Mysteries and such...

Another torrentially rainy day and our apartment is humid with damp clothes strung from every available surface. Two weeks of laundry in one go and a very small drying room - yes I had to touch other people's underwear today (oh how I miss the warm tumbling sounds of an electric dryer). Well, not much to report on the LitheLibrarian front - been working away at some booklists on a volunteer basis. Boy do I miss the quirky world of public library reference...all the interesting people and all the strange conversations that I used to overhear. I rarely overhear conversations in English these days, and when I do they are of the more mundane variety. I am always amazed at how easily I get by speaking English everywhere I go. I feel quite guilty and really sympathize for all those immigrants that don't speak such a global language.

Friday, I rented a DVD for the first time. The clerk was a teenage girl, pleased to try out her English and pretty darn good (despite the self-depreciating remarks everyone makes, people are always excellent around here!) - of course I wasn't in the database, so it was necessary to giver her my boyfriends name. Silly me, apparently I can't even pronounce his last name properly. The way we say it back home means a whole 'nother name over here. Round one - nothing. Round two- tried saying it the Finnish way- nothing. Round three- attempted to spell it, was given a piece of paper to write it down- nothing. Roung four - remembered the dots over the "o" (both of them) that apparently change the whole thing! Anyways, I guess something I should learn, especially if I plan on taking this last name myself someday.

The Tenderness of Wolves by Stef Penney

I read this novel in the hectic days before my trip. I didn't blog about it before, but as I would rate it one of the best books of the year. I picked it up of the new fiction shelf and it had a much nicer cover than the one above (yes, covers influence me, don't they influence you just a little?) Also, once upon a time, a school principal called the class I was so lucky to teach - "a pack of wolves" - for some reason, the fascination with the species remains. Various elements were intriguing - a murder, a mystery of a sort, historical fiction, set in Canada, fur traders, first nations, strong female characters, romance (male-female and male-male)... how could I resist? And I was not disapointed, it was lyrical, literary and utterly captivating. It's currently climbing the ranks on Amazon. By the way, Stef Penney is British and has never visited Canada. This was her first novel and I can't wait for the next...here's an excerpt I found online:

It is a Thursday morning in mid-November, about two weeks after that meeting in the store. I walk down the road from our house in a dreadful temper, planning my lecture carefully. More than likely I rehearse it aloud -- one of many strange habits that are all too easy to pick up in the backwoods. The road -- actually little more than a series of ruts worn by hooves and wheels -- follows the river where it plunges down a series of shallow falls. Under the birches patches of moss gleam emerald in the sunlight. Fallen leaves, crystallised by the night's frost, crackle under my feet, whispering of the coming winter. The sky is an achingly clear blue. I walk quickly in my anger, head high. It probably makes me look cheerful.

Jammet's cabin sits away from the riverbank in a patch of weeds that passes for a garden. The unpeeled log walls have faded over the years until the whole thing looks grey and woolly, more like a living growth than a building. It is something from a bygone age: the door is buckskin stretched over a wooden frame, the windows glazed with oiled parchment. In winter he must freeze. It's not a place where the women of Dove River often call, and I haven't been here myself for months, but right now I have run out of places to look.There is no smoke signal of life inside, but the door stands ajar; the buckskin stained from earthy hands. I call out, then knock on the wall. There is no reply, so I peer inside, and when my eyes have adjusted to the dimness I see Jammet, at home and, true to form, asleep on his bed at this time in the morning. I nearly walk away then, thinking there is no point waking him, but frustration makes me persevere. I haven't come all this way for nothing.

Heir to the Glimmering World by Cynthia Ozick.

It opens dark and mysterious as an aimless girl with no qualifications or skills seeks a job to take her away. She is an orphan who has lost an awful father and lives with a relation, a young man who doesn't see her as the woman she desires him to see. His new girlfriend is a hard Communist activist, and wants her out. Meanders in a poetic way but never reaches any astonishing climax. Almost baffles me how it can really be viewed as a novel...how did this one get published quite like it was. The characters are wonderful and it is written with skill...but it seems incomplete. Still an enjoyable read.

Death du Jour by Kathy Reichs.

Read it when I was feeling a little seasick during our cruise from Helsinki to Stockholm. Laying in my cabin with my small window (facing the life preserver but offering a glimpse of the sea). Good for this kind of thing. Couldn't put it down. I do admire a female detective! The gore was a bit much at times. I don't usually read this type of novel but as it takes place in Quebec in part, I made an exception. There were also some implausible aspects...some inconsistancies - time to get a better editor. Geesh.

Kindness revisited...

Contrary to my previous posting, I will be able to read On Chesil Beach while in Finland. The children's librarian that I volunteer with very kindly made a simple phone call and the book is on it's way, despite my blundering. I simply must get a grasp on this language when I return in the fall!

Kindness is everywhere I turn, here in Finland. I've been very lucky. I've met all sorts of helpful and generous folk.

I've also met a few characters. It's a small place. The other evening I went jogging on my own. I went to a local hill (which has a look-out tower and a playing field perched on top) and is wooded. Trails intersect and encircle the entire area, so if you pass a person jogging once, you are bound to pass them a dozen times. When I returned home to my partner, I informed him that I was checked out quite a few times on my run. I was being cruel, just trying to inject him with a motivator for joining me on the occasional evening jaunt. "Oh, by who?" he asked. "Um, some really serious runner, and Italian maybe, in short shorts," I replied. "Oh, that's the same guy that was checking you out at the grocery store when we were shopping a few weeks ago, his name is ---." As an afterthought he added, "He's a real horn-dog."

Oh, okay. Well, anyways before I get too full of myself.

Anyhow, the interpersonal weirdness just keeps on coming. In my first week here, we met a sprightly blonde German girl that dutifully showed up at every gathering where a certain friend of ours was bound to be. I was new, lonely, and eager to make new acquaintances. I tried to engage her in conversation a few times and really didn't get very far. She just wasn't interested in making friends...her gaze kept being averted. Let's call her "Tiffy" - because that's the kind of name she has. When the apple of her eye left town for an internship, Mr. Apple, I thought we wouldn't hear from her any longer. This was true, until two weeks ago. She ran into my partner while out shopping. Twice. Consequently we have been sent a text message to join her and friends for drinks, as she will being going away for three weeks. Well, I really haven't seen her in two months, so I don't know about this three week thing. Does she think that Mr. Apple is back, and he'll be coming along with us? Oh well, regardless of the motivators I will head out and take one more stab at friendship. Sometimes it is exhausting being in a country were all the people you socialize with are new acquaintances. I miss the lack of effort it took to hang around with old comfortable friends!

By the way, Tiffy has a watch that trains her. It has a programmed training schedule and gets her out the door and furthermore, if her heart rate is below target, it commands her to run faster. No wonder she's got such a great figure. I need one of those.


Image from Mati Rose, a Californian artist.

Some things transcend language...

I've had my fair share of language gaffs since I arrived here. At a conference workshop, I tried to help out by bringing over some extra chairs for a discussion, and I brought over a chair that said RIKKI. Lets just say that I discovered the hard way that rikki means broken. I've gone in doors that said OUT and out of doors that said IN and I've tried to open doors to buildings that are closed. It can be a little bit like experiencing the world as an illiterate!

I had another bad library experience -I stood at the circulation desk trying to comprehend why my holds went to a different branch (after all, I used the English version of the catalogue!) The circulation staff talked amongst themselves, gesturing towards me as the line grew, avoiding eye contact, and generally looking quite irritated. I wish I could speak the language, I am trying, and I don't want to seem like an arrogant North American. I don't expect people to speak English at all, but I find that most people do, and get accustomed to that. I begin to hope that one person on staff at any given institution will comprehend me to some degree. I kept apologizing and shrugging, we don't have a car and I can't imagine trekking to somewhere else to get a book from a library, I asked if I could cancel it. Looks of irritation soon appeared and I was asked to move away from the desk. I was pointed towards a reference desk, where I met a librarian that did not speak English and found myself standing there bewildered as Mika tried to explain. The situation seems hopeless and I've given up on reading Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach until I get home. I know I will now be eternally sympathetic to foreigners and new Canadians when I'm back home working on reference some day. I think I have always been courteous, but now I see how a smile can go such a long way when someone is bewildered. Kindness transcends language.

Another thing that transcends language is drunkenness! I had the wonderful opportunity to join the staff on the Mobile Library Bus this week. The bus driver, did not speak a word of English. By pointing to book titles, gesturing, and writing numbers down, and by showing me his wallet, he managed to convey that he had two children and that his son, only fifteen years old is 185 cm tall and plays basketball. His daughter is 25 and has a 2 year old child. Pretty good eh?

At the last stop of the night, we were a bit weary (I have no excuse because I was simply observing - all reference and circulation transactions were in Finnish) when a woman got onto the bus wearing the unmistakable odor of liquor. I guess that's the problem with pulling a library bus up in front of someones house on a summer evening. She tied her dog up outside and it was carrying on barking relentlessly in piercing tones. Every now and then she shouted out the door at it. After she left, the librarian and bus driver burst into laughter, waving their arms and saying "Pheewwww!" and the bus driver mimicked glugging out of a bottle. Yup!

Anyways, it was lovely to see how the book bus works. Kids with bike helmets in hand were the number one customer. It was great to see how the bus can serve children in their own neighbourhood as they showed up at the right time, waiting to return books and pick up their holds. One girl picked up a slew of Manga while we held on to a pile of James Bond novels for a boy. The librarian knew many of her regulars and walked the length of the bus helping patrons find books. She had a keen sense of what people needed, and took time to refresh the fiction that was available while we were stopped. The shelves are very tightly packed, both to make the most materials available and to reduce flying objects while driving! They keep a tight collection of fiction, non-fiction (from sushi to gardening) and children's materials (including kids DVD's but not adults). The materials are quite fresh and new and are housed separately from the regular collection in the basement of the library.

I wish we had a mobile library bus at home. Sigh. On the road...

A Little Piece of Paris and some sterner stuff...

Fatima's Good Fortune by Joanne & Gerry Dryansky.


This was a quirky lovely little book that made me laugh out loud, and long for escape into its sunny pages. Yes sunny. Don't usually long for that. Okay, I do sometimes.

The most extraordinary descriptions of human interactions with very personable animals. Pets I would love to have:

"As if Durand's glance had cued her, the dog, the Countess's ancient Labrador, Emma, strolled in from the hallway, rolling her hips, and began to sniff suspiciously at Monsier Durand's zippered half-boots. The dog trailed a faintly unpleasant smell, resembling the odor of a cellar. Durand hiked his trouser leg nervously and Emma's saliva wet his hairless leg above a low sock. Her teeth grazed his skin. Time, he thought grimly to get back in the literal elevator."

Another scene...

"Cacohouete looked at him in a strange silence when he walked in."

"Don't say it!" Suget shouted at the bird. "Or I'll fillet you like a fish."

"Cacohouete kept mum and turned his back and let go a bit of bird-do. Suget took it as an insult and threw his raincoat over the cage. Perhaps, to be fair, the bird had merely shown that it was terrified, and perhaps on the other hand, if someone who knew bird expressions were looking at Cacahoute full in the face from the other side of the cage, he would have seen a look of sympathy. This from Cacahoute for the first time."

Where does the story start?

"It was the twenty-seventh of August, and rain had been falling on Paris for several days on end. As if in winter, the Eiffel Tower was amputated above the hips by fog. The swollen Seine was splashing the boots of the stone Zouave below le Pont de l'Alma and covering the gangways of the rising houseboats. In the blurred city, on streets that smelled of wood fires lit in yellow-windowed living rooms, the cobbles were all that glistened." And here we meet Rachida, the sister of Fatima, the Tusanian hotel maid who finds herself in France, despite her accursed and life long bad luck...and so the tale begins...




The Known World by Edward P. Jones


I've been meaning to read this one for a while, the 2004 Pulitzer Prize winner, but the opening paragraph deterred me. Serious stuff, best saved for another day when I am made of sterner stuff. Amidst the extreme, and I do mean extreme, busy-ness of my previous children's librarian life (all my own doing, too many things going on, too many jobs, too many people to please, too many activities and involvements) I often grabbed a book on Friday evenings downstairs from the adult department on ending my shift, looking for something straightforward and enjoyable. A light diversion. Now that I'm far from home with more time for reading, I am finally reading some things I should really read. I finding great rewards within the pages! I am currently reading Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown. I am completely immersed, unable to put it aside, a great storyteller indeed and beyond any blog entry review!


The tale opens with Moses, the formidable overseer of the other slaves at a plantation surprisingly owned by another black man. This paradox of slavery and ownership runs through out the tale. This man, Henry Townsend promptly dies, leaving his widow Caldonia to grapple with her role. I did not enjoy the opening, or this character Moses. I did not enjoy how shallow and lifeless Caldonia was in this tale. This was a tale about many people populating a particular time and place however, and we were not to dwell on one woman's story. Intricate layers of family and generation unravel and a beautiful symmetry unfolds and the story reaches it's somewhat violent but inevitable culmination. I loved the detail and care taken, the gift of foresight the author offered at ever turn with every character. A glimpse into the future of the narrative, for this example comes early on, years before it actually occurs...


"Louis, over time, would learn how not to let the eye beome his destiny, for people in that part of Virginia thought a traveling eye a sign of an inattentive and dishonest man. By the time he became friends with Caldonia and Calvin, her brother, at Fern Elston's tiny academy for free Negro children just behind her parlor, Louis would be able to tell the moment when the eye was wandering off just by the look on a person's face. He would blink and the eye would come back. This mean looking full and long into soemone's eyes, and people came to see that as a sign of a man who cared about what was being said. He became an honest man in many people's eyes, honest enough for Caldonia Townsend to say yes when he asked her to marry him. "I never thought I was worthy of you," he said, thinking of the dead Henry, when he asked her to marry him. She said, "We are all worthy of one another."

Five Diverse and Delicious Reads...

Queen Camilla by Sue Townsend.

My favorite author of light and humorous reads. I don't know what I'll do if she ever quits writing. Surely she won't grow old and die before me? It's kind of like how Agatha Christie and Margaret Maron novels are comfort reads but I know there is a finite number available for reading in my lifetime - consequently I savour and save. That's my practical side really, saving good books for rainy days. Too bad I'm not so good at saving coin.

I was more than half way through Queen Camilla when I left Canada. I read it on the way to the airport even...it calmed me amidst all the family drama.

Imagine that the Royal Family has been outlawed, disolved and what's more, banished to an Exclusionary Zone. Estates carefully patrolled and sealed, permits are necessary to leave and the various undersireables of society live there...well so do Camilla and Charles. Doddering around with their garden and their dogs while politics swirl onwards in the real world. So good for a chuckle.

Five Quarters of an Orange by Joanne Harris.

I loved Chocolat, so this was a sure fire thing for the plane (also with my gift card, merci, merci!) Definitely darker, sweeping in it's emotions, portrayal of unhappiness, and the darker needs and sides of the inhabitants of a small French village. Not quite as satisfying as I anticipated...but a lovely glimpse into an interesting past, and a fine piece of storytelling, a writer telling the story within the story...

The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M.G. Vassanji.

Written as a memoir, alternating between past and present, Vassanji is a master of telling just as much as necessary to keep the reader tantalized....

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

I read this book for it's preface. I purchased it for my trip with a lovely gift card from some friends. I was a little disapointed with it overall, despite the aclaim it felt a bit like one book in a series from a self-help guru. However it was the right book at the right time, quite providential really...

The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh.

I purchased this book for my trip to England two years ago where I was to complete my library practicum. I forgot it at home, my mother stayed in my apartment and returned it to the library (not a library book), retrieved it, and I haven't seen it or finished it since. I picked it up from the English collection at the library here and haven't put it down. This past week has been consumed with the images of India, of tidal country, of Luisibari and the elusive river dolphins sought

It's all so strange...

I was planning on sharing some lovely pictures from the library that I'm volunteering at, but unfortunately I couldn't go in today. I have an eye infection - yuck! You know that recall on Complete Contact Lense solution in Canada, well I've been using it. I booked an appointment at a clinic today before I even heard the news that this solution may be harbouring an evil little amoeba. It may be unrelated...I sure hope it is.

So alas my day was muddled, I slept to rest my weepy eye, and now it's midnight and I'm thinking it's a good time to blog.

I've been doing some reading for a week long summer institute on literacy that I'm attending at the university next week. I've been trying to track down books by the various guest speakers. On Friday I decided to go to the library. Too late. The library closed at four o-clock. Yes, really no wonder everyone leaves work early on Fridays. On Saturday I decided to try again. However, only the first floor of the library was open (housing textbooks only). I decided to at least gain access to electronic resources by visiting. Well, for starters, the front doors were locked. You can only enter through the side. That seems a tad bit unwelcoming to me, though I'm sure there is a good reason. Okay, so next I walked through to the nearest computer terminals. I could not access any of the ebrary books through those terminals. Keep in mind that I can't read any of the signage so it's trial and error. I decided to ask the lone staff person reading a newspaper on a stool at circulation (where all the lights were primarily off, leaving him to squint his way through the sports pages). I tried my standard Do you speak English phrase and received embarassed shaking of the head and shrugging. Okay, so I did what countless non-English speakers have done to me, I pointed at the book citation in my notebook and indicated that I was looking for it. This is where it gets disapointing. He continued to shrug and say I don't know. Now, he was sitting in front of a computer. I know Mr. Newspaper Reader wasn't a librarian, but he was the sole staff member in the building. Feeling close to tears, I smiled and said, it's okay, kitos, hei hei and walked away...wandering aimlessly seeking an available computer work station. I gave up and went home for a little cry.

I don't know why, but my inability to communicate really frustrates and upsets me sometimes. In some aspects of life it's more relaxing. When a drunken crazy person stumbles up to you chattering away, you just say, sorry I don't speak Finnish (Supple Scientist even does this -the lier!!) and the majority of advertising, billboards, flashing electronic signs, just mean nothing. There are fewer books, newspapers, magazines, fewer items of interest in the store, as a consumer your world recedes and simplifies.

I returned to the library on Monday and got some help from a very smartly clad and professional librarian (the only one in the library at the single reference desk!!) - I am not incompetent, the catalogue is simply incorrect. The book I was looking for has no holdings information and the electronic copy was not working for some reason. Hurrah! Unfortunately her phone was ringing off the hook, and having sympathy I left her alone though a myriad of questions were bursting to tumble out across that reference desk. I still can't find a book. Not a single book. It is a completely different system from the public library and not LC like in Canada (and it is baffling). I have to say though that I genuinely prefer the public library in terms of staffing, organization, it's much larger, and there are lots of nice places to sit and work...I'll be spending more time at the university library this week...so we'll see if it grows on me.

Photo credit: Amelie

Poor Neglected Little Blog

Poor neglected LitheLibrarian Blog! Well, I have a solution! My travel blog has too many watchful eyes, parents and relatives and such. I need an outlet for griping, telling embarrassing stories, and writing about the books I've been reading. There's just too much self-censoring with the other blog. So this one will remain in use!

I may not be working as a librarian right now, but I am still the LitheLibrarian! Volunteering at the local public library has been a great experience, and because I reappear each week, people become more and more comfortable sharing the "unofficial" story of the institution. I heard a lot about labour issues when I spent an hour with the head of circulation. Every week I hear about how poorly librarians are paid in the public sphere, but I was suprised to hear this from a library assistant. Librarians and library assistants belong to different unions, however the LA one is much stronger because they have more power for striking. Last time the librarians striked, the LA's filled in. There is a movement for the two unions to join forces. LA's make almost the same wage as librarians, though they do hold 4 year degrees.

So I have been shuffled around, I spent time with the mobile services librarian, the music librarian, the head of adult reference, and the head of cataloguing. And of course, the most fun place to be, I've been most frequently - the children's department! It really is a lovely place. I'll hold off a bit more until I take some pictures. The language continues to be a difficult thing, making me despair that I will ever truly work as a librarian in Finland. There aren't any language classes available in our city at the moment - the adult learning centre closes for the summer, I'm not a student so I can't join the Language Centre classes, and I'm not an EU citizen so I can't join classes at the Employment Centre....I'm doomed to mutter in English under my breath, the crazy wannabee librarian, who blurts out phrases only to have people stare in confusion. My favorite - I have no idea how to spell it - PAHOOOTKA ENGLANTIA? (Do you speak English) and MEEENA ENTEA (I don't know) - not exactly key reference desk phrases...

Fill 'er up!

Welcome to the information gas station - fill 'er up! Yes these are public internet terminals at the main Helsinki library. Pretty sweet eh? Something I've noticed everywhere is that there are no privacy screens. There are generally fewer public computers in the libraries here, it is just so common for people to bring their own laptops. Heck it's ten o'clock am and these stations are free. The socio-economic grid is muc flatter. Wireless is available in all public libraries. The goal is to simply provide a comfortable working space for computer users. One library we visited had little tables on wheels that you simply pull up to the couch, bench, chair, that you choose to sit on.

Something else that makes sense is that almost everything in the libraries is moveable. No earthquakes = shelves on wheels. An adaptable enviroment. Furthermore, computer terminals and OPACs often have wiring going up tubes into the ceiling, making it easy to move everything around when the layout changes.

So...giving my current location kind of blows my anonymous status so I'm undecided what the current future of this blog will be. I may simply copy library related posts from here into my main travel blog (the one that talks about stuff other than libraries!) ... what do you think?

excerpt from Betsy Byars novel, children's author

"Dear Melissa,

I have been thinking of you since breakfast. We only had Corn Pops because the baby had cried all night, and at first I thought my unsettled feeling had to do with an unsatisfactory breakfast.

At nine-thirty I pedaled to Wendy's for a sausage biscuit, and after I ate a sausage biscuit and fries, I was still hungry.

Then I realized my hunger was for you.

The hunger of love, and this is truly the first time I have experienced it so intensely, is a unique experience, Melissa, and I sat in Wendy's until the waitress wiped my table three times and gave me a funny look. Then I went home and had a small box of Cheerios and felt a little better.

Hungrily yours,
Bingo"

3 old posts!

I helped two women find books on grief today. Moments later, I heard loud sobbing. I didn't turn to look. I think the younger woman wanted some privacy, crouched down in the stacks. Such painful heart wrenching sobs, muffled in her arms, my heart went out to her.

Yesterday a woman spoke to me who I see often, however she has never asked for help. She uses a walker, is generally ungroomed, scowling, long wisps of stringy hair hanging in her eyes. Her very elderly mother, who she described as "half-deaf" was unable to hear the sound on the computer with the earphones. They were proudly watching a movie trailer featuring her son, a local actor. She was pleasant, her voice clear and polite and I was surprised. I though her scowl, permanently pasted on, indicated her state of mind, her disposition. I wasn't simply judging the book by her cover, a few weeks ago I also had a near miss in the mall with her as she roared through on one of those handi-darts at high speed, veering around shoppers. I was wrong!

I had two teens figure out that certain publishers publish certain types of materials. We ran a search by publisher to get more juicy chick lit. I wanted to share so much more, I've read a lot of good teen stuff lately. Unfortunately a lot of the new goodies are checked out, all the time, probably by teachers and library school students. I'm such a pessimist sometimes! It was nice, but they left without touching my display of booklist titles and I felt a little sad. Sniff.

Sometimes you get more than you wanted

Let's drink like Diana.

I kicked off the Easter weekend in the company of two fabulous librarian friends and a spectacular Anne of Green Gables Marathon. Did we make it to the finish line? Not quite, but we had fun anyways.

We spent four hours sighing for Gilbert, chuckling at chatterbox Anne, admiring (or mocking) the cut of her dress, and pining for the sandy windswept shores of P.E.I. We drank rasberry cordial (fake) and indulged in egg salad sandwiches and tarts among other delictables. A Good thing to do on Good Friday.

So, back to business, yesterday I worked on Adult Info. and here's what happened:

Older woman approaches desk with lipstick gone wrong, lipstick that has gone beyond the boundaries of her real lips, and has worn away at the centre, giving her a clownish mouth to say the least. Or tartish, depending on your inclination to be charitable.

This is a great, great book.

Do you have anything else by this author?

Oh, what is it about? (this was a MISTAKE)

I am trying to read more non-fiction, and in this area know I have a penchant for female writers, particularly those that focus on travel and world events. Well, ooooh my goodness. The stuff coming out of this woman's mouth made me sweat.

Perspiration.

Clammy hands, I could not stop the stream of utterances.

NervouslyI glanced around to see who else was listening.

Example. Gay Men. Sure as heck don't want to huddle with them in the military. They are good people. But if I was a man, I sure as heck woudn't want to huddle with one.

Example. She begins reading a passage aloud to me. Along the lines of...Girls need permission to get their ears peirced, why don't they need permission for something that is a SIN (hissed loudly) !!? (Reference to abortion)

I cringe.

OOOh. My. Goodness. Neutral responses, eyes frequently averted. Please leave. Please leave now. I am not shocked that she agrees with the author. I am shocked that she thinks I would be sympathetic. That once upon a time, a lot of people would think this, that in many circles, people do still think this.

The moral of the story, is don't ask if you are afraid of what you might hear. And, I need to learn how to politely interrupt. I have this strange reverence for the elderly, no matter what filth they spout. I'm compelled to be the good girl, the listener, the polite person...

Time to break free, right?

I need a drink. Pass me the rasberry cordial, er, red current wine.

Paper or Plastic or Moving Van?

At the grocery store on my lunch break:

Hi, I'm just wondering if I can have the refrigerated items bagged separately?

No problem.

Thank you.

I'm one of the people here who are conscientious about that....they're going to miss me when I leave.

Oh.

[Moment later...]

Are you leaving soon? [Don't know why I asked!]

Well, yeah, the cost of living is just too high here.

Yeah. [thinking...the cost of living is too high everywhere when you work at the grocery store, trust me, been there done that]

Well, thanks, have a really good last day.

Reward: The highest decibel smile I've ever seen.

Again, I believe working on a reference desk causes me to cross those stranger boundaries, and interact with people I don't know in a slightly more authentic way. Sometimes it's weird because I'm not really that sort of person, but mostly I think it's nice because that is what community is, talking to people where we live. Where we live is where we live, but it's also where we shop, where we work, and where we go.

Speaking of where we live... yes I know, it's my favorite complaint lately and has nothing to do with librarianship....

On Easter Sunday, I awoke to the sound of hammering at 8:30 am. With my earplugs in.

It was loud.

It was early.

Okay, not that early, but still a holiday Sunday!

It sounded like it was coming from the balcony above.

I lay in bed imagining myself shouting, "It's a holiday, couldn't you wait until 9:00!"

I was very close to shouting. I lept out of bed, ripped open my curtains and cast my bleary eyes upwards.

It immediately stopped. I heard my neighbour above pacing around.

You bloody coward, I thought to myself. (In the summer he would sweep debris through the slats onto my patio furniture and into my drink, even onto me, and scuttle away as soon as I cleared my throat)...I waited my the door for a return of the hammering.

It didn't start up again and returned to the quiet sanctity of my bed and blissfully drifted off.

Later that day, on several occasions the hammering started up again.

Oh for goodness sake! Are you trying to be as annoying as possible? I griped...to myself mind you, roomie had headed home. I've noticed that by the end of a long weekend alone, I am spending more time "talking aloud" than what one might consider normal.

Well, to my horror, I discovered that yes the hammering would stop every time I open the curtains because the culprit was so scared of me that he would fly away.

Mr. Big Fat Crow was trying to build a nest in peace.

Do I feel foolish or what?!

Five Inches of Danger

Is wearing a batman mask every day detrimental to your child's development?

A small boy comes into the library several mornings a week, wearing a hard molded plastic batman mask. His mother wears a permanently sour expression, that discourages comment or even a tender smile from staff. They march in and march out, rarely perusing the shelves.

I have begun to wonder, if there is something wrong. They don't speak, he doesn't play with other children, and his peripheral vision is non-existant in this headgear. In the beginning, perhaps it was a simple indulgence, but now I am beginning to wonder if it has taken on a Phantom of the Opera quality. What are they masking?

Spring Has Arrived

Spring is hear, alas, the bagpipes have begun.

Literally.

The park across the street has become a haven for bagpipe practice, yet again. The strains of a weak winded child rushing through a series of notes erupts again. This very moment, but endearly the child is now visiting with a wheelchair bound elderly person with a guide dog. Aaah, community at work.

Several other ridiculous things happened today. I wish they happened at work, but unfortunately I am congested beyond belief and only lasted a half-hour in the confines of the library but deducing that my feverish state demanded bed rest. So this morning, when I headed to work, there was a dead bird on my car. It had been picked clean except for it's head, but the skeleton was fully intact, laying on my trunk. What was I to do but drive off, anxiously checking the rearview mirror, wondering if anyone could make an ICBC claim for damage done by a dead bird flying off my car and hitting their car? I don't know where I lost it, but when I arrived at the destination, it was gone.

The last bizarre thing that happened, was that this morning I hid in my apartment before leaving for work. I cowered in the hall, peeking through the eyehole, avoiding my new neighbours, two laughing, snickering yoga instructor types from former hometown and highschool days. Out of all the places to move in this city, highschool comes back to bite me in the ass, and they move across the hall from me. Neither were ever nice, in fact, both could be a little mean back in the day. One of them responsible for many unkind comments in the school year book's "Most Likely Too..." page- and I am not sharing what my entry was. La dee dah, and here I am, I am a librarian (I can just hear them snickering!)...Ugh...mayhaps I can plot revenge? Or, more in keeping with my character, simply continue with the avoidance strategy. Only one more month.

Current Reading:
An Abundance of Katherines by John Green (more to come on this later)
Book I put down, and don't have time to go back to:
Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay
Audiobook in my Car Stereo:
A Room with a View
Unfinished Book Review Title:
undisclosed but dull, can I review it without finishing it?

In the musty old building this week...

A highly successful library program was pulled off, with high stakes, and high anxiety. Over one hundred people crammed into the children's area, and many of them were first time visitors to our humble and crumbling abode. Reactions all around- self congratulations and...

• This is why we haven't done this in a decade...
• God, I need a drink.
• How did it go...Did you have any complaints?
• Click (a member of the public hung up on me enraged that our registration was full)
• Could you write a summary of the work involved and how long each task took, so when anyone asks, we can justify not doing this sort of program?

That last one really got me - please explain how much work it is, so that in future, we do not try to do this sort of HIGHLY SUCESSFUL program that brings hoardes of people into the library and promotes our services better than almost anything else.

Snip, snap, snout, this tale's told out!

In other news, I helped an elderly man with kidney disease determine how much phosporous is in his food. It took several hours, and some emailing to accomplish this, but to show his appreciation he returned to the library twice to hunt me down and tearfully marvel at my searching skills. This was very rewarding. It made up for a lot of other stuff.

Listening through your nose?

When I can't sleep, I listen to a radio program on my small little radio, the sound of conversation just puts me right out. Once upon a time my grandfather used to leave cassette tapes with his favorite evangelical talk shows and sermons lying about for me with post-it notes saying, "Listen to this!" - they had the same effect. The act of listening to someone else speak, lulls me, allows me to leave my own thoughts and worries behind.

Lately, I've been wearing earplugs, living in a downtown core has that effect. And the fact that people frequently play bongo drums in the park across the street into the wee hours. Actually they usually don't start up until the wee hours. So how do I listen to the radio and wear earplugs? Somehow if you lay on the earphone and turn the volume up. Well, the other night I rolled over and in a semi-conscious state, realized I was listening to the radio through my nostril. Yup, you can listen to the radio through your nose when your ears are plugged. This was to weird and yucky to continue with once I realized what was happening, and made me laugh a bit (alone in my bed, roomie must have wondered!!)

Well when I saw the headline for this article I was naturally intrigued: http://www.slate.com/id/2162384/?GT1=9231 But it actually didn't quite meet my expectations! Anyways, it does relate to a novel I read this weekend featuring a nurse working a burn unit (in part II) during world war II and overhears a girl break up with a soldier who has lost his nose and has been horrible disfigured. They have just completed one surgery to start creating new nostrils for the poor fellow. The girl whimpers, I'm sorry I just can't do it and rushes out. Eva enters the room, and the soldier holds up a photograph of a very handsome young man, it is himself. (I can't find the page, this is just a rough description) She assumes that it is the girls new beau until he rips the photo in half and she realizes who it is. Of course this lead to an interesting discussion with Supple Scientist over what one would do in a similar situation. If you are looking for quaint historical fiction with a touch of the mysterious and otherworld and a healthy dose of sad ending, you may enjoy Eva Moves the Furniture by Margot Livesey. A girl grows up in a remote part of Scotland with the helpful and sometimes irritating intrusions of "the companions" - a woman and a girl visible only to herself. Her mother dies in childbirth, when 6 magpies arrive in the tree outside the window. She leaves for Glasgow to nurse, hoping to leave them behind, and loses the love of her life when she admits their presence to him. She learns better later on, and enters into a marriage without sharing this aspect of her life. Omens, moving furniture, ghostly conversations, and a life recounted in a wise and well written narrative. I disliked the final chapters however and went to bed depressed. But, that's just me. I'm a sucker for happy endings.

I also read Wild Orchid, by Beverley Brenna, a delicious interpretation of life with Asperger's Syndrome written for teens. In it's way it is much more approachable that the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night. An eighteen year old girl moves to Prince Albert National Park with her mother for the summer and finds herself coping with this unsettling change, seeking her first boyfriend, and attempting her first job. The narrative is incredibly realistic, Taylor herself displays the incredible recall and attention to logic and detail that accompanies this condition, and the story rolls along with interest. The story is about more than her condition. It's about gaining a sense of self, and ability to cope with a life that is sometimes out of your control. The story was a bit short, the secondary characters a bit underdeveloped, and plot a little happy-go-lucky, but overall it was a very good read. The setting was lush, and easily imagined as Taylor spends her day at the park's nature house, and as she seeks rare orchids along the pathways with her new friend Paul, who's wife has been diagnosed with MS.

Just In Case by Meg Rosoff

Wonderful YA. Wonderful. A fifteen-year old boy nearly loses his infant brother, who teeters on the brink of death by deciding to fly out a highrise window. In the nick of time, the protagonist grabs him. In thinking about what might have been, he becomes convinced FATE is out to get him. He decides to ellude fate as best he can. I love how the lines between reality, and what one person's reality is, can be blurred in this novel.

The older I get, the more precarious "sanity" seems to be. The more accepting I've become of what other people believe and feel, so I think this is a powerful book for a teen, a dash of fantasy, or a dose of reality, could be either one. He changes his name to Justin (his last name is Case) nearly dies in a plane crash inferno, finds himself the centre of a photographic exhibit, makes a delightful and unlikely cast of friends who give him a place to stay, continues communicating with his baby brother who is both wise and telepathic, and lives with a most delightful imaginary greyhound, sleek and doting.

Age is relative and even the youngest, can have the most profound thoughts in this novel. Justin is working through some terrible things, and while you question his reality, alternate chapters offer a glimpse into the terrible voice of FATE. This novel definitely transcends teen literature, read it even if you prefer adult material. Do, do, do.

The Time of Year Children's Librarians Love (er, hate)

Hello, you've reached --- public library, information desk.

Am I speaking to a real person?

Yes, I am a librarian.

Do the children have school today?

No, they are off today.

How long will this last?

All week, it's spring break.

All week?

Yes.

Oh blast!

Time is Relative

Today I got a Library Journal from May 1st, 2006. That's how far down the routing list I was. Almost a year.

One positive thing about Daylight Savings happening early...My watch is back on time. It's been one hour ahead since the last daylight savings. Now it's bang on. Proof that sometimes if you do nothing at all, things sort themselves out.

How many books can I check out and not read before they are due back again? A lot. How many did I add to my take-home pile in one workingday? Four. I'm thirsty for time to read!

Is 8:15 in the morning too early to plug in your amp and start playing guitar? I know it's a weekday but isn't 9:00am the norm? I happened to be working a late shift today, and was hoping to catch a little extra sleep, fighting this cold and all. I tapped my handy high heel against the floor in a congested cold induced fervor this morning, and heard my neighbour scream a resounding f*** off! Through the floor. Spent half an hour plotting revenge (like wearing heels in my house, or once again turning the base on the stereo - both things not done on request of those below)- before admitting that my neighbours are too scary to mess with, even if we are moving shortly.

I am 28th on the list for Ysabel by G.G.Kay. I will not get to read this book before leaving the country.

PS- regarding lovely illustration - that's me in the morning... (by Jeremy Tankard- children's illustrator)

Sometimes People Read...

Cockeyed by Ryan Knighton - humourous, interesting, insightful, sometimes goes on and on a bit about the blind perspective, a bit like a blog, small degrees of skimming resulted. I read half of it in one sitting, loved it overall and can't wait for more from this author- more than his memoir! I enjoy his style of writing, and would love to read a work of fiction by him.

The Road of Bones by Anne Fine (J Fic)-gripping, powerful, fable-like in nature, however the suspenseful, ending may leave a child empty.

Ten Days in the Hills by Jane Smiley - smutty (rated R for a reason!) but natters on like the Gilmour Girls fixated on CNN's coverage of the so-called "War on Terror"...sometimes I felt like my life was slipping away, wasted listening to an endless conversation.

Beijing Bicycle - DVD - lovely and tragic, interesting, didn't mean towatch it all in one night and stayed up waaaay too late for a week night

There You Are: A Novel by Joanne Taylor (J Fic)- east coast days of old,lovely and fascinating, sibling rivalry disolves a bit to easily, rifewith tragedy that ends happily, a satisfying top pick for family readaloud.

My Kind of Place: Travel Stories from a Woman Who's Been Everywhere by Susan Orlean -If you like travel writing with a journalistic slant, she pulls a collection of magazine articles of all descriptions together under this title. I have only skimmed a few enjoyable articles, some didn't interest me, and came across as a bit insipid or dated, but this works as light pre-bed reading.

My completed reading list.

A patron just said,"It looks great up here." Isn't that lovely, good displays do make a difference. Our hard work does pay off. Occasionally people do read the boards, or look at the little creatures and books on display.

That book does not exist and other trivial matters

Reference Question:

Hi, I need a book of experiments.

For a science fair?

Well actually inventions.

Like the lightbulb, in history?

Well, inventions that I can invent.

Oh, a book of things that haven't been invented yet?

Yup.

Storytime Antics:
The plan was to wear pajamas in the library during preschool storytime. A mere half hour of penguin clad fun, complete with fuzzy slippers. I don't know where this need to ham it up came from, perhaps it was repressed for many years. I don't know, what do you think? Well I had a few reactions:
A coworker - sneer and titter
Manager - You are going to wear your clothing underneath right?? (no, the flannel will be enough, maybe she envisioned me in something more scant)
Small Boy afterwards- Do you live here?
All the children - You are still in your pajamas! You didn't get dressed yet!!
Everyone else was quite nice! Of course, it was only half an hour!

Lunchroom:
1. I didn't want to hear about our oldish baldish male library director's foray into the Amsterdam red light district as a wee lad.
2. I also didn't want to hear about cat hairball remedies.

The Very Quiet Cricket that Wouldn't Shut Up

As I browsed the shelf looking for an item, the annoying and continuous drone of a cricket chirping began to get on my nerves.

I looked around in the busy children's picture book area and saw several parents reading to their children. There were no Eric Carle books in sight. I drew closer to the C section and the sound grew louder.

Yes, the book had gone bezerk. Chirping away even with the cover closed. No one thanked me, yes being a librarian is a thankless job...

This is ironic because tomorrow I am using a grasshopper puppet which I installed with a chirping mechanism talem from a discarded book *the same book as the afformentioned bezerk book - the Very QUIET Cricket...! I'll be using this rhyme: (crickets and grasshoppers are interchangeable in my world, having had little experience with either)

There was a little grasshopper

Who was always on the jump

And because he never looked ahead

He always got a bump!

Listening Outside the Box

I haven't overheard anything remotely interesting at the library this week, so bare with me and journey into other facets of my life...

Overheard at family gathering:

Grandma: How have you managed to get so trim?

Brother: I'm anorexic and I do coke every weekend (sarcastic).

Grandma: Bewildered chuckle. You don't drink coke anymore? Pop is really bad for you!

Brother: Yup, I'm down to 195.

Ha ha ha, another happy Lithe Librarian family gathering! I just managed to make it though the week, I was sick all last weekend, missed Monday, felt okay on Tuesday and steadily declined. By Friday I was ready to crawl into bed, but had one more family gathering to attend. I spent all of Saturday in bed, except for a brief foray into the pet store for some supplies.

Over heard at Pet Store:

As I'm waiting in line, it is finally my turn and I start rooting around for exact change.

A large golden retriever leaps at counter, stands on hind legs panting next to me, facing the male store clerk.

Female yuppy owner exlaims: Wow Bruno, you just want to be the gayest dog in town don't you!

Clerk looked weirded out.

Ohhhhkay. I'm going home and crawling back into bed with my neocitran and box of kleenex. I tried to find my car to drive it closer to my apartment but gave up in the wet drizzle. The night before I spent 25 minutes circling the 'hood for a spot, and not once, not twice, but THREE times, I lost out for a parking spot by seconds. It was like a Mister Bean episode, where that evil car (SEE PICTURE) always gets the parking spot first! As a result, I currently have no idea where I parked, it was so darn far away. I was wearing heels too!

Tonight when my roomate comes home, she'll drive me around and we'll find it! I even called the towing company just in case they took it away (they didn't!)

So feeling sorry for myself with all this illness, I've been doing a lot of reading for pleasure (aka not work related, aka not children's or teen novels):

Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali

The life of a girl from Somalia, who ended up in Holland as a refugee. Now she is a member of parliament, coming to terms with her faith and the politics of immigration in this small European country full of religious and racial rife. I skimmed through the first few chapters, as I didn't really feel a burning desire to know the details of her mother and grandmother's lives as well. I can see why she recieves death threats, and sometimes feeds into right wing conservative propaganda, but I learned a lot about some of the turmoil in Europe and what it is rooted in. I have been unable to put this book down, and when I hear about riots in Paris, or kafuffle over religious cartoons, I have a slightly better context to place all this in.

"Most of the women in Holland could walk the streets on their own, wear more or less what they liked, work and enjoy their own salaries, and choose the man they wished to marry. They could attend a university, travel, purchase property. And most Muslim women in Holland simply couldn't. How could you say that Islam had nothing to do with that situation? And how could that situation be in any way acceptable?"

I understand that this brand of Islam is much more fundamental and looks very different from what friends I know locally believe. Religion aside, Ali explores the nature of segregation within a country, equality and the rights of women...and interesting and thought provoking read.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyle.

If you've read the Swearing Librarian's review, you know the story! I have been on the holds list for ages and finally it landed in my letter box! Hands down, most interesting book jacket description ever:

"The story of the Boy in the Striped Pajamas is very difficult to describe. Usually we give some clues about the book on the jacket, but in this case we think that would spoil the reading of the book (I agree). We think it is important that you start to read without knowing what it is about.

If you do start to read this book, you will go on a journey with a nine-year-old boy called Bruno. (Though this isn't a book for nine-year-olds.) And sooner or later you will arrive with Bruno at a fence.

Fences like this exist all over the world. We hope you never have to encounter such a fence. "

I won't give anything away. But Bruno is a remarkable little boy. The dialogue is crisp and clever, the pacing is excellent. It is a forboding tale that unfolds without context, and yet context is not needed at all. The setting is familiar to us all, and in forgetting the setting, the tale becomes stronger and truer. The conclusion is spectacular. You will not be disapointed.

Everything else I read while sick is trash and not worth talking about! Ta!

Labyrinth of Emotions!

I saw a little girl cry today and I wanted to cry too.

If that happened every day, I would need a siphon leading into a bucket under the reference desk because I see a LOT of crying.

This was a little different! I think it was my fault she got in trouble! I had good intentions and taught this annoying little info desk harrasser how to use the catalogue to find her own books. She was cute the first twenty times she approached the desk in her prep school uniform, bouncing up and down impatiently to ask me for the same book she asked me for yesterday and the day before...only to huff and puff impatiently as I helped others...to lead me around and monopolize my time with incessant nattering informing me of this and that and everything that I obviously didn't know, and turning up her nose at every alternate suggestion. It was a VICTORY when I sat down with her at a public catalogue and invested some time into teaching her the catalogue, because before you know it, she was off, search and destroy was her motto.

Well, eventually I noticed that no matter who accompanies her to the library, no one really listens to her or pays any attention to her at all. True her mile a minute know it all dialogue is easy to ignore, becoming a vague humming, but your own flesh and blood??!! They made her! Today I showed her how to do an advanced search and returned to my desk. A few minutes later the mother strode in, found the little girl and said "we don't have time to look on the computer, the book is in the godammed K section where it always is!" (Nancy Drew) ...the girl burst into tears and followed her mother, arms folded across her chest, really quite suddenly upset. Good grief, I was upset by her mother's sharpness!

It was sucky because I felt badly for the mother and for the daughter. The daughter had every right to be taken back by her mother's spaz attack, and the mother had pretty good reason to be annoyed by her daughter (an extremely annoying child) but like I said - You made her! I think her annoyingness must be a plea for attention. Or maybe private school fosters that self-centred-know-it-all-anal-attitude in little girls? I'm not sure, but it was all too much emotion for a girl recovering from the flu. It made my palms sweat more than they already were!

Do dogs belong in the library?

There is a woman with a scottie dog wrapped up in a library book bag. Only his head and front paws are visible. Actually, he looks like quite a load, really he's not that small!

And he is staring at me with those gigantic black eyes, buried in his bushy white face. She is browsing in the childrens picture book area, and there is no one else in the department at the moment.

The branch manager said to me before wandering away: "I hope she's not too long." But none of us have made a move to say anything. She looks like she'd kick me in the face if I said anything.

I live in a city where people take their dogs every where. I was browsing in a gift shop when a small dog, snarled and barked in my face. Literally, it was at face level, worn in a sash being held against a man's body like a baby. I also had a bad experience at a coffee shop recently with a friend, when a couple seated themselves at the table next to us, with their huge standard poodle. Its head was level with the table and my coffee cup. It had a strong wet dog smell, and spent a lot of time sniffing at me and staring. The owners glared at US as it became increasingly busy and crowded in the small neighbourhood shop.

It is unbelievable how people inflict their pets on other people. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, and my family dog is the dearest dog in the world, but alas she does not get along with other dogs and has a gigantic and unruly presence which can be intimidating. So, she stays home and has a happy life snoozing in front of the fire, chasing snakes in the garden, and romping around the undergrowth. Just because she hasn't beento the library lately, doesn't mean that she's not a smart pup!

A Reputation for Being Dangerous...um not me.

I just watched a clip on t.v. about Ryan Knighton, the blind Capilano College prof. who wrote Cockeyed. He seems genuinely interesting, which mean that I must rush into work tomorrow and put a hold on his book, which must also by default and as a memoir, with local flavour be captivating as well. The reviews seem to indicate the same :
http://www.thebukowskiagency.com/Cockeyed.htm
My brother's ex-girlfriend also had him as an English prof, and thought he was great. He spoke succinctly about writing a story about a small town boy of eighteen finding his direction in life and simultaneously adapting to what life will be like as a blind man.

And now, to recommend a book I've actually read:

Letters from St Petersburg by Victoria Hammond.

I often start non-fiction books, but it truly is a delicious triumph when I finish one. This is a place I've been thinking about visiting. Well, about how interesting it would be to visit sometime in the next few years while I'm abroad. Now, I'm not so sure that is a good idea, though I am more interested than ever...I couldn't put this down, even though at times I felt opressed by some of what the author described, it cast a temporary gloom, even in the cheery atmosphere of my cozy apartment. Lots of us have a fascination with Russia (right?) - just look how Russia shows up in all those films, the politics, the horror of nuclear power ill managed, and the radioactive spies. Although I minored in English Lit. as an undergrad, I have never read Pushkin, or any other Russian author. I wonder why? I know even less about the history of Russia. This book dabbles in the past but concerns itself with the present and the ideology and culture of the Russian people. Perhaps that is travel writing at it's best, an honest exploration of daily life for "the other" - Victoria Hammond, an Australian curator heads to Russia for the first time to stay with the friends of a friend, curators themselves. She explores the poverty that academics and artists live in, and the fixation on the golden past the permeates the culture. She experiences unbelievable filth, beautiful, ornate and crumbling architecture, gets four different kinds of worms, visits a museum collections of "human monsters" preserved alongside all sorts of wonders, she flirts with a soldier on a train who follows her through the city, gets lost underground many times, and experiences influence of the Russian mafia as a friend is forced to move from a desireable apartment that she owns so that her apartment can be given to someone else. The rich cast of friends that people this story make it a very interesting and enlightening read.

"I know no one. I don't speak the language. The city has a reputation for being dangerous. I've become addicted to this scenario, to the thrill of travelling alone and watching how I deal with the terrors of a strange place. But this time it's different: Ada, a curator at the Russian Museum in St. Petersburg, is meeting me. At least I hope to God she's meeting me."

Driving Home, and Starting Another Day

Saturday morning, and though I'm working a sixth day in a row, I'm feeling strangely calm after being in such a state yesterday! It's peaceful and quiet here as of yet, and rays of sun are streaking through the cloud cover.

I sometimes drive through the worst of the worst areas to get home more quickly...there is always lighter traffic on this route. People care not to see such sights? Or as I discovered this week, the risk of hitting a pedestrian is too great. Not one, but two suicidal individuals mindlessly on drugs lurched across dark streets, causing me to break sharply. Friday night is always the busiest for this route, and the cars braked heavily upon entering the worst stretch. The city is so interesting at night, and I love how each evening the sky is a little less dark as I weave home.

What adventures will this new day hold? I only have eleven weeks left to sing my songs, say my rhymes, tell my stories...and then it's all an unknown adventure!

There are RULES in the library!

Anger then hunger then sugar and now I feel blah! So much for making a hearty dinner!

I lost my temper ten minutes before leaving work on Friday afternoon. There is probably a statistic somewhere that indicates that this is the worst time of the day to tick someone off.

Busy children's department. I have been on reference on the adult desk all afternoon, dodging the perv. Finally a half hour at my desk in the back before leaving. The phone is ringing of the hook outside on reference though, so I head out to answer it an get sucked into a long question vortex. Finally escaping and heading to my haven in the back when I see two 13 year old girls chowing down on an enormous bar of chocolate in the picture book area. I breeze over, planning on quickly saying something...

"hi, just to let you know, food isn't allowed in the library"

-no response-

I stand rooted looking at them.

-eye rolling-

Girl A deliberately takes another piece off of it, followed by the second girl.

I continue standing there.

"You can pack it up or go outside."

They start muttering, still stuffing face, fooling around and beginning to consider putting it away.

"Fine, whatever, we're going to leave!" (said with spite)

Me (internally) OOoooh please don't go bitchy girls, please stay!! What will we do without you!

Cell phone rings.

Girl B directly in front of me picks it up and starts telling someone that they're getting kicked out of the library.

She turns away and continues talking.

"Annnddd, there are no cell phones allowed in the library. You need to put it away or go outside."

Girl B continues talking. Girl A is rustling around with chocolate.

"EXCUSE ME, but cell phones are NOT allowed in the library." (loud voice, I can really project)

Girl B stands up and has about a foot on me. Somewhat incredulous.

"You need to close the phone and say goodbye. There are RULES IN THE LIBRARY." Girl B's jaw drops.

OOOooh gosh why did I say such a stupid thing. I'm being totally honest here, reader, this is the geeky thing I said when all the blood was exiting my brain in anger."

I stride away.

Girls mockingly cry out "ooooh there are rules in the library! what a retard! ooooh rules oooh rules!"

Now during the RULES in the library part, a head librarian from tech services happened to walk by and surely heard the mocking as well. Ooooh. And the librarian who was suposed to answer the phone and deal with food and such while I soaked up some peace and blooody quiet, was an auxiliary, soft spoken and probably horrified at my display of unbridled emotion.

Anyways, this is an honest blog. I know I broke every rule in the "customer service" handbook and the library school teen inclusiveness mantra! There aren't really any excuses. I was angry. I am human and now I can think of a thousand more effective ways to deal with it. Though I can hardly believe how evil they were. I hate rudeness! Those are the type of girls I imagine peer pressuring and kicking the ass of the baby-librarian I once was. And I was a multi-coloured hair skater girl at that age (which pre-Avril Lavigne, was not not not the best choice in a gangster school)....These girls will grow up to be the people that pass the line for the bridge in the wrong lane and then cut in....the mom's who steal my homemade egg shakers from storytime rather than let their darlings shed one tear leaving it behind....

Anyways, if they're so cool, why are they at the library afterschool on Friday night. Hell, I'm paid to be there!!!!