work, I get to mark things off. There is nothing satisfying in this life like marking things off a list. It's triple satisfying in Sharpie. When I make my Teen-Center-opening lists, they are deceptively simple. The word interviews, for instance. Just ten little letters comprising one brief list-item that represents at least fourteen separate meetings with fourteen qualified individuals. When my list says "pack up desk," it can't completely convey the labor-intensive misery of going through all the accumulated junk that is drawn by some unforeseen yet powerful force to my little north-facing cube, but I am determined to rid myself of the unnecessary when I make the move.
I can't even bring myself to put "say goodbye to the Michael Jackson mime" on my list because I'm not sure I've got the strength to face it. As much as I'm looking forward to a certain office upstairs, I know there's nothing out that south-facing window that can compare to the glory of my splash of river-view, the bustle of the River Market, and good ol' Michael Jackson mime. I think I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.
There have been some truly awesome moments in my list-making. Like the email I got just after I crossed off "select gaming equipment needed" telling me that my budget was nearly double what I'd spent so far. I must admit we're going to have a ridiculously nice gaming set-up.
And even when the list additions have been tedious and exhausting and downright daunting, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the fact that they're all so much mine is heady stuff. My decisions, my preferences, my opinions that carry weight, my mistakes to make. I can't take all the credit, and you should all regularly remind my gigantic ego to dial it back, but the being-in-charge-ness is pretty dang exciting. Exciting and overwhelming and filling-up my life enough that I finally had to break down and really blog about work, something I declared long ago would be a sign of the end times.
Oh, well. It's been nice knowing you. Hoping for rainbows at the end of my forty days.
When I get busy at work, I like to make lists. It wastes time I could be spending getting actual work accomplished, but then when I do get around to the work, I get to mark things off. There is nothing satisfying in this life like marking things off a list. It's triple satisfying in Sharpie. When I make my Teen-Center-opening lists, they are deceptively simple. The word interviews, for instance. Just ten little letters comprising one brief list-item that represents at least fourteen separate meetings with fourteen qualified individuals. When my list says "pack up desk," it can't completely convey the labor-intensive misery of going through all the accumulated junk that is drawn by some unforeseen yet powerful force to my little north-facing cube, but I am determined to rid myself of the unnecessary when I make the move.
I can't even bring myself to put "say goodbye to the Michael Jackson mime" on my list because I'm not sure I've got the strength to face it. As much as I'm looking forward to a certain office upstairs, I know there's nothing out that south-facing window that can compare to the glory of my splash of river-view, the bustle of the River Market, and good ol' Michael Jackson mime. I think I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.
There have been some truly awesome moments in my list-making. Like the email I got just after I crossed off "select gaming equipment needed" telling me that my budget was nearly double what I'd spent so far. I must admit we're going to have a ridiculously nice gaming set-up.
And even when the list additions have been tedious and exhausting and downright daunting, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the fact that they're all so much mine is heady stuff. My decisions, my preferences, my opinions that carry weight, my mistakes to make. I can't take all the credit, and you should all regularly remind my gigantic ego to dial it back, but the being-in-charge-ness is pretty dang exciting. Exciting and overwhelming and filling-up my life enough that I finally had to break down and really blog about work, something I declared long ago would be a sign of the end times.
Oh, well. It's been nice knowing you. Hoping for rainbows at the end of my forty days.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
oh bless my heart
The Southern sayin' backstory:
I know the overriding characteristic of my writing here is sophistication, so this may come as a surprise to friends of the blog, but I come from a rural background. I grew up living eight miles outside of a town of roughly 1700 people. We had one county school, and I graduated in a class of about fifty-two. Not only is my hometown as podunk as they come, I come from an ancestry that is a mixture of Kentucky hill people and Tennessee dirt farmers. Because education has been a fairly high priority in my family for two or three generations now, I can largely pass for a mostly normal, non-hick person. Much of the time I'm even allowed to forget about this ridiculously country accent I have. But every so often, I find myself in a situation that can only be summed up in the dialect of my youth; some quaint, down home saying comes out of my mouth, and I embrace my true self. Today is one of those days:
oh bless my heart
I know this should actually be "bless his/her heart" or "bless your heart," but what will follow is a story of how I am the sad and pathetic entity requiring all the heart-blessing. Perhaps, imaginary reader, you're unfamiliar with this expression, so you don't yet grasp just how deserving of your sympathy I should be. There are two common usages: Primarily bless (appropriate third-person possessive pronoun) heart is Southern-girl code for "that poor, unfortunate soul . . . let me use my seeming concern to gossip about problems faced and dramas encountered in the life of said individual." Southern girls could make an Olympic sport out of gossip, but their momas raised them better than to do it overtly--avoiding tackiness being a required course at SEC schools. So bless whomever's heart is the magic word, the get out of tacky-gossip-jail free card. For the record the malicious spirit is optional. Sometimes Southern girl gossip isn't as bad as I'm making it sound . . . I think. Bless your heart is a slightly different thing . . . when you're blessing someone's heart to his/her face, it's not gossip, but it's still a mild put-down in the vein of "oh you poor, dumb thing." It's that sort of condescending sympathy of which I am in need today.
I normally don't leave work at midday. Even if I don't bring my lunch, I eat at one of the many fine downtown dining establishments. Because I have to park in a parking deck more than half a block away, it's just sort of inconvenient (and for most of the year uncomfortably hot or cold), but sometimes I have to deal with the inconvenience. The problem with leaving at midday is that I typically don't pack up all my stuff if I'm not leaving for the day, so it's not altogether uncommon for me to arrive at my car and realize that I've left my keys in their designated pocket of my bag which is sitting under my desk. I always feel beyond stupid when this happens, and as luck would have it, I am almost always caught walking in circles to retrieve them by someone who's only too happy to give me crap about it. So when that happened to me this afternoon as I was trying to leave, it was scarcely noteworthy. Sure I wasted ten minutes round trip due to my own frustrating stupidity, but it certainly wasn't breaking news.
Lucky for you and blog fodder, my key drama continued. Tonight at closing, we had a couple of underagers who were waiting for a ride, so I ended up waiting with a couple of my security buddies for the parents to arrive, so it was already 8:15ish when we hiked over to the parking deck. Just as the elevator was nearing the third floor, I began to dig fruitlessly through the key pocket and the rest of my bag for my keys. Marquis, the best security guard in the history of security guards, walked me back over to the library to get the forgotten keys. I foraged through the upper strata of my desk with no luck. I retraced all the steps I made in our department after my return. By this point, I was not only moderately frantic but also painfully aware that I was keeping my pal Marquis from going home thanks to my ridiculous inability to keep track of my possessions. So I gave up. I called in the cavalry, and when allegedly helpful roommate Jess screened me in my hour of need, my superhero of a brother came to my rescue to pick me up. Lots of cuss words ensued (mine, not Shane's--he was nothing but pleasant and patient). I got home for the first time at nine, and rather than follow the original plan of getting copies made of Jess's house keys (which was likely impossible at that time of night), I finally confirmed that the extra key that's been hanging out at our house for the past fifteen months does indeed unlock the knob of the kitchen door, so I can enter and leave my house at will. My run of improved luck held when I realized that I hadn't yet lost the spare key (and extra clicker) to my car. So a penitent Jess took me to liberate my car from the parking deck, and after a quick stop back at the house to pick up my wallet (because of course, I'd left that at home), I tracked down some dinner and made it home before ten, but not by much.
So bless my heart . . .
It did sort of end up better than it began, and I've calmed down considerably about how my life will play out if I don't find them, but I was deserving of the most sincerely contemptuous bless your hearts ever just a few hours ago. Lucky for me, Jess isn't a real Southern girl, so I didn't actually have to endure any.
I know the overriding characteristic of my writing here is sophistication, so this may come as a surprise to friends of the blog, but I come from a rural background. I grew up living eight miles outside of a town of roughly 1700 people. We had one county school, and I graduated in a class of about fifty-two. Not only is my hometown as podunk as they come, I come from an ancestry that is a mixture of Kentucky hill people and Tennessee dirt farmers. Because education has been a fairly high priority in my family for two or three generations now, I can largely pass for a mostly normal, non-hick person. Much of the time I'm even allowed to forget about this ridiculously country accent I have. But every so often, I find myself in a situation that can only be summed up in the dialect of my youth; some quaint, down home saying comes out of my mouth, and I embrace my true self. Today is one of those days:
oh bless my heart
I know this should actually be "bless his/her heart" or "bless your heart," but what will follow is a story of how I am the sad and pathetic entity requiring all the heart-blessing. Perhaps, imaginary reader, you're unfamiliar with this expression, so you don't yet grasp just how deserving of your sympathy I should be. There are two common usages: Primarily bless (appropriate third-person possessive pronoun) heart is Southern-girl code for "that poor, unfortunate soul . . . let me use my seeming concern to gossip about problems faced and dramas encountered in the life of said individual." Southern girls could make an Olympic sport out of gossip, but their momas raised them better than to do it overtly--avoiding tackiness being a required course at SEC schools. So bless whomever's heart is the magic word, the get out of tacky-gossip-jail free card. For the record the malicious spirit is optional. Sometimes Southern girl gossip isn't as bad as I'm making it sound . . . I think. Bless your heart is a slightly different thing . . . when you're blessing someone's heart to his/her face, it's not gossip, but it's still a mild put-down in the vein of "oh you poor, dumb thing." It's that sort of condescending sympathy of which I am in need today.
I normally don't leave work at midday. Even if I don't bring my lunch, I eat at one of the many fine downtown dining establishments. Because I have to park in a parking deck more than half a block away, it's just sort of inconvenient (and for most of the year uncomfortably hot or cold), but sometimes I have to deal with the inconvenience. The problem with leaving at midday is that I typically don't pack up all my stuff if I'm not leaving for the day, so it's not altogether uncommon for me to arrive at my car and realize that I've left my keys in their designated pocket of my bag which is sitting under my desk. I always feel beyond stupid when this happens, and as luck would have it, I am almost always caught walking in circles to retrieve them by someone who's only too happy to give me crap about it. So when that happened to me this afternoon as I was trying to leave, it was scarcely noteworthy. Sure I wasted ten minutes round trip due to my own frustrating stupidity, but it certainly wasn't breaking news.
Lucky for you and blog fodder, my key drama continued. Tonight at closing, we had a couple of underagers who were waiting for a ride, so I ended up waiting with a couple of my security buddies for the parents to arrive, so it was already 8:15ish when we hiked over to the parking deck. Just as the elevator was nearing the third floor, I began to dig fruitlessly through the key pocket and the rest of my bag for my keys. Marquis, the best security guard in the history of security guards, walked me back over to the library to get the forgotten keys. I foraged through the upper strata of my desk with no luck. I retraced all the steps I made in our department after my return. By this point, I was not only moderately frantic but also painfully aware that I was keeping my pal Marquis from going home thanks to my ridiculous inability to keep track of my possessions. So I gave up. I called in the cavalry, and when allegedly helpful roommate Jess screened me in my hour of need, my superhero of a brother came to my rescue to pick me up. Lots of cuss words ensued (mine, not Shane's--he was nothing but pleasant and patient). I got home for the first time at nine, and rather than follow the original plan of getting copies made of Jess's house keys (which was likely impossible at that time of night), I finally confirmed that the extra key that's been hanging out at our house for the past fifteen months does indeed unlock the knob of the kitchen door, so I can enter and leave my house at will. My run of improved luck held when I realized that I hadn't yet lost the spare key (and extra clicker) to my car. So a penitent Jess took me to liberate my car from the parking deck, and after a quick stop back at the house to pick up my wallet (because of course, I'd left that at home), I tracked down some dinner and made it home before ten, but not by much.
So bless my heart . . .
It did sort of end up better than it began, and I've calmed down considerably about how my life will play out if I don't find them, but I was deserving of the most sincerely contemptuous bless your hearts ever just a few hours ago. Lucky for me, Jess isn't a real Southern girl, so I didn't actually have to endure any.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
an open letter to the pioneer woman
Dear P-Dub (I can call you P-Dub, right? I mean, we're friends and all now),
I should warn you that I used to do these open letters all the time (or once a week for about a month), but they became kind of dangerous. See I really just do them for laughs, never expecting that the addressee will ever actually read them, but it turns out this here internet-thingy is a public forum, and sometimes moving truck companies and basic cable television networks will stumble across my amusing little letters, and weird stuff occasionally follows. Once I began to understand the might of the open letter, I sent them into semi-retirement, only using them in safe and controlled conditions. I've always known that the time might once again be right to send an open letter out into the world, but no offense, I didn't anticipate that it would be for you. The open letter is my secret final weapon against the one person who I hope to lure into friendship (and marriage) through the blog. But I'm not going to devote that letter to FHDM until I'm sure I'm ready for us to happen because as I think I mentioned a few sentences back, the open letter is a powerful tool with unexpected and far-reaching effects. But now that you and I are friends I'm not afraid to send this open letter out into the internet-void. I mean I'm assuming you were going to look me up and start following the blog anyway now that we've met, right?
Thanks times a million for coming to the Arkansas Literary Festival on Saturday! It was kind of the best work-related thing that's ever happened to me. I tend to avoid Lit Fest because it's so busy and chaotic, and all the people make me crazy. And honestly, if I'm not working, I don't really dig hanging out at the library. It's a great place, but I feel like I spend enough time there without devoting leisure time to it. But you were totes worth the crowd and chaos and hanging out where I work without getting paid. Even the line waiting with the rabid PW fans was mildly awesome.
To tell the truth, I'm the reason you were invited in the first place. I've been a fan for a couple of years now, and when you were on the cookbook tour (was that 2009?), I may have become a little obsessed with talking about you at work. It helped that I won a $75 amazon gift card in one of your Geography quizzes (Kansas City, if memory serves). The cool thing about the folks I work with is that I'm the young, hip, fun girl, so anything that I like, they buy into--not that it was a hard sell. They fell right in love with you too, and because I had brought you onto the radar of my boss (maybe you met her today? Lisa, but not the Lisa who moderated your session), she suggested you to Mr. Lit Fest, and the rest is history--or the beginning of our awesome friendship. I don't typically use the word awesome so much. Forgive me.
You already know the highlights of the day as you were there hanging out with me and stuff, but let me take you through the good times you missed out on. I worked the Book Fiesta in the morning before you got there (remember I told you about making the salsa and getting it on my shirt?), so everyone else got there at various stages, but by a few minutes after noon we were ready to head for the line. We were in a pretty decent spot too.
I realized that I'd left my camera upstairs not long after we got into line, so while Martha was taking the twins one at a time to change their diapers on the lawn in the little garden area outside where we were waiting, I ran back up to my desk to get my camera. I asked if she would reenact the lawn diaper changes for me once I got back, but she apparently didn't want her babies' private business enshrined here on my blog. Go figure.
In that brief time while I was gone, the line was growing and growing. Some sweet lady behind us offered to take our picture all together since someone was getting left out of all the ones we were taking ourselves. I know it's confusing, but Martha's holding Jackson, who's really Amy's baby. That's Luke you can see in the stroller, but sweet Calla got cut off--but of course, you remember what she looks like anyway.
In addition to the diaper changes, the twins had to eat lunch in line--the sacrifices those babies made to meet you are impressive, huh? Trust me that nothing should ever come between Luke and his eating schedule. The boys likes his food.
The vestibule where we waited was airless and sticky with all those warm bodies, so I was quite ready to get inside the Darragh Center which I hoped would be pleasantly cool. You may recall it was not. We were melting in there too, so I speculated then about how many paper towels or tissues you were using to soak up the sweat from your armpits and wondered if you had enough to share. If I'd gotten to ask my question during the session, that's what it would have been.
Oh look, Calla's in this one--but now Luke is in the stroller. I think he was asleep by this point maybe.
I was trying to take a picture of Calla who was down the row being really cute when my camera batteries died. Can you believe the horror?!? What would I do if we couldn't have a our picture made together later? I had not come prepared for that possibility. Luckily Nichole had. She gave me new batteries and saved my life.
Jackson waited until he was inside and sitting down to eat, but out of respect for Amy, I'm not going to show you that picture (though thanks to the Hooter Hider/Modest Mommy/nursing bib it's a perfectly respectable photo).
Hey! There you are. Of course, you'll remember this part. You really did a fantastic job, and you appeared completely undaunted during the whole laptop/slideshow debacle, so despite whatever you feel about your lack of strength as a public speaker, I thought you handled yourself like a pro. And I'm sure it didn't hurt that you're so beloved that we all were just giddy with seeing you and hearing you and getting to laugh with you in person, and no one in the audience cared about the a/v issues.
Later while we were standing in line waiting for book-signing, Nichole said, "wasn't she just like you thought she'd be?" I had to agree. Your warmth and genuineness and humor were exactly as I'd pictured them. I guess everyone else thought so too since we waited and waited and waited for the line to wind around for us to see you. Poor pregnant Monica just had to sit down, so we actually had a folding camp chair that she sat in and moved and scooted as the line meandered. The babies held up like champs through all the waiting. Both boys took naps and Calla only got a little fussy.
And then, at long last, we made the last corner and saw you, wearing those boots you've talked about so often, sporting the haircut you got last week (is it creepy that people know so much about your life sometimes?), and charming the socks off everyone whose book you signed. It was interesting to hear the sorts of things people brought up to talk about with you as they had their moment: homeschooling, being from Oklahoma, favorite recipes. I could tell that everyone felt as I did, that she'd known you long before she handed your her book to sign and that like me, she'd considered carefully what to say in her brief time with you to make a connection--to help you know her in some small way as she knows you. Everyone might as well have said, "Hi, Ree. I think you're great, and more importantly we're alike. If I lived down the gravel road from you, we'd be friends, great friends, inseparable. Instead let's be long-distance friends. You won't regret it. After all, all those things you say, those funny things that happen to you, those foods that you love, I do all those things too. We're alike, you see." But saying that would come off just a shade stalkerish and desperate, so instead we honed in one one detail, one thing to tell you that would make us special, make us important to you, if only for a moment, because you're important to us. And you delivered for us, listening to those snippets and details, responding with your sweet smile and appropriate questions, and acting for all the world as though you had all the time in the world to talk to us.
When my moment came, it was no different. I was grateful to Lee Ann (the Lit Fest girl who was opening the books and handing them to you) for telling you that I worked at the library so I could act like I was a little more special, a little more in-the-know than all the other folks who had passed through the line. I got to confess to you that I had salsa on my shirt, a splatter from earlier in the day when I had made your restaurant-style salsa (best salsa ever) for the Book Fiesta in the children's department. We got to bond for a moment on the perfection that is your salsa, and I felt the residual glow of your admiration for the cute babies in our group.
If there was one thing we could have done differently that would have made the moment pure, over-the-top perfection, we would have all crowded around you for a group picture. It would have been a lot like that first picture up at the top (but with Luke and Calla out of the stroller) and with you as our new friend right in the middle. When I think back on the day, that's how I want to remember it, that's the picture I see in my heart.
From all of us who have had those moments with you, thanks. Thanks for being everything we imagined you would be: the ordinary girl who loves butter and hates laundry, who delights in her kids and feels nervous about her weight, who does embarrassing things and owns up to them, who finds beauty in quiet everyday moments of family, food, and friends. Thank you for giving us your attention, for treating us like long-lost friends or new friends you'd been waiting to meet, just as eagerly as we'd been waiting to meet you.
Thanks for it all,
Ellen (your new best friend)
P.S. I didn't tell Amy or Martha or Monica about that second extra conversation we had as I saw you on your way out. They don't know how we talked about our fall Getaway and the Lodge. So once you figure out the details of how that might work, let me know. I can't wait to tell them.
P. P. S. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this posted. I got it mostly finished on Sunday, but then internet vanished from our home until today. It's not because I wasn't giddily excited about reliving our day together. Don't let my technological issues come between us. Please.
P. P. P. S. To anyone reading this who doesn't know about Pioneer Woman and her amazing-ness, get out from under your rock and go here. You won't be sorry. Promise.
I should warn you that I used to do these open letters all the time (or once a week for about a month), but they became kind of dangerous. See I really just do them for laughs, never expecting that the addressee will ever actually read them, but it turns out this here internet-thingy is a public forum, and sometimes moving truck companies and basic cable television networks will stumble across my amusing little letters, and weird stuff occasionally follows. Once I began to understand the might of the open letter, I sent them into semi-retirement, only using them in safe and controlled conditions. I've always known that the time might once again be right to send an open letter out into the world, but no offense, I didn't anticipate that it would be for you. The open letter is my secret final weapon against the one person who I hope to lure into friendship (and marriage) through the blog. But I'm not going to devote that letter to FHDM until I'm sure I'm ready for us to happen because as I think I mentioned a few sentences back, the open letter is a powerful tool with unexpected and far-reaching effects. But now that you and I are friends I'm not afraid to send this open letter out into the internet-void. I mean I'm assuming you were going to look me up and start following the blog anyway now that we've met, right?
Thanks times a million for coming to the Arkansas Literary Festival on Saturday! It was kind of the best work-related thing that's ever happened to me. I tend to avoid Lit Fest because it's so busy and chaotic, and all the people make me crazy. And honestly, if I'm not working, I don't really dig hanging out at the library. It's a great place, but I feel like I spend enough time there without devoting leisure time to it. But you were totes worth the crowd and chaos and hanging out where I work without getting paid. Even the line waiting with the rabid PW fans was mildly awesome.
To tell the truth, I'm the reason you were invited in the first place. I've been a fan for a couple of years now, and when you were on the cookbook tour (was that 2009?), I may have become a little obsessed with talking about you at work. It helped that I won a $75 amazon gift card in one of your Geography quizzes (Kansas City, if memory serves). The cool thing about the folks I work with is that I'm the young, hip, fun girl, so anything that I like, they buy into--not that it was a hard sell. They fell right in love with you too, and because I had brought you onto the radar of my boss (maybe you met her today? Lisa, but not the Lisa who moderated your session), she suggested you to Mr. Lit Fest, and the rest is history--or the beginning of our awesome friendship. I don't typically use the word awesome so much. Forgive me.
You already know the highlights of the day as you were there hanging out with me and stuff, but let me take you through the good times you missed out on. I worked the Book Fiesta in the morning before you got there (remember I told you about making the salsa and getting it on my shirt?), so everyone else got there at various stages, but by a few minutes after noon we were ready to head for the line. We were in a pretty decent spot too.
In that brief time while I was gone, the line was growing and growing. Some sweet lady behind us offered to take our picture all together since someone was getting left out of all the ones we were taking ourselves. I know it's confusing, but Martha's holding Jackson, who's really Amy's baby. That's Luke you can see in the stroller, but sweet Calla got cut off--but of course, you remember what she looks like anyway.
The vestibule where we waited was airless and sticky with all those warm bodies, so I was quite ready to get inside the Darragh Center which I hoped would be pleasantly cool. You may recall it was not. We were melting in there too, so I speculated then about how many paper towels or tissues you were using to soak up the sweat from your armpits and wondered if you had enough to share. If I'd gotten to ask my question during the session, that's what it would have been.
Oh look, Calla's in this one--but now Luke is in the stroller. I think he was asleep by this point maybe.
I was trying to take a picture of Calla who was down the row being really cute when my camera batteries died. Can you believe the horror?!? What would I do if we couldn't have a our picture made together later? I had not come prepared for that possibility. Luckily Nichole had. She gave me new batteries and saved my life.
(Thanks, Nichole!)
Later while we were standing in line waiting for book-signing, Nichole said, "wasn't she just like you thought she'd be?" I had to agree. Your warmth and genuineness and humor were exactly as I'd pictured them. I guess everyone else thought so too since we waited and waited and waited for the line to wind around for us to see you. Poor pregnant Monica just had to sit down, so we actually had a folding camp chair that she sat in and moved and scooted as the line meandered. The babies held up like champs through all the waiting. Both boys took naps and Calla only got a little fussy.
And then, at long last, we made the last corner and saw you, wearing those boots you've talked about so often, sporting the haircut you got last week (is it creepy that people know so much about your life sometimes?), and charming the socks off everyone whose book you signed. It was interesting to hear the sorts of things people brought up to talk about with you as they had their moment: homeschooling, being from Oklahoma, favorite recipes. I could tell that everyone felt as I did, that she'd known you long before she handed your her book to sign and that like me, she'd considered carefully what to say in her brief time with you to make a connection--to help you know her in some small way as she knows you. Everyone might as well have said, "Hi, Ree. I think you're great, and more importantly we're alike. If I lived down the gravel road from you, we'd be friends, great friends, inseparable. Instead let's be long-distance friends. You won't regret it. After all, all those things you say, those funny things that happen to you, those foods that you love, I do all those things too. We're alike, you see." But saying that would come off just a shade stalkerish and desperate, so instead we honed in one one detail, one thing to tell you that would make us special, make us important to you, if only for a moment, because you're important to us. And you delivered for us, listening to those snippets and details, responding with your sweet smile and appropriate questions, and acting for all the world as though you had all the time in the world to talk to us.
When my moment came, it was no different. I was grateful to Lee Ann (the Lit Fest girl who was opening the books and handing them to you) for telling you that I worked at the library so I could act like I was a little more special, a little more in-the-know than all the other folks who had passed through the line. I got to confess to you that I had salsa on my shirt, a splatter from earlier in the day when I had made your restaurant-style salsa (best salsa ever) for the Book Fiesta in the children's department. We got to bond for a moment on the perfection that is your salsa, and I felt the residual glow of your admiration for the cute babies in our group.
If there was one thing we could have done differently that would have made the moment pure, over-the-top perfection, we would have all crowded around you for a group picture. It would have been a lot like that first picture up at the top (but with Luke and Calla out of the stroller) and with you as our new friend right in the middle. When I think back on the day, that's how I want to remember it, that's the picture I see in my heart.
From all of us who have had those moments with you, thanks. Thanks for being everything we imagined you would be: the ordinary girl who loves butter and hates laundry, who delights in her kids and feels nervous about her weight, who does embarrassing things and owns up to them, who finds beauty in quiet everyday moments of family, food, and friends. Thank you for giving us your attention, for treating us like long-lost friends or new friends you'd been waiting to meet, just as eagerly as we'd been waiting to meet you.
Thanks for it all,
Ellen (your new best friend)
P.S. I didn't tell Amy or Martha or Monica about that second extra conversation we had as I saw you on your way out. They don't know how we talked about our fall Getaway and the Lodge. So once you figure out the details of how that might work, let me know. I can't wait to tell them.
P. P. S. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this posted. I got it mostly finished on Sunday, but then internet vanished from our home until today. It's not because I wasn't giddily excited about reliving our day together. Don't let my technological issues come between us. Please.
P. P. P. S. To anyone reading this who doesn't know about Pioneer Woman and her amazing-ness, get out from under your rock and go here. You won't be sorry. Promise.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
17 reasons why i haven't blogged lately (in random order)
1. I spent exactly thirty minutes at my desk today. Granted I came to work an hour late and took a longer-than-normal lunch. but I also left somewhere between fifteen and forty-five minutes late. I didn't work the public service desk at all. I'm not saying I usually blog at work, but I do type out quick ideas as I have them sometimes, and I typically take all my "breaks" and lunch at my desk which gives me time to work on my informative and entertaining posts. And if I work the public service desk at a slow time, I do sometimes indulge in more personal internet pursuits (a category into which blogging falls) while I'm waiting around on someone to assist.
2. I ate lunch today with Peeps Monica and Martha and the tweeps. It was a thousand times better than lunch at my desk with the internet. I was having way too good a time to blog--plus I spent a decent fraction of the meal baby juggling with Martha, and I can't feed myself, hold babies and blog all at once. I'm no super woman. P.S. My storytime wooing of the tweeps has not yet won them over to adoration of me, but I shall not be daunted.
3. Often lately I've been eating lunch and taking breaks in our staff lounge (despite what I said to the contrary in the previous two excuses). My library friend Philip gave up going out to lunch for Lent, so he's been bringing his lunch, and I've been bringing my lunch almost daily since the beginning of the year, so we've been eating together upstairs more. Sometimes Bob comes too. We bring our handwork (they're both knitting hats at the moment) and work on our various projects.
4. It's spring break round these parts, and we're doing alliterative programs for school kids every day this week. On Movie Monday, I passed out popcorn and showed How to Train Your Dragon to fifty-one library friends. On Tie-Dye Tuesday, I calmly dealt with fifty-three library friends and the rainbow-hued carnage they left on the tables, floor, and my hands. Today on Wii Wednesday I played and supervised and refereed twenty-two library friends through multiple games for three hours. These unexpected well-attended pursuits have pushed me much closer to exhaustion than I should be, and while that's embarrassing, the fact remains that sitting down and stringing clever words together just wasn't in me (still isn't, but here you go anyway).
5. As I previously mentioned I've been working on balance and moderation in my personal interests and pursuits, so at home I've been reading and cooking and keeping all the dishes washed and watching tv as a family with Jess, and I've been trying to spend less time glued to my laptop. Providing intellectually stimulating blog fodder is the unintended casualty of moderation--though those unfinished home projects as yet remain unfinished.
6. I mentioned in #3 that I'm bringing my handwork to lounge lunches and breaks with Philip and Bob, but I haven't told you about what I'm doing. I'm actually working on a post all about it, so I'm not going to tell you until that's ready, but my steady work on this undisclosed craft project has given me something to do with my hands besides typing out blogs for you, and I am really excited about showing you someday.
7. I had an interesting and busy weekend. Our church is doing some painting and cleaning at an elementary school while they're out on spring break, and I went to help clean and tape for the paint crews on Saturday. One of the areas we painted was the cafeteria where they had to work around a mural depicting Carson-Dellosa kiddos following the posted cafeteria rules. It was a mostly really cute except that it was unfinished. I thought it a shame that our freshening and sprucing would still be overshadowed by the half-finished people (that weren't on our list of approved fixes). I asked if I could come back the next day and finish them, so our man in charge called someone from the school, and I got permission to do it. I went back on Sunday to finish the job and recruited some help, and we almost got it done. My sidekicks completed the mural on Monday while I was at work slinging popcorn for the movie-goers. Jess went and took pictures, and it turned out beautifully.
8. I would have liked to be able to blog about the successful selection of a winning NCAA tournament bracket, but alas, my hopes have been dashed for another year. I'm currently tied for last place in a pool of ten friends and family members. It shouldn't surprise me any longer that I'm terrible at these picks, but it's always disheartening. All of my Final Four teams are still in the running, so although I still have a higher-than-some points potential, I've missed many, many significant picks. I suspect that this week's games will drive the final nail in my bracket's coffin. It doesn't help that cousin, scholar, theologian and #1 blog fan, who admitted to making mostly arbitrary picks is in first place.
9. Laziness.
10. A lack of task commitment.
11. A stronger than normal tendency to ramble senselessly. Seriously, every time I try to post something lately, it turns into a torrent of messy words, and I abandon the effort.
12. A short attention span.
13. An almost unreasonable desire to do nothing but eat Dove truffle eggs. Until Saturday I hadn't found them at a store this Easter candy season, but now I know that Walgreens has them, and the desire to purchase and consume them is a constant presence in my life. In the spirit of balance and moderation (not to mention my healthy-eating choices), I'm trying to keep this from becoming an obsession, but it's a near thing.
14. Time seems to be passing at a fairly high rate these days. I don't mean to let days (or weeks) go by between posts, but somehow even when I have ideas at the ready for my next posts, days pass in a blur with no writing to show for it. I'm sure this is just one more sign of my increasing age. It goes nicely with my flights of nostalgia, the giant gray streak in my hair, and my geriatric tendency to be set in my ways.
15. I've been spending more time talking to Jess. She's nice, but sometimes I get too busy or cranky or in my head to talk to her. That's being a loser-y sort of friend, and I'm working on that. I like talking to her when I'm not being too much of a jerk to do so.
16. A sense of guilt that because of the increasingly significant time elapsing between posts, I need to bring my A-game for the imaginary readers lurking here, desperately hoping for some new communication from me. When all I can produce is pointless drivel (for instance: more than a dozen lame and needy excuses for my lack of posts), I have a difficult time allowing myself to post such substandard fare . . . usually (though obviously not tonight).
17. I have become overwhelmed with my clear and unhealthy dependence on the adverb. What if I use more than my allotment of adverbs while blogging, and I'm forced to go on without them? It boggles the mind and cripples my productivity. Please reassure me that this is not my fate, faithful readers. For my sake, for the sake of the blog, for all of us.
2. I ate lunch today with Peeps Monica and Martha and the tweeps. It was a thousand times better than lunch at my desk with the internet. I was having way too good a time to blog--plus I spent a decent fraction of the meal baby juggling with Martha, and I can't feed myself, hold babies and blog all at once. I'm no super woman. P.S. My storytime wooing of the tweeps has not yet won them over to adoration of me, but I shall not be daunted.
3. Often lately I've been eating lunch and taking breaks in our staff lounge (despite what I said to the contrary in the previous two excuses). My library friend Philip gave up going out to lunch for Lent, so he's been bringing his lunch, and I've been bringing my lunch almost daily since the beginning of the year, so we've been eating together upstairs more. Sometimes Bob comes too. We bring our handwork (they're both knitting hats at the moment) and work on our various projects.
4. It's spring break round these parts, and we're doing alliterative programs for school kids every day this week. On Movie Monday, I passed out popcorn and showed How to Train Your Dragon to fifty-one library friends. On Tie-Dye Tuesday, I calmly dealt with fifty-three library friends and the rainbow-hued carnage they left on the tables, floor, and my hands. Today on Wii Wednesday I played and supervised and refereed twenty-two library friends through multiple games for three hours. These unexpected well-attended pursuits have pushed me much closer to exhaustion than I should be, and while that's embarrassing, the fact remains that sitting down and stringing clever words together just wasn't in me (still isn't, but here you go anyway).
5. As I previously mentioned I've been working on balance and moderation in my personal interests and pursuits, so at home I've been reading and cooking and keeping all the dishes washed and watching tv as a family with Jess, and I've been trying to spend less time glued to my laptop. Providing intellectually stimulating blog fodder is the unintended casualty of moderation--though those unfinished home projects as yet remain unfinished.
6. I mentioned in #3 that I'm bringing my handwork to lounge lunches and breaks with Philip and Bob, but I haven't told you about what I'm doing. I'm actually working on a post all about it, so I'm not going to tell you until that's ready, but my steady work on this undisclosed craft project has given me something to do with my hands besides typing out blogs for you, and I am really excited about showing you someday.
7. I had an interesting and busy weekend. Our church is doing some painting and cleaning at an elementary school while they're out on spring break, and I went to help clean and tape for the paint crews on Saturday. One of the areas we painted was the cafeteria where they had to work around a mural depicting Carson-Dellosa kiddos following the posted cafeteria rules. It was a mostly really cute except that it was unfinished. I thought it a shame that our freshening and sprucing would still be overshadowed by the half-finished people (that weren't on our list of approved fixes). I asked if I could come back the next day and finish them, so our man in charge called someone from the school, and I got permission to do it. I went back on Sunday to finish the job and recruited some help, and we almost got it done. My sidekicks completed the mural on Monday while I was at work slinging popcorn for the movie-goers. Jess went and took pictures, and it turned out beautifully.
8. I would have liked to be able to blog about the successful selection of a winning NCAA tournament bracket, but alas, my hopes have been dashed for another year. I'm currently tied for last place in a pool of ten friends and family members. It shouldn't surprise me any longer that I'm terrible at these picks, but it's always disheartening. All of my Final Four teams are still in the running, so although I still have a higher-than-some points potential, I've missed many, many significant picks. I suspect that this week's games will drive the final nail in my bracket's coffin. It doesn't help that cousin, scholar, theologian and #1 blog fan, who admitted to making mostly arbitrary picks is in first place.
9. Laziness.
10. A lack of task commitment.
11. A stronger than normal tendency to ramble senselessly. Seriously, every time I try to post something lately, it turns into a torrent of messy words, and I abandon the effort.
12. A short attention span.
13. An almost unreasonable desire to do nothing but eat Dove truffle eggs. Until Saturday I hadn't found them at a store this Easter candy season, but now I know that Walgreens has them, and the desire to purchase and consume them is a constant presence in my life. In the spirit of balance and moderation (not to mention my healthy-eating choices), I'm trying to keep this from becoming an obsession, but it's a near thing.
14. Time seems to be passing at a fairly high rate these days. I don't mean to let days (or weeks) go by between posts, but somehow even when I have ideas at the ready for my next posts, days pass in a blur with no writing to show for it. I'm sure this is just one more sign of my increasing age. It goes nicely with my flights of nostalgia, the giant gray streak in my hair, and my geriatric tendency to be set in my ways.
15. I've been spending more time talking to Jess. She's nice, but sometimes I get too busy or cranky or in my head to talk to her. That's being a loser-y sort of friend, and I'm working on that. I like talking to her when I'm not being too much of a jerk to do so.
16. A sense of guilt that because of the increasingly significant time elapsing between posts, I need to bring my A-game for the imaginary readers lurking here, desperately hoping for some new communication from me. When all I can produce is pointless drivel (for instance: more than a dozen lame and needy excuses for my lack of posts), I have a difficult time allowing myself to post such substandard fare . . . usually (though obviously not tonight).
17. I have become overwhelmed with my clear and unhealthy dependence on the adverb. What if I use more than my allotment of adverbs while blogging, and I'm forced to go on without them? It boggles the mind and cripples my productivity. Please reassure me that this is not my fate, faithful readers. For my sake, for the sake of the blog, for all of us.
Friday, January 21, 2011
some craftiness of late
Last week I had to come up with an after-school craft idea. We'd just had a fairly substantial snow fall that some frigid temperatures kept around for much longer than we normally experience, so snow was on the brain. A quick Google of snowflake paper crafts yielded a spectacularly lovely, deceptively simple project that was extremely well-received.
Nice, huh? I'm not going to show you the process, but if you want to make this stunning project, here's where I learned it.
The snowflakes became wildly popular around the library. That happens here fairly often. We get quite enamored of various crafty things from time to time. A few weeks ago we got a new book in with loads of tubey crafts. We've been making tubular crafts with empty toilet paper rolls for ages, but there were several fresh ideas in the book about which we were quite excited. Then one day, Lisa realized that all of the columns throughout the library were giant tubeys waiting to happen, so we talked about how exciting it would be to do that. Sometimes we hype ourselves up about things like that and then we don't have the time or inclination to make them happen, so I wasn't completely certain it would happen. Pardon my skepticism.
Fast forward to today, imaginary readers, when we arrived at work just ahead of more forecasted snow. Lisa declared it a snow day and decided that we were going to make that first giant tubey dream come true by building a snowman. She put Susan to work making more of the 3D snowflakes, and we started planning our attack. The column (which got painted this particularly violent shade of yellow this summer during our part of the remodel) started out like this:
After some measuring and wrapping we had our base up.
Next we added this:
And then this:
times seven or eight, which made this:
You're feeling it now, aren't ya?
Next came his scarf. Yes, that is real fleece. No flimsy, flappy paper scarf for our snowman.
The hat brim was my first true test. After a fair amount of measuring and equations and fashioning a compass out of a pencil and yarn, I achieved moderate success.
The band and flower cover up some of the less attractive bits of construction and give him a jaunty flair. Right?
Next came his arms . . .
. . . and mittens . . .
. . . and buttons. Because what self-respecting snowman doesn't have buttons?
And then he was complete--and precious I might add.
And then to make his winter wonderland complete, we added the snowflakes:
Couldn't you just die from the cuteness?
And this is what he looks like to the itty-bitties who'll come up and pat him and rip his arms and buttons off in the next few weeks. It'll take a slightly taller kid to take care of the nose, but I feel fairly confident that it'll come off a few times too. The good news is the dedicated craftsmanship that went into the project should insure that anything that is ripped off will not actually tear away the "snow" underneath.
For the record, it did snow for the middle part of the day, going from early mist/rain/sleet to great, fat, gorgeous flakes to dense flurries of tiny flakes. But in the downtown area it just never stuck and my hopes of getting to close early (like the city offices and schools and everywhere else) melted along with all those snowflakes. Such is life, I suppose.
At least I have a long-lasting, all-weather snowman to show for it.
The snowflakes became wildly popular around the library. That happens here fairly often. We get quite enamored of various crafty things from time to time. A few weeks ago we got a new book in with loads of tubey crafts. We've been making tubular crafts with empty toilet paper rolls for ages, but there were several fresh ideas in the book about which we were quite excited. Then one day, Lisa realized that all of the columns throughout the library were giant tubeys waiting to happen, so we talked about how exciting it would be to do that. Sometimes we hype ourselves up about things like that and then we don't have the time or inclination to make them happen, so I wasn't completely certain it would happen. Pardon my skepticism.
Fast forward to today, imaginary readers, when we arrived at work just ahead of more forecasted snow. Lisa declared it a snow day and decided that we were going to make that first giant tubey dream come true by building a snowman. She put Susan to work making more of the 3D snowflakes, and we started planning our attack. The column (which got painted this particularly violent shade of yellow this summer during our part of the remodel) started out like this:
The hat brim was my first true test. After a fair amount of measuring and equations and fashioning a compass out of a pencil and yarn, I achieved moderate success.
And this is what he looks like to the itty-bitties who'll come up and pat him and rip his arms and buttons off in the next few weeks. It'll take a slightly taller kid to take care of the nose, but I feel fairly confident that it'll come off a few times too. The good news is the dedicated craftsmanship that went into the project should insure that anything that is ripped off will not actually tear away the "snow" underneath.
For the record, it did snow for the middle part of the day, going from early mist/rain/sleet to great, fat, gorgeous flakes to dense flurries of tiny flakes. But in the downtown area it just never stuck and my hopes of getting to close early (like the city offices and schools and everywhere else) melted along with all those snowflakes. Such is life, I suppose.
At least I have a long-lasting, all-weather snowman to show for it.
Friday, July 9, 2010
haikus
From the workplace:
Too busy with talk,
TV and cooking but no work
Quack-a-teria
Am I just touchy
Or is the world full of punks?
Stop being needy.
Construction sounds like
building eating itself. Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!
It's a library.
Playing on Webkinz
It's for a program, honest.
Makes me love my job.
Cutest kids ever
pass by the desk but parents . . .
They make me crazy.
Friday, June 18, 2010
because i'm tired of having posts that are almost ready
I always seem to be waiting around on something in order to post the millions of things I want to show you or talk about. Most often it's a matter of not having pictures taken or transferred or whatnot. (Well, truthfully, it's most often still being ridiculous behind on the Bible reading, but I can't even hold my head up under all that non-reading guilt.)
So even though it's midnight and what I'm about to show you is only half-finished, here's a look at my knitting progress. When last we met in knitting discussion, I had finished a badly photographed baby hat. The next project I began was a scarf with some yarn I stole from my moma. For most of the winter and spring I worked on it, though really only on Wednesday nights. I started using knitting as my fidget-buster in Wednesday night class, but I didn't make much time for it otherwise. Recently I decided that the scarf was hideous and going nowhere, so I went in search of a better project. Since the first baby hat was so successful and I know lots o' babies, I decided to stick with hats of various sorts. Thanks to that center of democracy, the public library, I accessed several delightful baby knitting books and then stocked up on soft, kiddo-appropriate yarn.
******Frugal, library-affiliated blogger's note: You should never buy knitting or crochet books, especially since most of the books I've seen/used have only a couple of patterns I'd ever make and a dozen I wouldn't. And once you've made something, how likely are you to make the same pattern again? If you're the sort of person who has to write on a pattern, you probably make copies anyway. (Not that I just advocated making photocopies of copyrighted works, though I think making a copy for the purpose keeping one's place in a pattern probably falls under acceptable use. But don't quote me on any of that rubbish.) But do quote me on that bit about not buying knitting books.******
My first project comes from this book:
The colors might be a bit off, but the bottom of the ribbing is purple, a fairly appealing purple, if you ask me. The pink is sweet in real life. 
So even though it's midnight and what I'm about to show you is only half-finished, here's a look at my knitting progress. When last we met in knitting discussion, I had finished a badly photographed baby hat. The next project I began was a scarf with some yarn I stole from my moma. For most of the winter and spring I worked on it, though really only on Wednesday nights. I started using knitting as my fidget-buster in Wednesday night class, but I didn't make much time for it otherwise. Recently I decided that the scarf was hideous and going nowhere, so I went in search of a better project. Since the first baby hat was so successful and I know lots o' babies, I decided to stick with hats of various sorts. Thanks to that center of democracy, the public library, I accessed several delightful baby knitting books and then stocked up on soft, kiddo-appropriate yarn.
******Frugal, library-affiliated blogger's note: You should never buy knitting or crochet books, especially since most of the books I've seen/used have only a couple of patterns I'd ever make and a dozen I wouldn't. And once you've made something, how likely are you to make the same pattern again? If you're the sort of person who has to write on a pattern, you probably make copies anyway. (Not that I just advocated making photocopies of copyrighted works, though I think making a copy for the purpose keeping one's place in a pattern probably falls under acceptable use. But don't quote me on any of that rubbish.) But do quote me on that bit about not buying knitting books.******
My first project comes from this book:
And here's what I've got so far:
The colors might be a bit off, but the bottom of the ribbing is purple, a fairly appealing purple, if you ask me. The pink is sweet in real life. 
It doesn't look like much yet, but I think it's going to work out.
Here's one of those world-famous live action, self-timer shots. Pay no attention to the hideous orange shirt in the background. Make no mistake, it's cuter in real life.
Also please notice my cute new double-point needles. They're not as delightful to use as my bamboo ones, but I needed a smaller size.
If I were better at this whole live action shooting thing, you could see how I don't hold things correctly to be a right-handed knitter--at least that's what my moma says. The job gets done either way.
So that's what I'm up to, knitting-wise. I probably won't be posting a photo of the finished product for a while. It is going to be a gift for some lucky baby I know, after all. And I have no proof to indicate that some of my imaginary readers aren't infants. But once all my little hat projects are gifted, I'll do a recap of them all.
Unless I forget.
******Lamely obsessed blogger's note: It is supremely difficult to craft a decent sentence while watching NCIS episodes, especially now that I'm the proud borrower of season 1 on dvd since there are no commercial breaks. It's amazing I finished at all.******
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
it's alive
I realized mostly after the fact that I didn't warn my imaginary readers that I was going on vacation. I've been home now for about five hours, and I should have been asleep for at least two of those, but the internet has missed me. I don't mean to imply that I wasn't on the internet for the past eleven days. Don't be deceived, friends, my laptop met up with every wireless connection it could across several states, but I did take a very intentional break from blogging, mostly because I'm slow and I didn't want to take any extra time from my precious family and the fun stuff we were doing. Most of my faithful readers are real people who actually know me, so the chances are high that you knew I was on vacation anyway. But I should have warned you. Sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me.
So I have some plans for exciting future posts, but I'm also coming back to the land of the blog just in time for Summer Reading Club registration at the library--our busiest time of year, and as the few weeks leading up to vacation proved (to me anyway), when I'm busy with work, my writing suffers. Sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me.
My laptop just told me it's dying, and the power cord is still packed, so I'll leave you with one more enticing bit of news. I have official permission to post photos of the entire Handful now, so vacation pictures are likely. Here's one to whet your appetite. I promise there will be some where the subjects don't look like they are barely tolerating my existence.
So I have some plans for exciting future posts, but I'm also coming back to the land of the blog just in time for Summer Reading Club registration at the library--our busiest time of year, and as the few weeks leading up to vacation proved (to me anyway), when I'm busy with work, my writing suffers. Sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me.
My laptop just told me it's dying, and the power cord is still packed, so I'll leave you with one more enticing bit of news. I have official permission to post photos of the entire Handful now, so vacation pictures are likely. Here's one to whet your appetite. I promise there will be some where the subjects don't look like they are barely tolerating my existence.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
an open letter to the Michael Jackson mime outside my cubicle window
Dear Michael Jackson mime,
I've been working at this desk on the third floor of the library for three years now. It faces north, so I get a glimpse of the river, but more importantly, I have a great view of the intersection of President Clinton and Rock St., particularly the northwest corner where you station yourself almost daily to do your thing.
In the past three years, I've watched your talent grow and develop. It seems when I first saw you outside my window, you mostly stood statue-like, waiting for someone to walk by, trying to startle them with your sudden movement. Sometimes that really freaked people out, and I'd like to think we shared a chuckle over their surprise. Lately, I see you dancing more and drawing crowds more often. I don't know if you're making any money, but I can see people noticing you and coming back to see you, taking photos and stopping to admire your talent. I'm proud of what you're accomplishing down there. It's entertaining.
One day back in August of last year, some second graders were walking to the library from their downtown school, heading east on President Clinton across the street from your corner. They were amazed by you. When they came upstairs to see me, you were all they could talk about. Everyone wanted books about Michael Jackson because of you and the music you were playing. Other kids at different times have talked to me about seeing you, and I only hear compliments and positive things about your work. I'm a little surprised that kids are not more uncomfortable around you. You have to admit the face paint is unusual, and eyes always hidden by sunglasses and lack of speech would be off-putting, I would assume. But the kids I know are crazy about you. Clearly you're doing something right down there.
Once, I was in the Flying Burrito to get a late lunch, and I saw you sitting at the bar with your radio beside you. Though you were still in costume and make-up, you were clearly off-duty. It was very awkward for me, seeing you outside of your performance space, sitting down and doing normal tasks, rather than standing on your corner with your robotic movements. Perhaps it should have made you more real, more accessible, but it just freaked me out. Please don't do that again. Don't sit in restaurants or bars or go to convenience stores decked out in your work clothes. It's hard for your fans to see you that way. And I do count myself among your fans, though my appreciation mostly takes place from three stories up.
I couldn't help but notice that you weren't over there today. It is rather gray, but I've seen you out there performing in worse. I hope you're healthy and that you're off today for a good reason and not something unfortunate. I hope to see you tomorrow. My days just make more sense when you're around.
Your sincere fan,
Ellen
I've been working at this desk on the third floor of the library for three years now. It faces north, so I get a glimpse of the river, but more importantly, I have a great view of the intersection of President Clinton and Rock St., particularly the northwest corner where you station yourself almost daily to do your thing.
In the past three years, I've watched your talent grow and develop. It seems when I first saw you outside my window, you mostly stood statue-like, waiting for someone to walk by, trying to startle them with your sudden movement. Sometimes that really freaked people out, and I'd like to think we shared a chuckle over their surprise. Lately, I see you dancing more and drawing crowds more often. I don't know if you're making any money, but I can see people noticing you and coming back to see you, taking photos and stopping to admire your talent. I'm proud of what you're accomplishing down there. It's entertaining.
One day back in August of last year, some second graders were walking to the library from their downtown school, heading east on President Clinton across the street from your corner. They were amazed by you. When they came upstairs to see me, you were all they could talk about. Everyone wanted books about Michael Jackson because of you and the music you were playing. Other kids at different times have talked to me about seeing you, and I only hear compliments and positive things about your work. I'm a little surprised that kids are not more uncomfortable around you. You have to admit the face paint is unusual, and eyes always hidden by sunglasses and lack of speech would be off-putting, I would assume. But the kids I know are crazy about you. Clearly you're doing something right down there.
Once, I was in the Flying Burrito to get a late lunch, and I saw you sitting at the bar with your radio beside you. Though you were still in costume and make-up, you were clearly off-duty. It was very awkward for me, seeing you outside of your performance space, sitting down and doing normal tasks, rather than standing on your corner with your robotic movements. Perhaps it should have made you more real, more accessible, but it just freaked me out. Please don't do that again. Don't sit in restaurants or bars or go to convenience stores decked out in your work clothes. It's hard for your fans to see you that way. And I do count myself among your fans, though my appreciation mostly takes place from three stories up.
I couldn't help but notice that you weren't over there today. It is rather gray, but I've seen you out there performing in worse. I hope you're healthy and that you're off today for a good reason and not something unfortunate. I hope to see you tomorrow. My days just make more sense when you're around.
Your sincere fan,
Ellen
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
an open letter to library patrons
Dear library patrons:
I don't say this often enough, but I love you. It may not always seem so, but seriously, you're special and awesome--and you validate my existence on a regular basis. Want to hear more?
I love that you pay taxes. I know you don't have much choice in that part, but the fact remains that you make the wheels go round. If you didn't pay your property taxes and vote to approve increases in our cut of them from time to time, there wouldn't be much of a library. And the fact that you vote in our favor more often than not says something about your awesomeness. Thanks for being a part of this process, for your ungrudging financial support of the concept and the reality of a library system.
I love that you use the library. Your participation--visiting the library, checking out materials, attending programs, using the on-site resources like computers and newspapers--drives the machine. It doesn't matter if we have green buildings or the newest book releases or state-of-the-art technologies or dynamic programming unless you're there to use it. When you use the library, we take notice and keep count and use that information to give you more of what you like and want and need, whether that means purchasing new materials, redesigning space, hiring staff, or funding programs. So when you come to the library, you're improving us and shaping the library to be a real part of the community. Thanks for making us relevant.
I love the variety you bring to my job. Each of you who use the library have your own agenda--your own needs and preferences--that determine what you require from the library and from the staff. I love that doing my job means that I can help people find books that they will enjoy, that I can show people how to find information that they need, that I can entertain and teach through programs. If you were all the same or needed the same things from me, the monotony of my job would swallow me whole. Thanks for being different and for allowing me to come to know your differences.
I love that you're invested in what we do. For most of you, the library is not just a business that you frequent to receive a product or a service. Maybe it's because you know you're paying for this, but library patrons want to talk about the library, about our books, about our programs, about the way we do things, and I love that you take that interest in us. Regular library patrons establish relationships with us whether you realize it or not, and I'm grateful that by and large, those relationships are positive and pleasant and mutually beneficial. Connecting and interacting with you is the best part of what I do. Thanks for caring.
I love that you bring your kids to the library. You're not just modeling literacy (though that's important enough by itself) but you're also creating a new generation of library users, who will pay taxes and use our resources and be invested in the library for years to come. That's the important and far-reaching consequence of bringing your kids to the library, but I also love the immediate result: your kids are fun and cute and curious and eager, and I like seeing them and the energy they bring when they come to the library. I love watching them grow up. And I love knowing that they at least sometimes get something from being at the library that they couldn't have gotten at school or home. Thanks for sharing them with us.
I love that you follow the rules even when they seem arbitrary and complicate your life. I love that you check out books and return them, mostly on time. I love that you pay your fines. I love that you use our hold system. And I love that most of you understand that the rules are in place for a reason, and that we, as staff, are following them and asking you to do the same because it's required of us, not because we enjoy torturing patrons. Thanks for being good sports.
And I know that just because I love you for all of those reasons (and probably a few more), the feeling is not always mutual. And I know that the blame for that usually lies with me. Bearing that in mind, I'd like to offer you an apology.
I'm sorry that I have to enforce the rules. Even if I disagree with them, there are certain policies that I have to follow. Yes, I'm probably on your side, and my goal is to say yes as often as I can, but some lines I cannot cross. I'm sorry for the times that those situations put us on opposing sides.
I'm sorry that I'm a grump. If I have to get up and go to a job every morning, this is the job I want. I think it's the best thing I could be doing. I love it. But I have bad days. I come to work tired or under the weather or worried about things. I get frustrated. I get lazy. I get bored. And much more often than I should, I allow that to affect how we interact. I'm impatient or short with you. I don't warmly engage you. I don't smile. I'm sorry for those times that I let my attitude negatively affect our time together.
I'm sorry that I let a few unpleasant patrons set the tone for everyone. More often than it should, library staff areas are full of complaints and stories of the bad patrons, those that don't accept the rules or who take out their frustration on staff members. Those patrons are a minority, but we're human and flawed and tend to focus on those negative few rather than the majority of you, who are so capable of inspiring our most positive emotions. You deserve so much better. I'm sorry for those times when I'm guilty of painting you all with the same brush.
I'm sorry that every staff member you encounter at the library doesn't love you the way I love you. I'll admit it--there are some duds out there. They frustrate me because they can't seem to appreciate the awesomeness of you. And their grumpiness and frustration and lack of communication with you make my job harder, besides making library visits unpleasant for you. I try to stay positive and enjoy our time together, but I know that not all of us do. I'm sorry we don't appreciate our jobs and our patrons more.
In short, library patrons, feel the love. Accept my apologies. Forgive my flaws. Library patrons, let's be friends.
Your library lady and number one fan,
Ellen
I don't say this often enough, but I love you. It may not always seem so, but seriously, you're special and awesome--and you validate my existence on a regular basis. Want to hear more?
I love that you pay taxes. I know you don't have much choice in that part, but the fact remains that you make the wheels go round. If you didn't pay your property taxes and vote to approve increases in our cut of them from time to time, there wouldn't be much of a library. And the fact that you vote in our favor more often than not says something about your awesomeness. Thanks for being a part of this process, for your ungrudging financial support of the concept and the reality of a library system.
I love that you use the library. Your participation--visiting the library, checking out materials, attending programs, using the on-site resources like computers and newspapers--drives the machine. It doesn't matter if we have green buildings or the newest book releases or state-of-the-art technologies or dynamic programming unless you're there to use it. When you use the library, we take notice and keep count and use that information to give you more of what you like and want and need, whether that means purchasing new materials, redesigning space, hiring staff, or funding programs. So when you come to the library, you're improving us and shaping the library to be a real part of the community. Thanks for making us relevant.
I love the variety you bring to my job. Each of you who use the library have your own agenda--your own needs and preferences--that determine what you require from the library and from the staff. I love that doing my job means that I can help people find books that they will enjoy, that I can show people how to find information that they need, that I can entertain and teach through programs. If you were all the same or needed the same things from me, the monotony of my job would swallow me whole. Thanks for being different and for allowing me to come to know your differences.
I love that you're invested in what we do. For most of you, the library is not just a business that you frequent to receive a product or a service. Maybe it's because you know you're paying for this, but library patrons want to talk about the library, about our books, about our programs, about the way we do things, and I love that you take that interest in us. Regular library patrons establish relationships with us whether you realize it or not, and I'm grateful that by and large, those relationships are positive and pleasant and mutually beneficial. Connecting and interacting with you is the best part of what I do. Thanks for caring.
I love that you bring your kids to the library. You're not just modeling literacy (though that's important enough by itself) but you're also creating a new generation of library users, who will pay taxes and use our resources and be invested in the library for years to come. That's the important and far-reaching consequence of bringing your kids to the library, but I also love the immediate result: your kids are fun and cute and curious and eager, and I like seeing them and the energy they bring when they come to the library. I love watching them grow up. And I love knowing that they at least sometimes get something from being at the library that they couldn't have gotten at school or home. Thanks for sharing them with us.
I love that you follow the rules even when they seem arbitrary and complicate your life. I love that you check out books and return them, mostly on time. I love that you pay your fines. I love that you use our hold system. And I love that most of you understand that the rules are in place for a reason, and that we, as staff, are following them and asking you to do the same because it's required of us, not because we enjoy torturing patrons. Thanks for being good sports.
And I know that just because I love you for all of those reasons (and probably a few more), the feeling is not always mutual. And I know that the blame for that usually lies with me. Bearing that in mind, I'd like to offer you an apology.
I'm sorry that I have to enforce the rules. Even if I disagree with them, there are certain policies that I have to follow. Yes, I'm probably on your side, and my goal is to say yes as often as I can, but some lines I cannot cross. I'm sorry for the times that those situations put us on opposing sides.
I'm sorry that I'm a grump. If I have to get up and go to a job every morning, this is the job I want. I think it's the best thing I could be doing. I love it. But I have bad days. I come to work tired or under the weather or worried about things. I get frustrated. I get lazy. I get bored. And much more often than I should, I allow that to affect how we interact. I'm impatient or short with you. I don't warmly engage you. I don't smile. I'm sorry for those times that I let my attitude negatively affect our time together.
I'm sorry that I let a few unpleasant patrons set the tone for everyone. More often than it should, library staff areas are full of complaints and stories of the bad patrons, those that don't accept the rules or who take out their frustration on staff members. Those patrons are a minority, but we're human and flawed and tend to focus on those negative few rather than the majority of you, who are so capable of inspiring our most positive emotions. You deserve so much better. I'm sorry for those times when I'm guilty of painting you all with the same brush.
I'm sorry that every staff member you encounter at the library doesn't love you the way I love you. I'll admit it--there are some duds out there. They frustrate me because they can't seem to appreciate the awesomeness of you. And their grumpiness and frustration and lack of communication with you make my job harder, besides making library visits unpleasant for you. I try to stay positive and enjoy our time together, but I know that not all of us do. I'm sorry we don't appreciate our jobs and our patrons more.
In short, library patrons, feel the love. Accept my apologies. Forgive my flaws. Library patrons, let's be friends.
Your library lady and number one fan,
Ellen
Monday, February 8, 2010
the year in books: nightlight, a parody
*****Series note: It was not my intention to only post one book a month in this series. I have just been so distracted by knitting and tv and the Daily Bible and blogging for the past month that I haven't been finishing books. I've started a couple, but this is the first I've completed since Skeletons at the Feast. Disappointing, I know.*****
One of my favorite things about working at the library is that I spend so much time talking books with my coworkers that they can actually make appropriate book recommendations to me, and I know enough about what they read and enjoy that I know whether or not to trust them. My friend Joi, who works at a different branch than me now, will actually put me on the hold lists when she discovers that authors we like are releasing new books. It's handy, and as often as I play personal librarian to my friends and family, it's nice to have her (and other work friends) looking out for my readings interests.
The book I've just finished was the result of a coworker putting me in line for a book. This time it was Cory the page who just knew that I'd enjoy Harvard Lampoon's Twilight parody, which was released last November. I made my way up the hold queue a few weeks ago, and I'd had it checked out for 27 days before I realized that it was due back the next day, and as it had other holds waiting, I can't renew it. So I started it on Sunday night. Thanks to some completely unexpected snow on Sunday night/Monday morning, I got the day off on Monday to finish the last chapter or so and eat ice cream cake and take a nap and blog and all those things that are best about a snow day.
Let me say that when I read the first three books of the Twilight saga, I enjoyed them. I wasn't all adolescent-girl, obsessed-with-a-fictional-character crazy. But I liked them. I was eager for the release of the fourth book, and then I was overwhelmingly, vastly disappointed. The story just got silly. It was such a departure from the first three books that they actually seemed worse by association. So I was/am vastly amused by the idea of a parody.
Pale, gifted, tragic teenager Belle Goose moves from Phoenix and her mother to the small town of Switchblade, Oregon and her father. It alternates from the painfully ridiculous to perfectly biting critique of the themes of co-dependence and obsession that always existed in the Twilight books. It was just too awkward for me in a few places, but overall, it was a very pleasant reading experience. I laughed out loud enough that Jess was bothered by it.
I pulled out a few absolutely favorite quotes to share:
On Belle's first "date" with Edwart Mullen to an Italian restaurant in a neighboring city:
I giggled.
Then a few pages later, Belle is explaining to her dad about her new relationship with Edwart--that's right, Edwart:
If you haven't read New Moon that won't be funny at all. But it does underline the parental neglect that leads to teenage girls falling in love with vampires. Charlie would never have asked such a pointed and insightful question to the real Bella.
And just one more:
You see, it's funny because it's true.
Final thoughts:
Great literature? Of course not.
Amusing and insightful look into a cultural phenomenon? Absolutely.
Recommended for people that haven't read Twlight? Probably not.
Worth the time it takes to read 150 pages? Certainly.
While I've been typing this, I got the call that I get another snow day tomorrow, so perhaps I'll have another book review for you later in the week.
One of my favorite things about working at the library is that I spend so much time talking books with my coworkers that they can actually make appropriate book recommendations to me, and I know enough about what they read and enjoy that I know whether or not to trust them. My friend Joi, who works at a different branch than me now, will actually put me on the hold lists when she discovers that authors we like are releasing new books. It's handy, and as often as I play personal librarian to my friends and family, it's nice to have her (and other work friends) looking out for my readings interests.
The book I've just finished was the result of a coworker putting me in line for a book. This time it was Cory the page who just knew that I'd enjoy Harvard Lampoon's Twilight parody, which was released last November. I made my way up the hold queue a few weeks ago, and I'd had it checked out for 27 days before I realized that it was due back the next day, and as it had other holds waiting, I can't renew it. So I started it on Sunday night. Thanks to some completely unexpected snow on Sunday night/Monday morning, I got the day off on Monday to finish the last chapter or so and eat ice cream cake and take a nap and blog and all those things that are best about a snow day.
Let me say that when I read the first three books of the Twilight saga, I enjoyed them. I wasn't all adolescent-girl, obsessed-with-a-fictional-character crazy. But I liked them. I was eager for the release of the fourth book, and then I was overwhelmingly, vastly disappointed. The story just got silly. It was such a departure from the first three books that they actually seemed worse by association. So I was/am vastly amused by the idea of a parody.Pale, gifted, tragic teenager Belle Goose moves from Phoenix and her mother to the small town of Switchblade, Oregon and her father. It alternates from the painfully ridiculous to perfectly biting critique of the themes of co-dependence and obsession that always existed in the Twilight books. It was just too awkward for me in a few places, but overall, it was a very pleasant reading experience. I laughed out loud enough that Jess was bothered by it.
I pulled out a few absolutely favorite quotes to share:
On Belle's first "date" with Edwart Mullen to an Italian restaurant in a neighboring city:
"He was more worldly and more otherwordly than I. What world could I bring to our relationship?
The underworld, I thought, resolutely ripping in half my 'Get Into Heaven Free' coupon. Looking back, I probably could have come up with a better world if I'd given it another moment of thought. Sea World comes to mind."
I giggled.
Then a few pages later, Belle is explaining to her dad about her new relationship with Edwart--that's right, Edwart:
"'I'm in the deepest love that has ever occurred in the history of the world.'
'Gosh, Belle. When someone asks you "what's new?" the correct answer is, "not much." Besides, isn't it a little soon to cut yourself off from the rest of your peers, depending on a boyfriend to satisfy your social needs as opposed to making friends? Imagine what would happen if something forced that boy to leave! I'm imagining pages and pages would happen--with nothing but the names of the month on them."
If you haven't read New Moon that won't be funny at all. But it does underline the parental neglect that leads to teenage girls falling in love with vampires. Charlie would never have asked such a pointed and insightful question to the real Bella.
And just one more:
"Sometimes, the cape my imagination constantly projects onto his back distorts how I perceive reality."
You see, it's funny because it's true.
Final thoughts:
Great literature? Of course not.
Amusing and insightful look into a cultural phenomenon? Absolutely.
Recommended for people that haven't read Twlight? Probably not.
Worth the time it takes to read 150 pages? Certainly.
While I've been typing this, I got the call that I get another snow day tomorrow, so perhaps I'll have another book review for you later in the week.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
the year in books: skeletons at the feast
Then I got hooked on our weekly lunch at the library programs (remember the watercolors?), and I decided that the monthly book club's first selection of the year, Skeletons at the Feast by Chris Bohjalian, would be my first read too. Having made that monumental decision, I proceeded to ignore the book for several more days. I started Skeletons on Sunday with a deadline of noon Tuesday when the book club met. I almost made it. I had about sixty pages to go by book club time, and I made the decision to go anyway. I knew the end of the book would be spoiled for me, and I knew that the fates of enough folks were still up in the air that it would be a big deal for me. And I went anyway because I was afraid that there wouldn't be enough folks for a good discussion. The Tuesday discussion did yield some spoilers, but I was glad to be a part of the discussion and finished the book on Wednesday.
****I am not a fan of spoilers, so I can promise you that whatever book discussions I engage in on this blog will remain spoiler-free.*****
Having said that, Skeletons at the Feast is set in East Prussia and later across Germany during the winter and spring of 1945. The Emmerich family, Germans who are members of the Nazi party, flee their farm in East Prussia as the Russian army approaches. The father and older brothers of the family are fighting, but the mother, eighteen-year-old daughter, and ten-year-old son are traveling with a Scottish POW, who they are hoping will be collateral on their journey westward should they encounter Allied troops. That sounds very calculated, but the Emmerichs are not the bad guys. They're mostly kind and sheltered and shocked by the things that they learn about the Reich as they travel. In their journey, they encounter Uri, a German Jew who escaped the train taking him to a concentration camp and spends two years masquerading as various German soldiers to elude capture. There's also a parallel story of several Jewish women who are marched westward from their work camp as the Russian army advances.
Monday when folks reading asked me about the book I said I was enjoying it. Monday night when the reading was making me so sad and uncomfortable and horrified, I wondered how I used a word as benign as "enjoy" for what that book and I were going through. I was drawn in and felt connected to the characters and had a heart for the themes, but it's just difficult to read about that time and place and not feel sympathy and guilt and a helpless lack of understanding that atrocities like the Holocaust and other more recent genocides happen. But despite its heavy content, the book isn't overwhelmingly depressing. And there's enough suspense and action in the families travels to provide some interest also.
Overall, the book is completely worth my time (and probably worth yours, although I am hesitant about making blanket book recommendations to anyone who happens to read these words). I started a second book of 2010 on Wednesday, but I may have to pause it and find a lighter read as it has a post-WWII Holocaust survivor cast of characters. I think I may need a break from that.
Stay tuned for more of my year in books.
Friday, January 8, 2010
too cold for responsible journalism
I had a brilliant plan for tonight. Jess is gone to be in a wedding in Searcy this weekend, so I had decided to put off kitchen cleaning and de-Christmasing the apartment until tomorrow or Saturday in favor of starting either of the two books I need to crack open, being online and ready to take Pioneer Woman's 90s movie quiz when it went live, doing today's project 4:4 reading, and maybe watching Ugly Betty and Scrubs episodes from earlier in the week. I had a fast dinner mapped out in my head, so that I wouldn't lose the whole night to being in the kitchen, and nothing was going to keep me at work past six. And if all those things went as planned, I'd have some time at the end of the evening to blog about my reading project progress.
Things started to head south at work. I did a Wii game day this afternoon and instead of packing it in at 5 when the kiddos left, I tried out a couple of the sports on our brand-new copy of Wii Sports Resort. That wasn't frivolous or selfish. I have to help kids with games all the time, and I needed to know how some of them worked. Plus there's an unlocking element to some of the game features. I was playing for the kids. I also managed to have a mostly intelligent, big decision-making conversation while I was learning to throw a frisbee. And it's not like I played for hours, maybe 20 minutes. But then a couple of our teen volunteers came in, and I let them play for a while because I'm a sucker for courteous teenage boys. Then after I finally kicked them out and with the competent help of Cory the page (whose pagely awesomeness deserves a blog post all its own--in a totally professional way), I decided on a new Wii storage schematic that will eventually simplify my life, but just took up time today. And there was a fair amount of gathering of personal belongings once I made it back to the workroom, since I was deciding what to leave and what to take of the decorate-your-own-cupcake supplies from Lisa's birthday celebration today (a complete success, in case you were wondering). So I guess it's actually borderline amazing that I got all of that accomplished by 6:45. Those 45 minutes shouldn't have broken down the plan anyway. Leaving work late is not my problem.
I realized when I got home that I hadn't factored in some time spent figuring out if I could fix the non-working dryer that Jess reported before she left. The answer, curious reader, is of course not. I did follow over-the-phone instructions from the Popster enough to know that it's not a breaker problem, and I'm quite certain it's plugged in. The rest is beyond me. Good thing doing laundry tonight was just a good idea rather than a desperate need. And at this point in my evening I'm too tired, grumpy, and cold to feel guilty about not cleaning my kitchen, so the rest of my evening was salvageable. A broken dryer, while frustrating, is not my problem.
Then the cold set in. Perhaps, unless you've been living in a cave, you've heard that it's a bit chilly here (and lots of other places too). And though the no-heat challenge has ended in our house, we've been keeping the thermostat set right around 60 and layering. It is officially too cold for that.
Here are some other things for which it is too cold:
1. reading--holding a book and turning pages means uncovered hands
2. fast-forwarding through dvr-ed commercials--again with the uncovered hands
3. computer usage--I never thought I'd live to see the day that physical discomfort could overcome my internet addiction, but that's the world we live in now.
4. remembering stuff--I might have convinced myself to stay on the computer longer if the mind-numbing cold hadn't made me completely forget about that 90s movie quiz.
5. staying awake--I finally lost the bone-deep chill that set in during my walk from the library to the far-away parking garage, and once I was cozy, sleep was too powerful to fight. I would eventually wake up around eleven feeling too alert to switch from warm and snuggly on the couch to warm and snuggly in bed, which is why you're reaping the benefits of this rambling rant tonight. You're welcome.
But that brief stint in alertness is fading fast, and my uncovered fingers aren't nearly so toasty as they were when I woke up, so (count your blessings, dear reader) the self-pity and incoherent mutterings end here for tonight.
Things started to head south at work. I did a Wii game day this afternoon and instead of packing it in at 5 when the kiddos left, I tried out a couple of the sports on our brand-new copy of Wii Sports Resort. That wasn't frivolous or selfish. I have to help kids with games all the time, and I needed to know how some of them worked. Plus there's an unlocking element to some of the game features. I was playing for the kids. I also managed to have a mostly intelligent, big decision-making conversation while I was learning to throw a frisbee. And it's not like I played for hours, maybe 20 minutes. But then a couple of our teen volunteers came in, and I let them play for a while because I'm a sucker for courteous teenage boys. Then after I finally kicked them out and with the competent help of Cory the page (whose pagely awesomeness deserves a blog post all its own--in a totally professional way), I decided on a new Wii storage schematic that will eventually simplify my life, but just took up time today. And there was a fair amount of gathering of personal belongings once I made it back to the workroom, since I was deciding what to leave and what to take of the decorate-your-own-cupcake supplies from Lisa's birthday celebration today (a complete success, in case you were wondering). So I guess it's actually borderline amazing that I got all of that accomplished by 6:45. Those 45 minutes shouldn't have broken down the plan anyway. Leaving work late is not my problem.
I realized when I got home that I hadn't factored in some time spent figuring out if I could fix the non-working dryer that Jess reported before she left. The answer, curious reader, is of course not. I did follow over-the-phone instructions from the Popster enough to know that it's not a breaker problem, and I'm quite certain it's plugged in. The rest is beyond me. Good thing doing laundry tonight was just a good idea rather than a desperate need. And at this point in my evening I'm too tired, grumpy, and cold to feel guilty about not cleaning my kitchen, so the rest of my evening was salvageable. A broken dryer, while frustrating, is not my problem.
Then the cold set in. Perhaps, unless you've been living in a cave, you've heard that it's a bit chilly here (and lots of other places too). And though the no-heat challenge has ended in our house, we've been keeping the thermostat set right around 60 and layering. It is officially too cold for that.
Here are some other things for which it is too cold:
1. reading--holding a book and turning pages means uncovered hands
2. fast-forwarding through dvr-ed commercials--again with the uncovered hands
3. computer usage--I never thought I'd live to see the day that physical discomfort could overcome my internet addiction, but that's the world we live in now.
4. remembering stuff--I might have convinced myself to stay on the computer longer if the mind-numbing cold hadn't made me completely forget about that 90s movie quiz.
5. staying awake--I finally lost the bone-deep chill that set in during my walk from the library to the far-away parking garage, and once I was cozy, sleep was too powerful to fight. I would eventually wake up around eleven feeling too alert to switch from warm and snuggly on the couch to warm and snuggly in bed, which is why you're reaping the benefits of this rambling rant tonight. You're welcome.
But that brief stint in alertness is fading fast, and my uncovered fingers aren't nearly so toasty as they were when I woke up, so (count your blessings, dear reader) the self-pity and incoherent mutterings end here for tonight.
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