I read a lot.
I'm a librarian and I read.
It's almost too cliche to claim, somewhat like adoring cats or knitting scarves or wearing buns in your hair, yet I've come to grips with it. Walking past the small fiction section in our library last week, I realized that I truly love books. If I didn't work in a library, I'd still spend a great deal of time there. The stories of thousands of generations are housed in one building; the lives of myriads available, adventures to discover and emotions to feel.
Lately, I've been enjoying The Boleyn Inheritance, an historical fiction novel about the court of crazy King Henry VIII and his wives numbered 2, 4, and 5 (Anne Boleyn, Anne of Cleves, and Katherine Howard).
The book, however, was too cumbersome to lug to Chicago, in a backpack or my purse on a train, so I stowed it in favor of an old classic: Redwall.
Some of you may remember the animal fantasy world of Brian Jacques, author of this phenomenal series. I hadn't touched one of these since I was 10 or 12, and opening it up, reading the names, so distant yet so familiar, was like coming home to a warm cup of soup and a fresh loaf of bread still steaming from the oven. Simply wonderful.
Elaine lent me some Annie Dillard, as I've never read any works of length by her and have always heard great things about her. I'm excited to dive into her well-constructed sentences and stories. There's nothing quite like reading something by a true crafter of words.
As I packed up my weekend things at my parents, getting ready to head home, I realized that I'd be chilly driving along in my t-shirt. Though I had my winter coat, it was too much, too heavy. And my short sleeved jacket, though very cute, would not help with the chilly arms.
I went into my old room (which is nothing more than a fairly empty storehouse these days), opened the closet and stared at the few items in it.
- 1 sparkly, purple, one-shoulder prom dress
- 1 green army coat from the 60's, completely worn out and raggedy, but a family treasure nonetheless
- 1 maroon puffy coat from the late 90's (too hot for the present circumstances)
- 1 blue rain jacket with torn pockets (totally not my favorite)
- 1 black leather jacket from the late 90's with elastic-cuffed sleeves that cut off circulation to my hands (thus, not an option)
All that was left hanging in the closet, after pushing aside the previous items, was a soft, yellow short bathrobe that I bought as I went to college six and a half years ago. I'm so not a bathrobe person, so I've worn it maybe three times. But I couldn't give it away because it's too perfect - so soft, so cheery - you'd think it'd be a happy something to get me through winters in Indiana.
For a few seconds, I contemplated whether I'd really wear the thing if I toted it all the way to my house, but I needed a jacket of sorts, and it would play the part.
Thus it was that I slipped my yellow bathrobe over my pink t-shirt and jeans, loaded my car, and drove home. After an hour of driving I reached a small town with street lights that allowed other drivers to see what I was wearing. I received a few strange looks, and yet, I was secure (and toasty) in my bathrobey-jacket.
Here I am, finally home, and absolutely comfortable. Perhaps I've started a new form of Driving Jacket, much like the old school Smoking Jacket???
I spent my fall break (which was merely one day) in the grand city of Chicago visiting my favorite Elaine.
She had promised coffee shops and time for relaxing and reading, movies and meeting her fiance. She'd also hinted at my birthday present, but all she said was "it's somewhat of a process," and "it's an experience."
If anyone knows a thing about me, you know that I'm not one for surprises. I like to plan; I like to know; and I like to be in control. When someone I love tells me that they have a surprise for me that is a process, I can't even begin to fathom what that would be. I immediately break out in cold sweats.
But as it's Elaine, I had nothing to worry about. She knows me, better than anyone really, and I am quite sure she would not give me a present that I hate.
The process was: jam-making. We made jam. We may have even let slip...we be jammin'.
We made strawberry and raspberry on Friday and had so much fun that we returned to the kitchen Saturday to make pomegranate. The raspberry is delicious, and I have yet to try the strawberry, but honestly, how could that go wrong? The pomegranate might be something that would be ideal with peanut butter, but by itself...it's a bit much for me. Overall, the experience was fantastic. I learned a new kitchen skill, one that is easy and impressive at the same time. I hope I never buy jam again. There's no need; it's so simple to make. Elaine found all her recipes on AllRecipes.com.
She also gave me these pillow cases (look how perfect they are, friend! Thank you!).
I hope that she can visit me sometime in Upland, although, I must admit, we're pretty much guaranteed a better time in Chicago. However, we do have our fun little things to do here...Helping Hands, Mick's flea market, Gas City petting zoo, etc.
Thanks for such a fun and relaxing weekend, Elaine. I hope we can visit The Cheese Stands Alone again sometime. That 4-year Gouda was heavenly!
I hate to be silent for a week at a time, but my mind will not be still, will not give me a moment's peace to form something of worth.
I look forward to a weekend away - with my dear friend, Elaine. I, also, happily anticipate a train ride up that way. I love riding the train!
It's always fun to receive packages in the mail, but I don't usually expect them at work. Yesterday, my little mail slot was jammed full of a thick package from Haworth Press.
After dislodging it from my box, I turned it over several times, giving it a quizzical look, trying to figure out what Haworth would send me that weighed about five pounds (it was a large, padded envelope). Then it dawned on me...Haworth publishes Behavioral and Social Science Librarian, which is the journal publishing the article on Carol Gilligan that I wrote in grad school.
It's finally published, was my next thought, and I quickly found a pair of scissors and started de-stapling and ripping open the envelope.
And there it was. My name. In print. In a peer-reviewed, scholarly, reputable journal in my discipline.
Wow.
They sent me two copies of this Fall's edition of the journal, along with 10 reprints, which are like mini-journals with the cover and only my article in them.
I want to write something else to be published so I can feel this euphoria again.
“In the entire history of the universe, let alone in your own history, there has never been another day just like today, and there will never be another just like it again. Today is the point to which all your yesterdays have been leading since the hour of your birth. It is the point from which all your tomorrows will proceed until the hour of your death. If you were aware of how precious today is, you could hardly live through it. Unless you are aware of how precious it is, you can hardly be said to be living at all.”
[emphasis added]
Somewhat embarrassed, I have to admit that I came across this profound quote in the movie Shall We Dance? which discusses why people get married.
"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'."
