Another Day at the Library

Friday with Flo

A forty-year-old man approached me at the circulation desk at the library.

He said, “I’m embarrassed because I need to pay for a book. I put it in my backpack, but I put some ice cream in there too.”

It was August. The ice cream had melted.

I looked up his account.

“You’re lucky,” I said. “At least it was an older paperback. It only costs $7.99.”

He gave me his debit card.

While I was processing the transaction, I noticed that he was looking at me – intently.

“You were probably quite good-looking when you were young,” he said.

What?  What kind of a comment was this? Was this guy trying to flirt with me? Or was he just trying to give me some kind of bizarre “compliment”.

I kept my head down and mumbled something.

It got worse. He continued, “Because you’re still somewhat attractive, even now.”

Really?…

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A Library Christmas Poem

Twas the hour before closing and all through our floor,

Three men were sleeping – and one with a snore.

The Hold shelves were filled alphabetically with care,

The patrons had hopes that their books would be there.

The children were noisy, they’d read to the dogs,

They carried home books about princes and frogs.

And Jon in his new watch and me – who is Flo,

Kept looking at the clock, “Is it time yet to go?”

A fight broke out on computer number eight,

Somebody call Dispatch! And I hope they’re not late.

But then from Children’s there arose such a clatter,

We all looked around to see what was the matter.

Some children went racing to their mom and their dad,

They were so excited about the books that they had.

Then a man came to Reference all dressed in his best,

To thank them and tell them that he’d passed his test.

He had a new job and things were going well –

So it’s a reminder that you never can tell,

When a little thing we might do or say,

Will help someone along their way.

And a book or a movie might be just right,

To help some lonely person get through the night.

And so for the Holidays I offer these verses,

To all at the library (including Tech Services).

Here’s to everyone in every library,

I hope that your Christmas this year will be merry.

 

 

Driving Into Old Age

As people age, it’s really hard to put the brake on driving. I hope I’ll know when to stop. But since I feel like I’m in my 30s now, when I’m over ninety, I’ll probably feel like I’m in my 60s. And sixty-year olds can drive just fine, right?

My father had problems with his neck as he aged. He couldn’t turn his head very easily. I’d be in the car with him and he’d say, “Is there anyone over in that lane behind us?” Yikes! I tried to figure any way I could not to be in the car with him driving.

My mother just restricted where she drove. She stayed in her “district”. That way there were no surprises. She could plan her route ahead and not have to worry about last minute lane changes and such.

I’m sure she got this plan from my grandmother. After my grandmother quit driving, my brother got her ’54 Plymouth Savoy. He said that he really enjoyed driving it, but that the steering wheel got kind of caught whenever turning it to the left. “Well,” she said, “that’s because I never turned left.”

She planned her entire outing making multiple right-hand turns. It is possible.

I certainly hope I’ll know when to hand over the keys. Otherwise, I’ll get an ever-increasing number of hints from my kids. If the hints don’t work, then it will be “the talk”- with or without the doctor or the DMV involved.

I have one friend who was concerned over having to have “the talk” with her mom. It’s hard. In our culture so much independence is connected with our ability to get around. And we get around mostly in our cars. This friend was about to start the process. And then it was taken out of her hands. Her mother backed into a car. It was a police car.

So, kids, when my turn comes, please give me plenty of license. Don’t speed things along too quickly. I’ll try to notice the signals. And when it really comes down to it, I’ll try to get into gear and not drive you all crazy.

Camping

My husband proposed a camping weekend.

We used to camp when our children were young. They have many happy memories of that time. I am glad they do. My memories are a bit…dusty…messy…lumpy.

We dragged a carload of equipment and provisions out to a campsite, set up tents on bumpy, uneven ground and cooked on a tiny, little camp stove and then tried to clean up without leaving a mark upon nature.

Speaking of nature – we’ve always tried to respect nature. But nature hasn’t always answer in kind.  We’ve had wind blow over our tent. We’ve had rain drench us.

I remember lying in my sleeping bag, trying to sleep on the rocky ground, and hearing the rain on the tent. I knew that in the morning I would be exhausted, wet and in need of a shower that would not exist.

So at sixty years old, we decided to try again. I have my limits. I agree to camp if: (1) we invest in new air mattresses, (2) I can have my tea and dark chocolate, and (3) we go to a cushy campground with showers.

It wasn’t so bad. We went to a KOA campground and set up our tent on a seemingly flat surface with our new, air mattresses inside.

We have some camping equipment. My husband has camped many times. I noticed though, that the people at the site next to us had first class camping equipment. They seemed to be very relaxed as that sat in comfy chairs next to a huge tent enjoying a gourmet meal and a glass of wine. Where did they get all that stuff? How exactly did they pull that off?

My first night of sleep was not my best. I realized that although my new air mattress is very comfortable, I sleep better on a horizontal surface. Apparently the seemingly flat ground on which we had set our tent was really at an angle. I did not notice this angle until after midnight.

I kept waking up to find my body on the very edge of my new air mattress. I felt like I might roll off. I was not sure whether to sleep turned uphill or downhill. I woke periodically in the night. Every time I awoke I thought, “Oh, yes, we’re camping. Oh, yes, I’m in a tent. Please, God, can I have just a few hours of sleep?”

Morning came. This we knew because suddenly the tent became roasting hot. We got up and made our breakfast. I had my tea and dark chocolate.

We hiked that day to a beautiful Alpine lake. Then we took showers and met some friends in the nearby mountain town. We watched a storm approach. The wind was incredible. I kept looking toward our campground in case I saw a blue tent sailing across the horizon. I did not.

The second night we turned our new air mattresses and sleeping bags around so that our heads were uphill and our feet were downhill. This was much better. I actually slept through the night (not counting the call of some buzzard in the wee hours).

That day we hiked and fished. We saw a beaver and a herd of antelope. Heading back home we talked about how much we had enjoyed our weekend away.

Will I camp again? Possibly. But I sure would like talk to those campers next to us and get an idea of that first class camping equipment they had. I like the idea of semi-roughing it.

The Zucchini Wars

They looked so innocent, those two little zucchini seeds.

I did not know how my life would change because of them. It would be a good sermon illustration. Or a good plot for a sci-fi movie – like The Blob or The Day of the Triffids.

Even as small plants, they still seemed to be containable, their lovely, green leaves bright against the earth.

And then they began their relentless march, their slow and steady attack, moving from garden patch to kitchen table.

In the beginning I was able to defend against their attempt to defeat me. We had zucchini – grilled, baked and made into soup. I was really “cooking”, if I do say so myself.

But they only increased in number. They seemed to have endless reinforcements. Still, I soldiered on, trying to think of more and more recipes and even enlisting a few allies in the battle.

The leaves of their plants became huge. They started to employ guerrilla warfare, hiding beneath and behind the leaves, trying to launch a surprise attack.

One day I found a huge zucchini hidden under a leaf. It was the size of my arm – a veritable Sherman tank out there in the garden patch.

This called for an all-night campaign. Loaves of zucchini bread later, I felt that victory was indeed in sight. I would “squash” them in the end. I knew it.

But as zucchini after zucchini continued to appear, I began to despair. One night I looked at the large zucchini on my kitchen table and wondered what to do. I began to lose hope. I needed help from above. The enemy was too much for me.

And then it happened. Just as I was about to surrender. Help came in the ninth hour. Help from above – the first frost of the year. I went out to the battlefield to see the leaves lying limp on the ground. No more zucchini. I had won. I felt I could finally rest in my victory.

 

Soon afterwards, there was a knock at my door. It was my neighbor.

“I’ve just picked apples from our tree. Would you like a bushel?”

Book Problems

Working at the circulation desk at the library for almost 20 years, I have heard many excuses and explanations for late, lost or damaged books. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a straight face. This is especially so when the reason for the excuse is mirrored in the title or subject matter of the book.

Sometimes people get the irony and sometimes they are totally oblivious.

Just after marijuana was legalized in Colorado, I had a young man come to the desk asking if we had any books on marijuana growing or recipes. I looked in the catalog.

“It seems that about half the books are lost and the other half are late – significantly late,” I said.

“Hmm,” he responded, “that doesn’t really speak too well about our community, does it?”

His words, not mine.

Then, of course, was the man who sheepishly approached the desk with a book. “I need to pay for this book,” he said. “My dog chewed it.” The title, HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DOG, I kid you not.

The other day a book on CD was returned in the book drop, Elizabeth George’s CARELESS IN RED. A disc was missing. I did not get the chance to see what color clothing the person was wearing.

Another time a woman produced her card and I looked up her account.

“You have a number of late fees, you know,” I said to her.

“Really?” she said, “I didn’t know that. What were the books?”

They all had titles on the subject of staying out of debt.

And then just recently, we had a book returned that had water damage. It was the children’s book of NOAH’S ARK.

All these things have actually happened. It’s what keeps me smiling.

So if you can’t find your copy of THE JAPANESE MAGIC OF TIDYING UP or some other book on being minimalist and organized, it’s probably under a pile of papers or clothing somewhere in your house.

Catchy Songs in Senegal

What is it about jingles that get stuck in your brain?

If anyone says, “Ay,ay,ay,ay”, I immediately think of the politically incorrect Frito Bandito song.

And if they say, “Gimme a break, gimmie a break….” Suddenly I want a Kit Kat bar.

And Disney has some really catchy ones too: Cruella De Vil, I Wan’na Be Like You, and Under the Sea. It seems that a whole generation can sing those songs word for word. And if anyone starts even a bit of it, the whole thing runs through your mind.

I was on a boat in Senegal with about six other Americans and we passed a small resort named Akuna Matata. Our Senegalese friend told us that it is a Swahili phrase. He actually said, “It means,”- and then he paused.

I know exactly the words that were passing through the minds of each and every one of us. “It means no worries for the rest of your days. It’s a problem free philosophy.”

But we were silent. Because we didn’t want to interrupt our friend. And we were all probably aware that it would be strange to burst into song on the boat at that moment.

He explained that it was a phrase meaning a very relaxed lifestyle, one in which a person is free of concerns.

One of our number then asked, “Have you ever heard of a movie called The Lion King?”

No, he had not.

We’re better off without all those things in our brain. The trip was good. I was lovin’ it… not MacDonald’s, but Senegal. The best part of wakin’ up was …not Folgers, but, some nice tea and chocolate.  NationWide wasn’t on my side, but some good friends were.

Also, the one thing I bought for myself in Senegal: a bracelet, which I found out was made of warthog tusk.

“When I was a young warthog!”

Unanswerable Library Questions

Anyone who has worked in a library has dealt with this scenario: “I’m looking for a book I read last year. It was blue. Can you help me?”

Google fails here.

I have had other questions posed that are equally difficult.

Today someone asked me, “Can you help me find a book? It was the 4^th in a series.” I asked if she perhaps knew the name of the author or the name of any other book in the series. She did not. She showed me the general area of the library where she had seen the book.

She really thought I should be able to come up with the title for her. I explained, very politely, that I did not think I could help her.

I hope she did not fill out a complaint card…

Recently I got a call which started out, “I was in your library in 1988 and you had this book…”

That was 30 years ago! Turns out we had a newer edition of the book she had in mind. But she wanted the old edition.

Best of all was a man who came in and asked one of the librarians to show him where Middle Earth was in an atlas. The librarian tried to explain that Tolkien’s world was fiction and that Middle Earth would not appear on any world atlas. There were maps that Tolkien made of his world, if they would help.

This would not do. He wanted to find Middle Earth on a world atlas. He wouldn’t give up and there was a lengthy discussion. He left grumbling.

(I asked later if he happened to be unusually short and have large, hairy feet?)

We really do try to find what people are looking for. And google can help lots of times. It’s amazing. But there are unanswerable questions.

So if you come in looking for a blue book, 4^th in the series that we had in 1988. I may suggest that you try the Middle Earth Public Library. I’m sure they could help you.

 

Eating Out

I have my ideas about eating out. I want to go out to have food that I would not necessarily cook at home. We don’t eat out that often, so it has to count.

For breakfast, I like a good croissant. (I’ve read how to make croissants and it would take me most of the day to make one). Or good hollandaise sauce over something.

In other words, not just eggs, toast and bacon. I can make that at home in about 5 minutes for about $1.50 max.

I also don’t want a bowl of oatmeal for $10. I don’t care what kind of fruit you put on it, it’s still a bowl of oats.

For other meals, I like ethnic food or creative cooking. I like to order something for which I do not have all the ingredients in my cupboard. Something I would not dream up on my own or know how to make.

We try to find a restaurant that meets the criteria.

Settled in, we peruse the menu. Two glasses of house wine cost what we typically spend on a bottle from a local liquor store. But, we’re out.

Do we order hors d’oeuvres? Will they be tiny or will they be huge? I don’t want to be full before my main course even comes.

We order our dinner and split a starter. Sometimes the starters are more interesting than the main meal. We enjoy our wine and hors d’oeuvres.

Dinner comes. Just when we are poised to take a first bite, the waitperson reappears. “How is everything?”

I want to say, “I have no idea. I haven’t gotten my fork to my mouth yet.”

But I say, “Good, thank you.”

And we do enjoy our meals. I enjoy something different – that I have not cooked and we do not have to clean up from afterwards. We enjoy the new taste combination and the relaxed time together.

Maybe we should do this more often. Or maybe not.

Nepal Trip

A few years ago, I went to Nepal with a Nepali friend and two other Americans. It was very different from anything I had experienced. I tell people, “It was not a vacation, but it was quite a trip.”

We saw the incredible countryside and the beautiful women in their colorful saris. We tried out new foods and had our share of chai tea.

Because it was during a holy season, we also saw Hinduism in full force. We saw temples and holy men, festivals and sacrifices.

We were there to sightsee with our friend and visit some churches, even speaking at one. Going into church everyone took off their shoes. The women went to one side and sat on the floor. The men went to the other side. They produced chairs for us, the Americans who weren’t used to the floor.

At the first church there were refreshments after the service. They handed us an orange punch from a mix. The chai we’d been drinking in Nepal was made with boiling water. This was straight from the tap.

I looked at my Nepali friend. She said, “You could pray and then drink it.” “I have another idea,” I said. “We could pray and then not drink it.”

At the other church we were in a more rural area. The night before speaking, I felt horrible. I had a headache that was so bad it made me sick. My sister-in-law said I probably had a migraine. I do not get migraines. She gave me some pills and told me to sleep. I was supposed to speak the next afternoon.

Miraculously, I did feel better by the next afternoon. People who get bad migraines will know that I was fortunate. I hopped on the back of a scooter with a Nepali man whom I had never met. He deposited me in front of the church. I zoomed into the church and sat in a chair up front.

Then I looked down. Dang. I still had my shoes on. I was getting ready to stand in front of the whole church with my shoes on. Was this terribly rude? Was I going to offend them all?

There was a window behind us…

I got my friends to stretch and lean over so that I could slip off my shoes and drop them out the window. When it was my turn to talk, I was in the proper barefooted condition.

Nepal was incredible. We safely arrived home after many adventures.

Good thing we weren’t climbing Everest!