Ignatius J Riley, Son of Sherlock Holmes Revealed!

Did you know that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, of Sherlock Holmes fame, had a middle name? Ignatius. (Wise move to choose Conan over Ignatius, by the way, big Conan fan growing up myself). But it got me thinking about another Ignatius. Ignatius J. Riley of Confederacy of Dunces. Could it be? A quick browse on Google didn't bring anything back. I think there is some parallel. I mean, how many grown men do you know that walk around in a hunting cap. Ignatius and Sherlock do. They both share the same arrogant intelligence but with Ignatius, its as if Sherlock ate Watson. He earned his PhD loves to quote philosopher, Boethius, but is a bumbler. Ignatius denounces the world's lack of "theology and geometry". While Sherlock perceives the world's geometry and uses it to his advantage. For all you students out there, I'm sure there's a paper in here somewhere. Anywho, something to ponder.

How to Improve Your Marriage Without Talking

So, I'm out in the stacks pulling holds when one book catches my eye. That's right, How to Improve Your Marriage Without Talking. I was a little perplexed. My hubby and I have been at this for 15+ years and I find talking crucial to communication.

Joke book that's blank? Not likely in a library. Did my dad write a book without telling anyone? Maybe it's a book about adding small gestures of affection- you know, roses, notes, vacuuming, whatever. Or maybe it's a brown paper bag manual about improving your sex life.

Hmmm.... My curiosity piqued, I found the book- How to Improve Your Marriage Without Talking About It. The last couple of words didn't fit on the page. Similar concept but not nearly as interesting.

On a separate note:

A girl was researching Christmas in other cultures at the library. Her mom says to her,"What country do you want to research?" The little girl responds, "How about Utah? Can I do Utah?" I'm not sure if the exchange had more to do with the state of our education or the state of Utah.

Employee Evaluations

I admit it. I cheated. My 2008 goal was retroactive. The powers that be wanted that little hole filled so I made up a goal (at their behest). As I'm typing my goal and evaluation, I get to the part that says rate your performance. Suddenly, I'm wondering if I'm on a Japanese game show. I know that they know that I just made up this lame "goal". They know that I know that they know and NOW let's just see how she rates herself. On a scale of 1 to 4, how would you rate yourself, 1 being the highest? Any nincompoop should be getting a 1, right? Talk about stacking the deck. I just couldn't do it. I gave a 2 on principle alone. I think that just makes me a stubborn nincompoop minus a raise, not a principled one.

One Good Book

Do you ever have one of those moments where disparate elements intersect for no apparent reason? My random moment seems to be Harper Lee. We watched In Cold Blood and discovered she was friends with Truman Capote. My boy read To Kill a Mockingbird in English. I picked up Who the Hell is Pansy O'Hara and there she was again.
Harper Lee's characters live in my memory as an old friend, blurred and indistinct but warm. It's the only book she ever wrote. I wish she had written more.

In Who the Hell is Pansy O'Hara, they quote Harper Lee as saying, "I hoped for a little (public encouragement), as I said, but I got rather a whole lot, and in some ways this was just about as frightening as the quick, merciful death I'd expected." I understand her block on a visceral level. I freeze when it's going well. The focus blurs and the well runs dry.

Is it true that everyone has at least one good book in them? What blocks some brilliant writers from continuing?

If you had one good book in you, what would it be? Talk amongst yourselves.

Once Upon a Time

Ah, bedtime stories at the library. The trouble is no one has been coming. A more established library has bedtime stories the same night. So, I usually wander the stacks and find three or four books a few minutes before showtime, just in case.
Only last night was a little different. I watched in stunned disbelief as at least six little ones, parents in tow, padded in in their pjs. I changed up the tone and meter, threw in a few silly voices and shortened some stories and when their attention was blown called it a day.

That's it?

What time did you start? That was the time it took me to drive over here. We thought this would be a fun library.

We usually go to the other story time and last week they had award-winning children's books, from our state, as a theme. She sings a welcome song and half-way through they get their wiggles out and then at the end... they get milk and cookies. The kids really look forward to that.

Part of me wanted to tell her to go home, tuck her daughter into bed, snuggle up next to her and pull out the child's favorite book but I refrained.

I can sing in the car or the shower... with the radio turned up...really loudly, but get me in front of a group of adults expecting Disney tunes and choreography and I'm no good. Now, I'm not saying it was incredible but milk and cookies? Who can compete with that? I actually thought they were great suggestions for our programming and passed along her name and number but give me the old school bedtime any day. I wouldn't have missed that with my kids for anything.

A Fierce and Desperate Thing

A couple of little guys in my class came down with something. Their symptoms include but are not limited to: finding me in the library just to say Hi, being the first one to class, wanting to sit on my lap during storytime, lifting chairs twice their size, general atypical rowdy behavior. That's right--they've got a Crush with a capital C.

A little boy's crush is a fierce and desperate thing. It's a beautiful and embarrassing experience to be the focus of such pure, blind adoration. I employ the classic female strategy: feign ignorance, continue to treat the little guys the same as before and wait for time or the end of programming to remedy the situation.

It occurred to me that the crush is not all that different from adult male courting behavior. I just get to see its genesis. I guess we're alright unless the boys start chest thumping, butting heads or getting tattoos, then drastic measures will need to be taken.

Parent Torture Conference

I went to conferences burning with shame and futility. Shame in that special way only a school official can make you feel. I had two choices: go to conferences and politely accept the D and F grade slips so graciously offered or stay home and wallow in my bad parenthood. So, I went--this year--stomach roiling. I met with each and every teacher (except PE) and was so overjoyed at the solitary B slip, I nearly cried. I cry a lot at school which I find mortifying. I feel as if I've slipped into Valerie Bertinelli's skin and am now a part of some horrible after school special. Pass the martini.
And now a word from our Hallmark sponsors-- when you care to give the very best...

First the Axe, Now the Leather

So, my hubby and I went out strolling on a beautiful November Day and came home with a leather motorcycle jacket. We popped into a great little vintage shop and there it was, waiting- 50 bucks, just the right size. He tried it on and it was over. My eyelids fluttered involuntarily and if I had long hair, I would have tossed it.

He slid on the jacket and we headed out the door. Suddenly, female eyes were upon us. Now, I'm not paranoid but they were everywhere giving long, pointed looks. I felt vaguely inadequate to the allure of the jacket. If I had known, I would've spritzed up a little in its presence.

I'm mildly embarrassed by the ease of our seduction. A little leather and it's over. I think someone elses wife made them give up the female catnip. I, personally, will rest a little easier knowing that in the event of my untimely demise, he is equipped to re-enter the dating pool but until then, he's mine.

First, he picked up the guitar, now, I've equipped him with the jacket and I'm hearing rumblings about a motorcycle but I'm standing firm. No motorcycle unless it's a his and her set. Although, maybe we should get one and he can hang onto my back in his little jacket. He would be a nice accessory for my midlife crisis bike.

Bracing for the Change

I couldn't let this day pass without a nod to the historical significance of this day. Today, I'm proud to be an American. It's awe inspiring how far we, as a nation, have come from the days of segregation and slavery. Others will more eloquently and appropriately express these sentiments, those who have lived that history. It's not often you see history unfold before you and know that you are part of it. Last night, we sat the kids down and had them watch the election with us.

Yes, mom and dad, I did vote for Obama and here's why. I have to seriously consider someone supported by both Colin Powell and Warren Buffet. I didn't like the half truths McCain resorted to in his campaign. I was disappointed. Given McCain's age and previous bout with cancer, I didn't like his choice of running mate. Since, McCain chose a female running mate, he should have chosen a savvier, more substantial one- they are out there. Obama is intelligent, charismatic, and must feel the responsibility of being the first African American president heavily. He has a clear vision of how he will lead this country.

I am terrified of the power President Obama will wield once in office, the changes he has championed. I don't know what the reality of those changes will look like. I am terrified but hopeful. Hopeful, that he will chose his advisers wisely and with care. Hopeful, that he will be able to lead us out of this mess we're in.

I'm Your Biggest Fan

He was my father's age and reminded me a great deal of my uncle. Strawberry blonde, sun baked skin, rough, working hands and a certain glint in his eye that danced the line between madness and mischief.

"So, you live around here then?"
"Yep, we've been here about 8 years."
"In old town?"
"Nope, just down the road."
"Oh, in those big houses with the airplanes."

Dodge, parry. I wasn't about to give the man my address.
He was chatty and we soon discovered we'd both grown up in the same state. It kinda went like this...


"You ever hear of the mormons?"
"Yes, I was raised mormon."
"Me, too."

He leaned in and lowered his voice.

"You a polygamous?"
"Nope, one is plenty. Isn't it?"
"Ol' Joe was purty smart though. Gettin' men to give ten percent for all the women they wanted to have. 'Cause you know what men think with don't you?"

There was a long pause, as if he really expected me to answer this question. He wanted to expound on his topic. Instead, I opted to change the subject.

"Oh, look. We do have that book on metal detection. Let me show you were it is."
"You gonna be here in a couple of days when I return this book?"
"I'm here all the time but if I'm not someone else would be happy to help you."
"No, you're the best I only want you to help me."

Heh, heh (that would be nervous laughter). Wow, let me just add another slightly bent fan to my fan club. Wonderful.

Ahoy, Matey!

A middle aged man came into the library. Short, dark, with a small box under his arm. "Do you have any books on coins--old coins?" We were able to find what he needed and the man was excited. So much so, that in his excitement he began to talk.

"So my buddy sold them to me from his car. I've got like three more boxes in my car. I hope I didn't get ripped off. I paid a couple hundred dollars for these."

Somehow I don't think he was the one getting ripped off. He opened the box to let me see. The coins were in plastic collectors sleeves. Beautiful older coins. My coworker noticed that at least one coin was worth hundreds of dollars.

The man said he was going to buy a new car and come back and show it to us. He never did. It's a mystery coming and going.

Pressed into Service

Y, oh, Y did I have to choose the next book for my Read & Feed Book Club? There are a couple of complications.
First, it's a husband/wife book club. That may not sound so bad but think about it. When was the last time you both read and enjoyed the same book?
Second, the book needs some sort of food tie in. Someplace all eight of us can sit and discuss the book. That I can work with and stretch if need be.
Third, I work with these people. We need something interesting enough to discuss but not uncomfortable the next day.

I've been through lists of best sellers, recommended reads, must reads, you name it. I've narrowed the list and scanned for content. Some topics may be a little too close to home (I'll let you decide which). Loss of a child no, prostitution out(get your mind out of the gutter), war theme nyet, mushy romance nope, S&M definitely out(do I look like I'd know?), so that leaves me with exactly--nothing. Well, I overstate, I did manage to squeeze one out.

May I have the envelope, please. (drum roll)
And the winner is...

The House of Sleep by Jonathan Coe

Oh, but wait, I just really love...

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Hmmm, this one shows promise...

City of Refuge by Tom Piazza

Alright, so I haven't narrowed it to just one yet but I will. Promise. Even if it comes down to a coin toss. All I can say is, it's a good thing we don't meet again until January.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

A father came into the library with his two boys in tow. The oldest boy was in those few sweet teen years before the drivers license, the dating, the drama. He was trying to keep his rambunctious little brother in check while his dad asked for directions. The little guy was just big enough to peer in the book drop slot, probably about 5. The little one was bouncing off the walls yammering away while his older brother tried valiantly to keep him at arms length. Under his breath he would tell the little one to knock it off. He wanted to be with the adults. Little bro didn't like being ignored and started hitting big bro. Big bro inadvertently hit little bro in his "junk" while warding him off.

"My junk! You hit me in my junk! You*@#%#$@*!" On and on he loudly spouted obscenities in his piping little boy voice.

Big bro woodenly looked on as the onslaught continued, apparently mortified. He valiantly tried to distance himself from the foul mouthed little one. Dad thought it was funny and gave a little chuckle and smiled at me. I blushed furiously and expedited the directions.

No, really, not so cute. Not so funny. That poor kid. He's obviously not going to learn the value of holding his tongue from his father or when and how to use language appropriately. Someone give that man a bar of soap.

Peanut Butter Fiasco

Once again my brilliance astonishes me. I put together an odor lesson plan for the kiddos in my group. We read Smelly Bill and My Dog is as Smelly as Old Socks. We made Smelly Sam sock puppets and then, the coup de gras, odor experiment.

I filled paper cups with different things: honey, mint tea, pickles, mustard, and peanut butter. Then I covered the cups in foil and poked a hole in the top. We sent the cups around the group and they got to identify each scent. Great fun. The kids loved it. Only one minor kink in the plan. After sending around the peanut butter one little girl says, "Peanut butter, I'm allergic to peanut butter." The little girl next to her turns and says, "Hey, me too!"

While they were bonding, my mind is racing. Oh my god! Can smelling peanut butter cause a reaction? Should I head it off and have them chew on a few antihistamines? Do we have an epi pen? What a block head. Sending not one but two children to the hospital, not good. That's got to be some kind of record.

Thank God, they were fine. There was no reaction. And Nincompoop learned her lesson.


Anybody want a peanut?

Bloody Mary

A moment of Ewww brought to you by the month of October. Imagine, if you will, a sweet little elderly woman, we'll call her Mary, returning her stack of library books.

"Oh, dear, I seem to be bleeding. Do you have a band-aid? This getting old really stinks. Your skin just gets thinner and thinner."

After numerous paper towels and a band-aid, Mary was on her way. It was only after she left that we noticed the blood on the books. I think that might be a health code violation.

But, not to worry, the books are out of circulation - pardon the pun.

Say Cheese!

"Hey, has anyone lost their teeth? I found this set back in the fiction."
I kid you not.
The teeth were later claimed. Those puppies are expensive.
But what I'm wondering is... why do you take your teeth out at the library in the first place? Is it more comfortable to read sans teeth? It helps your concentration and focus? Denture cream failure? Looking for something to sink your teeth into? I'll stop now.
I suppose it will remain a mystery. But it definitely makes the list for strangest lost and found item at the library to date. Not quite Flannery O'Connor but, hey.

Possible reads:

The Skin of our Teeth

Possible authors:

Pearl S. Buck
EB White

Hey Lady, There's a Whale Over Your Head

Book club gave me a whale to read. It's been hanging overhead for a couple of weeks but I finally finished. Granted it took being stuck in a waiting room for three hours but, hey, who's counting.

Forever by Pete Hamill, you can say that again. I was having flashbacks of skimming similar bonus passages in Moby Dick. I learned more about whaling than I'll ever need but who knows, maybe someday I'll be on Survivor Antarctica.

I feel slightly guilty about even grouping Pete Hamill with Melville.

Poor Pete. How many geriatric walking tours of Manhattan did you have to take to research your novel? I felt your pain.


So, the real question is...

when is it time to cut your book club off?

Woohoo We Broke a Hundred

Thanks, honey. We broke a hundred hits. Sorry about your carpal tunnel.

Freedom of Speech Anyone?

Perhaps I should have started this blog with a legal disclaimer:

All characters are fictional. Any similarities with living or deceased people are coincidental. In case of real life events, creative license has been taken.

I know I'm a bit late chiming in on this but for those of you who haven't yet read it, a Library Associate in Michigan was fired for writing a fictionalized account of her dealings with patrons. Uh, you got that right. Have I mentioned how much I love my job?

The AP article was posted on the bulletin board at my library. I'm stunned. Personally, I thought not disclosing your name, the location of the library, or the patrons' personal information was plenty of protection for those with qualms about confidentiality.

It certainly gave me pause. I don't have a book deal. But the truth of the matter is our lives intersect. My interaction with the public affects me in a personal way and I give voice to my personal musings here. The LA made a good faith effort to protect confidentiality. If anyone damaged that, it was the library itself by drawing attention to the author's identity and verifying that the characters weren't so fictional after all.

While I'm ranting, how 'bout this... The library is a public space. If the patron wanted privacy they wouldn't be jacking off in the library. The last I heard, public nudity was illegal and writing about it was not grounds for dismissal.

Book Burning

I had a brilliant idea for The Big Read display- burn some books. What could be more provocative in a library? I naively thought I'd cull the donated books. My unease grew as I scanned the books. After all, I was entering the realm of Gods. Nothing I saw deserved burning but did it deserve saving? Who was I to judge?

How about this out of date book on Custer's Last Stand? But is history ever really out of date?
Perhaps this book on prayerful living. Narrow appeal, broad base of readers. Too inflammatory? The intention isn't to incite riots.
Ah, this one is a sure bet. It's mildewed and the spine is broken. It's a very old text on nutrition. Surely, the information is inaccurate. But what about it's value as a comparative text? It may be interesting to trace the evolution of nutrition.

Each title was weighed and measured. I was surprised by the complexity of the task.
I finally settled on a skiing book from the seventies (when they still strapped in to hiking boots) and a book explaining the 1997 version of Windows.

I girded my loins, hoisted my lighter, and lit the book up. Only the damn thing wouldn't light. It smoked and let off a noxious odor. It charred a bit around the edges and that was it. I'm sure it will give me cancer. It certainly gave me ulcers. Thanks, Ray Bradbury. You've opened my mind and ruined my body. I'm just not cut out for this dictator crap.

I'll leave you with a poem by the ever controversial William Blake.

The Tyger

TYGER, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies 5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp 15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 20

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Time to Move to Europe

This month is The Big Read. We are promoting the novel Fahrenheit 451 in our community.

A patron asked the age range for the novel. I replied teen to adult.
"So, would that be okay for an 11 year old?"
"Mmm, probably not."
"She's a very advanced reader."
"It's really more of an adult book."
"Is there any sex in it?"
"No, but there is a man burned alive."
"Oh, that's okay I'm not worried about that. Just as long as there's no sex in it."

Really? That's okay? It's not okay. Come on. Maybe Patrick Henry should have said, "Give me sex or give me death". I'm fairly certain, if given the choice, which he would have chosen.

C'est Triste

It's a sad day when you bar your son from the library. Parenthood is a complicated thing. You try to foster responsibility, honesty, inquisitiveness, hard work, etc. all while expecting love, obedience and respect. I adore my boy but he is 14. After 3 years and a stint in summer school, he still believes ignoring schoolwork is the way to go. In addition to cramming, losing, and misdirection, he's recently added to his repertoire of obfuscation lying to my face.

My boy, why did you have to jump off that cliff--AGAIN. I know homework is hard for you. I truly do understand that a warm, steaming pile of homework stinks. Believe me when I say-- it will only stink worse the longer you wait. You can do this. Asking questions is never stupid but not asking questions could very well make you stupid. Teachers and your parents really do want to help.

Let me reiterate one more thing, if you ignore assignments they will bite you in the butt. You may get away with missing 3 or 4 assignments but that doesn't mean they disappear. They are growing. Take care of it so you can move on.

Call me old fashioned, but I despise dishonesty. Your homework is important but your word is your character. I admire a person with the balls to take responsibility for their actions and if you made a mistake, admit it. Don't compound it with lies.

Despite the missing homework, I am proud of you. Your teachers tell me what a good kid you are. Respectful and polite. That means a lot to me. Now if you could just work on the honesty I'd know you're on the right path.

Oh, and when we say one hour on the computer after your homework is done, that's what we mean-- Any computer.

A Wolf, The God of War and a Comic Strip at Kid's Club

My kiddos are amazing. I'm responsible for the K-2 kid's club and I'll admit I was just a wee bit nervous when I noticed 8 boys on the roster. 8 boys, that's what my grandmother wound up with and we all know how that one ended. Well, maybe you don't but let's just say it had something to do with a dirt track up the stairs for toy trucks, a skunk mistaken for a rabbit, and a corpse (not real) on the pool table. 'nuf said.
It didn't help my anxiety that a cartoon character and the God of thunder were included on the list (that would be Ziggy and Thor).
From the get-go they have been well mannered, eager to learn, and stoked to bring home a craft. I can honestly say these little monkeys are so much fun. It's not just anyone that I would dress in a floral nightgown, quilted peach jacket and wolf tail for. Their eyes lit up when Isabelle, the lone female, pointed out my tail peaking out of the hem of my nightgown. I read Winston the Book Wolf and Do Not Open This Book. The use of language is so tangible in those books, they are fantastic read alouds. Poor little Thor was beside himself that we were going to open-- Do Not Open This Book. They particularly enjoyed the section when I added their names to the story. The ultimate compliment was when my second grader wanted to check out both books. Great bunch of kids. Next week we'll be reading about the tooth fairy.

Assaulted with Teen Attitude

It wouldn't have surprised me if the girl threw herself on the floor, legs and arms flailing, wailing, "I want my library card number!"
They were a cute duo of teens. The blonde and the brunette seemed to come as a set. The brunette was the speaker and the blonde provided the twittering laugh track. The brunette began.

"I, um, forgot my library card, so, if you could just write down the number that would be great."
"Sure, I just need some picture ID- student ID, rec center pass..."
"Well, I can just tell you my name and then you can look it up."
"I can as soon as you show me your ID."
"Well, my name is Jenny Smith. So, can't you just look it up?"
"If you just show me your ID I'd be happy to. I need to verify that you are who you say you are and that you're not just telling me you're Jane Doe, for instance."

Simple logic didn't penetrate the mule-headed girl.

"But I'm not Jane Doe. That's just stupid. I'm Jenny Smith. Look, here's my old library card number- just look up my new one with that."

The stubborn, "but I want" sense of entitlement, persisted despite my best efforts. The condescending tone didn't help matters either. The conversation continued on until she realized I really meant what I said-- no ID, no number. I've outlasted a toddler, I can certainly outlast a teen.

"This library totally sucks. I, like, totally hate it. It is so lame."

Needless to say, she has been back and has assiduously avoided me. Which is too bad because I'd be happy to point out the thesaurus. I believe we even carry a book on Shakespearean insults.

The Big Blue

Apologies for the lag in posts. I had the Blues. Too bad I didn't have these cookies with the inspirational slogans. That would have made it all better.
Luckily, this bout was more of a dip in the pool than a swim in the deep. The worst thing about it was being cognizant enough to see my memory go to hell, my reasoning skills evaporate, and my verbal skills slow to zombie like speeds. I felt I needed to walk around and explain, "sorry for the idiocy, brain function will resume shortly." but it would've come out "Sorry fer idiot, idiocracy, idiotness. You know what I mean. Brains er out." Maybe that's what happened in the '80's. I opted to stay quiet as much as possible and write "deep thoughts".

Time bleeds.
Its ruby seeds slip through my fingers,
Silent accusations bloom at my feet
And turn to rust

My obese tongue slides, trips, falls
Against its dark confines
Heavy and dull
In the cavern full of night and wind

And the moaning for lost words.

Looks Like You Should've Said No

"It says I have to check out my books at the desk."
"Alright, it shows you have a lost book fee and it's been sent to collections. It looks like you've received three notices."
"Is that what the messages were? Well, I ignored them because the lady in my class was supposed to return the books."
"Let's just check the catalogue to see the status. What was the name of the book again?"
"Boundaries, When to Say Yes, When to Say No-- the Leader's Guide."

Clock Watching

Friday night at the library. Five minutes before closing.
A woman hobbles into the library on crutches with three kids in tow.
"I'd like to get a library card. And my children, too."
"Not a problem, we'd be happy to get that set up for you but I'm afraid we're closing in five minutes so there probably won't be time to check out materials today but we are open tomorrow. "
"Oh, that's okay. We'll just do it now. Kids you go on and just choose out your books now."
Alright maybe they know just what they want. They're headed for the picture books. I'm sure they can find something quickly.
The woman completes the form and has the gall to hobble off to the adult fiction section-- at the far end of the library.
Mind you the door is locked. We are now officially closed. We're doing our last sweep through the library. We're counting out the money drawer. It's Friday night!
There was no explanation, no apology. Just blatant disregard for inconveniencing three adults while she browsed. Not even a thank you. Unbelievably rude.

Never Bring a Spare Pair of Underwear to Work

The kidlets are out of town so my hubby and I spent a night on the town. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
The next day, I went to work with a smile and a headache. We had a sub at work. She came down with a vicious headache herself and asked if we had any aspirin. I had brought along my Aleve, so, I offered her some. I went to my locker, opened up my backpack to retrieve the medicine and found, to my utter mortification, my underwear in the bottom of the bag right next to the Aleve. I can only hope her migrane affected her vision.

Conversation Killer

It started with a girl- a brown haired raggamuffin whose snarled hair had been roughly cut at the neck leaving a few longer strands. She was about the age of my children. She had a slightly haunted look about her. The brown haired girl asked for books on UFOs. We only had one in the children's section so I showed her a few more in the adult section. She found a quiet spot and began to devour the book. I hope she found refuge.

A few minutes later, a man approached me. He was bearded and equally shabby. He asked for books on UFOs and other unexplained phenomenon. I was able to take him there with no trouble while he told me about... his friend with top secret military clearance who worked on a military base that has seen UFOs real ones because he'd know if it was military but it wasn't. Well, He started to talk about the big man- Big Foot that is. He was just getting wound up when I mentioned my Uncle had seen Big Foot. He wanted to know where.

"Not sure. He was a trucker so it could have been anywhere but he also did a lot of drugs so who knows."

"Not all drugs make you see things. That is so awesome. You should ask him about it sometime."

"I don't really keep in touch with him anymore. He's in jail."

"Oh, yeah? What for?"

"Murder."

He certainly wasn't expecting that from the mild mannered librarian; and that about ended it. I love having one absolute conversation killer in my back pocket. It really is an essential tool. I'm going to pass on this bit of wisdom when my daughter reaches dating age.

Mad Mer and Me

Libraries are fascinating places. Not only are there fabulous books with titles like Don't Be That Girl, Walking on Eggshells and The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead right next to each other (what a love fest), there are the tantalizing bits people tell about themselves in their choices. Sometimes the real illumination is about myself and preconceived notions or biases that I have.

For months I'd been working in the back receiving holds for someone with the abbreviated title of MAD, MER. The "name" itself conjures a wild-eyed, grizzled old woman. The fact that the books were all quilt related only strengthened the image. Only, now, she lived in a shack, compulsively making intricate quilts out of potato sacks.

One day a co-worker happened to be out front when Mad Mer arrived to pick up her quilting books, three small children in tow. Just your average suburban mom with a penchant for quilting while watching Sex in the City (those DVD requests came later).

Or is she?

BEWARE OF MEN WITH SALT AND PEPPER HAIR CARRYING NOTEBOOKS:

It began innocently enough.

"Do you have the new "pop culture mag that will remain anonymous here" magazine?"

"Our most current issue is on the floor."

"No, that was last weeks issue. I checked the catalog and it said the most current issue was in."

I checked the back room. I checked the carts. I checked to see if courier had arrived. After a few minutes of politely reassuring the man, "we no gotta de magazine", my manager had to delve into the catalog to show the man the item was, in fact, in transit--not in house. He then began to point out a disturbing trend in the theft of the magazine at our central distribution point. One magazine goes missing per week and it rotates between member libraries. It is obviously a conspiracy. How could we have been so blind? Thank God for magazine-man!


Did I mention, he comes in every Tuesday at 11 to view said magazine, notebook in hand, with the same result? This battle has been going on for months. We are currently raising funds to buy the poor man his own subscription.