1. Avoid feeding the librarian bleu cheese, or the book equivalent. There’s something about blue- green mold on food or books that makes us lose our appetites. It’s a funny thing about books getting wet, even when you blow them dry with a hair dryer, we still know they were wet once. Librarians may not be omniscient, but we know a few things. Dried books still mold, the glue dissolves, the pages fall out. So as a Christmas gift to all librarians please, don’t go surfing, water skiing, or bathe with your library books. We can’t keep a book that’s been water damaged. It has to be replaced. Even though we have a science club, we try not to have mold-growing experiments going on the shelves. So, please, if a book gets wet, tell us. Yes, we will ask you to pay for it, but isn’t that better than causing the librarians to curse and have mini-strokes when they find moldy books on the shelves?
2. Promise to not use your library books as trivets. Here’s another funny thing, mylar covers (the little plastic covers we put on books) melt. The big melted hole in the mylar cover is usually a dead give away that you’ve been setting hot pans on your library books. Replacing the covers isn’t impossible, but usually they are glued on, which means we may tear the book when we replace it. So please, buy yourself a trivet or pot holder for Christmas. We’ll consider it a personal gift to the librarians.
3. Don’t use library DVDs or CDs as dinner plates, Frisbees, or other disk shaped items. We don’t mind the occasional fingerprint or even small scratch. Usually we can clean those off, or resurface the disk. But DVDs that are returned with spaghetti sauce on them, or mud, or paint, really get us wondering. Although spaghetti sauce and mud will wash off (we just create some really great stories about how it got there), the paint doesn’t. That means the DVD has to be replaced. So feel free to put the CDs and DVDs in the player, but as a Christmas present to librarians everywhere, please don’t use them as Frisbees, dinner plates, or shovels.
4. Buy yourself a book mark for Christmas instead of turning down the corners of the page to mark your place. There’s no doubt about it. Librarians are a persnickety lot. We like everything perfect. We like a place for everything and everything in its place. We like books to last and stay looking clean and new. Every time the corner of a page gets turned down, it makes a crease and weakens the page. Eventually the corner will tear off and the book, although still readable is less than pristine. Even though it’s an easy way to mark your page and it doesn’t seem to be doing much harm, it drives librarians nuts! We have loads of bookmarks that we will give you for free. You can get a bookmark with our hours, or one with a story courtesy of the Homer Writers’ group. We have bookmarks about OverDrive, the downloadable audio system, and book marks with animals on them. We have bookmarks from the summer reading program and lost and found bookmarks that were left in books. So get a bookmark for Christmas and don’t turn down the corners of the pages!
5. Take a vow to never crack the spine of another book. Books just aren’t made like they used to be. The pages aren’t sewn in. There’s no reinforcement other than glue. If you’re the first one to read it, it’s not going to lay flat, so you can eat dinner and read with no hands. Forcing the spine open so that the book lays flat cracks the glue, makes the pages fall out, and means the book will need to be replaced soon. Lately we have books falling apart after only five or six readings. But if it’s a copy of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, there are a lot more than six people who want to read it. So treat the book and its spine with respect. It needs to last a long, long time. We will all love you for it. And it will be one of the nicest gifts you can give all librarians, everywhere.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
A Library Halloween
She squeezed her coffee mug against her body, trying to keep her book bag on her shoulder as she twisted the key in the lock. The door had its own secret combination; push the key in while turning and simultaneously pulling the door toward you. It took two hands, but she didn’t want to set everything down on the wet step, so she balanced mug, lunch bag, and book bag against her body while turning the key. The coffee sloshed in the mug, as she struggled with the door, but miraculously kept from coming out and spilling down her nice yellow sweater. The door popped open. Taking her mug firmly in her hand, she walked through the door and kicked it closed behind her.
The library was totally empty and quiet. She smiled her shoulders relaxing. This was her favorite time of day, when she stood here all alone, just her and the books. They had the place all to themselves for these few hours before the library opened for business.
She walked into her office, set down the mug and book bag and clicked on her computer. The little fan inside the computer began to hum, like 1000 bees warming up for the day. She looked down at the payroll tax forms lying on her desk and sighed. Her least favorite job in the whole library, but there was no putting it off any longer. She sat down, now that the place was quiet and she had it all to herself, to get the job out of the way. She could think of a hundred jobs she’d rather be doing: purchasing books, processing books, planning programs, writing the newsletter, even shelving books, or straightening the continually messy and out of order shelves. Anything but the tax forms, the figures that needed to be done over and over, rechecked and recalculated till she had assured herself they were done right and ready to send in.
A clatter came from down in the basement. She turned her head toward the basement stairs and listened for a moment, cocking her head. When she first started working here, she’d go and investigate every bump and thump in the building. It was an eerie old building to be alone in. She’d open every closet, look in every storage area, checking to make sure she was totally alone. She’d gotten use to the old building with it’s creaks and thumps and now just stopped a minute to assure herself there was nothing unusually going on downstairs.
The elevator began to rumble and she could hear the mechanics of the machine gearing up down below the basement. It rumbled up from the downstairs, giving its characteristic ding, just before the elevator door opened outside her office. No one was inside, and the doors slowly closed again as the elevator rumbled back down. She’d been freaked out when she first started working in the building and had discovered how the elevator wandered the floors of the library of its own accord. Now it was just another quirk of the old building; regular and reassuring. She figured the machine had to get itself warmed up and moving in the morning, much like she did.
She turned back to the tax forms, but the sound of wheels rolling across the main reading room’s bare wood floor interrupted her. Now, that was decidedly not a normal sound. She pushed her chair back to investigate.
As she came into the room, she could see the handles of the book truck, over the top of the circulation desk. It was definitely rolling across the floor, but there was no one moving it.
She moved very slowly and quietly around the desk, hiding behind one of the pillars. She peeked around the corner at the rolling book cart. It seemed to be rolling by itself and then she saw him. He was about as big as the palm of her hand and he was giving the cart a push and then jumping on the leg to ride along until it ran out of momentum. His ears were long and flopped over like a dog’s. His face was a human’s in miniature. As he grinned, large pointy canines stuck out. He wore brown pants that were frayed around the bottoms, and a dirty shirt that seemed to be covered with dust.
She shook her head trying to clear her vision. The kobold caught sight of her and stared back. He grabbed a book off the cart and, carrying the book that was at least 5 times his size over his head, ran toward the New Books shelf. He started to slide the book between the others.
“Don’t do that,” she yelled racing toward the kobold. “It needs to be checked in first.” He might be a eird mythical creature, but this was her library and no one re-shelved books without checking them in!
The kobold laughed a high-pitched squeal and dropped the book, racing off toward another shelf. She picked up the book, and turned to see the tiny creature, grabbing books off the shelf and randomly placing them on the next shelf.
“No,” she said, racing after him, but he just laughed and darted away.
“Kobolds,” a chilly voice said from behind the desk, “the bane of every librarians’ existence; the source of all the missing, misshelved, and ‘re-shelved without being checked in’ books.”
She was the only person in the library. There shouldn’t be anyone standing behind her. So who was that talking? The kobold stared in the direction of the voice. He did not look happy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to come face to face with whoever could put that expression on the kobold’s face.
She turned slowly and gawked at the woman standing at the circulation desk. Her hair was in a bun, with a pencil sticking in the knot of hair. The pencil had a date stamper attached to the end, like libraries had used thirty years ago. The woman wore a high-necked white shirt, buttoned up the front, tucked neatly into a black skirt that reached midway down her calves. And she was decidedly translucent. The books on the shelf behind her were visible through her shirtwaist. A gray fog twirled and swirled within the woman’s silver outline. The ghost of librarians past looked down her nose at the kobold with obvious disdain.
“I’m amazed with all this technology,” the sweep of her hand took in the computers, DVDs, books on CD, “that you haven’t found a cure yet for Book Shelf Kobolds.”
The ghost turned at looked at the librarian. “I’m Miss Baldwin,” the ghost said, “what’s your name dear?”
Staring at the ghost, she caught a flash of color out of the corner of her eye. Something was rappelling down the bookshelf. The little figure landed on the floor near the kobold, who was still watching the ghost warily, books scattered on the floor around him. The new arrival was the same size as the kobold, dressed in brown pants, with a green tunic, and wide leather belt around his waist. He wore a red stocking cap on his head, and had pointed ears reminiscent of Orlando Bloom in “Lord of the Rings.”
“Ah, the library gnome,” the ghost murmured. “At least you haven’t lost him. I can’t imagine what your shelves would look like, if he wasn’t here.” She gave a little sniff as she ran her fingers along a row of books, checking their spine labels to see if they were in order. Her finger stopped as she pulled a book free and repositioned it on the shelf below.
The little gnome released himself from his rappelling gear and turned toward the kobold. He placed his fists on his hips and threw back his shoulders, striking a Superman pose, as he began to scold the kobold. He chattered like an angry chipmunk.
Grabbing the nearest book, the gnome checked the spine label and slipped it back onto the shelf. When he reached for the next one, the kobold jumped on him, pushing him away from the book. They rolled across the floor, wrestling with each other, landing on another book. The kobold jumped to his feet and grabbed the book by its cover, dragging it across the floor. The gnome reached for the book, grabbing hold of the back cover. They stood, the open book stretched between them, each tugging it in opposite directions.
“Stop,” she screamed rushing toward them. “Don’t tear the book!”
The kobold released the book, sending the red-capped gnome sliding across the floor. The gnome tossed the book aside and dove for the kobold again, the two tiny creatures tumbling across the floor.
She picked them each up by the scruff of the neck, holding them apart dangling between her thumb and forefinger. They continued to try to grab and kick each other as they dangled in the air, cursing each other with high-pitched screams that made no sense to her.
“Stop it,” she yelled. “No fighting.” Great she thought, staring at the two miscreants in her hands, who now hung dejectedly from her fingers, hanging their heads in what could only be little people embarrassment. I’m really losing it now. I’m breaking up fights between mythical creatures.
The ghost of Miss Baldwin hovered next to her. “They always were fighters those two, even in my day.” She looked around the library, new computers at the computer stations, the online catalog, books on CD lining the shelves, DVDs to check out covering a wall. “ Nothing’s really changed you know, ” the ghost smiled.
“It’s okay really dear, these things happen. It’s part of being a librarian.”
“These things don’t happen” she wanted to yell. “You don’t exist.”
But somehow at the moment, the ghost’s existence seemed more real than all the things she had to do on her to do list. It must be doing the taxes she thought. Or all the kids she had to tell to be quiet everyday. Or tracking down missing books. Or figuring how to squeeze one more program out of an already overloaded budget. Or maybe it was doing yet another craft involving glue and construction paper without gluing herself to everything in sight. She was losing her marbles; breaking up fights between a library gnome and a bookshelf kobold, taking advice from a long dead librarian. A vacation was definitely what she needed.
She turned back to look at the two tiny creatures in her hands, but they had disappeared. She glanced around the empty reading room, looking down each row of stacks, but no silvery ghost glimmered in any corner. She peaked under the circulation desk, but no floppy eared kobold, or pointy hatted gnome hid anywhere. She shook her head, as if clearing the happenings from her mind. Maybe she was hallucinating, but the quiet of the building settled around her. She headed back to her office, but as she walked past the children’s room she remembered story hour was today. She’d better get the craft together. She squared her shoulders and headed into the children’s room.
She wheeled the art cart to one of the small round tables and sat down on the child-sized chair. There was something about sitting in children’s furniture that always felt secure. She pulled a pair of small blunt nosed scissors, designed for children’s hands, some construction paper and glue out of the cart and began to cut out shapes. She was the least crafty person around. A craft needed to be something simple, something she could do without having to go home and take Valium afterwards.
She cut out round circles of paper and began feeling calmer. Construction paper and scissors always had that affect on her. Forget that her end product never really resembled anything. It was the act of creating it that mattered. It soothed her.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and without turning her head saw the gnome climb the art cart. He picked up a pair of scissors, bigger than he was, and holding them carefully over his head jumped onto the table. He began to cut out different shapes in an assortment of colors, a few snips of his scissors producing a wide range of forms.
She picked up the glue and began to make her sample. The glue came out in a big glob and ran off the construction paper, falling on the table. She placed the cut out on the center of the paper. Glue squirted out from under the edges getting on her fingers as she patted the circle into place. Covered with glue now, she wiped up the glob of glue from the table with one of her fingers and painted it on a piece of green paper. Her fingers stuck to the paper. She shook her hand, but the paper refused to come loose. Her husband was right. They should have never let her out of kindergarten. Cutting and pasting was beyond her.
The kobold chose that moment to reappear, jumping onto the table and grabbing the scissors from the gnome. The two of them began pulling on the scissors, screaming their high-pitched screams at each other.
“Stop it,” she yelled and even shocked herself with the loudness of her voice echoing through the empty library. The kobold and gnome stood staring at her.
“Now, now dear,” the ghost materialized next to her. “You mustn’t raise your voice in the library.”
She dropped her head into her hands and realized she’d glued her hands to her hair. Pulling her head slowly back, strands of hair stuck to her fingers. Little pieces of construction paper dangled from her bangs, swinging in front of her eyes. Tears began to roll down her face.
The ghost shimmered in front of her. The kobold stood perfectly still, for once neither hiding, running, jumping, or screaming. The gnome walked over to her hand and patted her fingers. Climbing up her arm, he walked across her shoulder and reached up to pat her cheek, his small hand only reaching the underside of her jaw.
The ghost of Miss Baldwin took the pencil out of the bun and in a perfect arch, brought the end that bore the date stamp down onto the pieces of paper scattered across the table. She methodically began stamping the date on the little bits of construction paper.
“I know honey,” she said. “It’s not easy. But you’re the Librarian.” The ghost studied her pencil for a moment and then slipped the cool yellow number two pencil behind the librarian’s ear. “Now put the glue away. Wash your hands. Straighten your cape and get back out there. You’re the Librarian and its Halloween.”
The library was totally empty and quiet. She smiled her shoulders relaxing. This was her favorite time of day, when she stood here all alone, just her and the books. They had the place all to themselves for these few hours before the library opened for business.
She walked into her office, set down the mug and book bag and clicked on her computer. The little fan inside the computer began to hum, like 1000 bees warming up for the day. She looked down at the payroll tax forms lying on her desk and sighed. Her least favorite job in the whole library, but there was no putting it off any longer. She sat down, now that the place was quiet and she had it all to herself, to get the job out of the way. She could think of a hundred jobs she’d rather be doing: purchasing books, processing books, planning programs, writing the newsletter, even shelving books, or straightening the continually messy and out of order shelves. Anything but the tax forms, the figures that needed to be done over and over, rechecked and recalculated till she had assured herself they were done right and ready to send in.
A clatter came from down in the basement. She turned her head toward the basement stairs and listened for a moment, cocking her head. When she first started working here, she’d go and investigate every bump and thump in the building. It was an eerie old building to be alone in. She’d open every closet, look in every storage area, checking to make sure she was totally alone. She’d gotten use to the old building with it’s creaks and thumps and now just stopped a minute to assure herself there was nothing unusually going on downstairs.
The elevator began to rumble and she could hear the mechanics of the machine gearing up down below the basement. It rumbled up from the downstairs, giving its characteristic ding, just before the elevator door opened outside her office. No one was inside, and the doors slowly closed again as the elevator rumbled back down. She’d been freaked out when she first started working in the building and had discovered how the elevator wandered the floors of the library of its own accord. Now it was just another quirk of the old building; regular and reassuring. She figured the machine had to get itself warmed up and moving in the morning, much like she did.
She turned back to the tax forms, but the sound of wheels rolling across the main reading room’s bare wood floor interrupted her. Now, that was decidedly not a normal sound. She pushed her chair back to investigate.
As she came into the room, she could see the handles of the book truck, over the top of the circulation desk. It was definitely rolling across the floor, but there was no one moving it.
She moved very slowly and quietly around the desk, hiding behind one of the pillars. She peeked around the corner at the rolling book cart. It seemed to be rolling by itself and then she saw him. He was about as big as the palm of her hand and he was giving the cart a push and then jumping on the leg to ride along until it ran out of momentum. His ears were long and flopped over like a dog’s. His face was a human’s in miniature. As he grinned, large pointy canines stuck out. He wore brown pants that were frayed around the bottoms, and a dirty shirt that seemed to be covered with dust.
She shook her head trying to clear her vision. The kobold caught sight of her and stared back. He grabbed a book off the cart and, carrying the book that was at least 5 times his size over his head, ran toward the New Books shelf. He started to slide the book between the others.
“Don’t do that,” she yelled racing toward the kobold. “It needs to be checked in first.” He might be a eird mythical creature, but this was her library and no one re-shelved books without checking them in!
The kobold laughed a high-pitched squeal and dropped the book, racing off toward another shelf. She picked up the book, and turned to see the tiny creature, grabbing books off the shelf and randomly placing them on the next shelf.
“No,” she said, racing after him, but he just laughed and darted away.
“Kobolds,” a chilly voice said from behind the desk, “the bane of every librarians’ existence; the source of all the missing, misshelved, and ‘re-shelved without being checked in’ books.”
She was the only person in the library. There shouldn’t be anyone standing behind her. So who was that talking? The kobold stared in the direction of the voice. He did not look happy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to come face to face with whoever could put that expression on the kobold’s face.
She turned slowly and gawked at the woman standing at the circulation desk. Her hair was in a bun, with a pencil sticking in the knot of hair. The pencil had a date stamper attached to the end, like libraries had used thirty years ago. The woman wore a high-necked white shirt, buttoned up the front, tucked neatly into a black skirt that reached midway down her calves. And she was decidedly translucent. The books on the shelf behind her were visible through her shirtwaist. A gray fog twirled and swirled within the woman’s silver outline. The ghost of librarians past looked down her nose at the kobold with obvious disdain.
“I’m amazed with all this technology,” the sweep of her hand took in the computers, DVDs, books on CD, “that you haven’t found a cure yet for Book Shelf Kobolds.”
The ghost turned at looked at the librarian. “I’m Miss Baldwin,” the ghost said, “what’s your name dear?”
Staring at the ghost, she caught a flash of color out of the corner of her eye. Something was rappelling down the bookshelf. The little figure landed on the floor near the kobold, who was still watching the ghost warily, books scattered on the floor around him. The new arrival was the same size as the kobold, dressed in brown pants, with a green tunic, and wide leather belt around his waist. He wore a red stocking cap on his head, and had pointed ears reminiscent of Orlando Bloom in “Lord of the Rings.”
“Ah, the library gnome,” the ghost murmured. “At least you haven’t lost him. I can’t imagine what your shelves would look like, if he wasn’t here.” She gave a little sniff as she ran her fingers along a row of books, checking their spine labels to see if they were in order. Her finger stopped as she pulled a book free and repositioned it on the shelf below.
The little gnome released himself from his rappelling gear and turned toward the kobold. He placed his fists on his hips and threw back his shoulders, striking a Superman pose, as he began to scold the kobold. He chattered like an angry chipmunk.
Grabbing the nearest book, the gnome checked the spine label and slipped it back onto the shelf. When he reached for the next one, the kobold jumped on him, pushing him away from the book. They rolled across the floor, wrestling with each other, landing on another book. The kobold jumped to his feet and grabbed the book by its cover, dragging it across the floor. The gnome reached for the book, grabbing hold of the back cover. They stood, the open book stretched between them, each tugging it in opposite directions.
“Stop,” she screamed rushing toward them. “Don’t tear the book!”
The kobold released the book, sending the red-capped gnome sliding across the floor. The gnome tossed the book aside and dove for the kobold again, the two tiny creatures tumbling across the floor.
She picked them each up by the scruff of the neck, holding them apart dangling between her thumb and forefinger. They continued to try to grab and kick each other as they dangled in the air, cursing each other with high-pitched screams that made no sense to her.
“Stop it,” she yelled. “No fighting.” Great she thought, staring at the two miscreants in her hands, who now hung dejectedly from her fingers, hanging their heads in what could only be little people embarrassment. I’m really losing it now. I’m breaking up fights between mythical creatures.
The ghost of Miss Baldwin hovered next to her. “They always were fighters those two, even in my day.” She looked around the library, new computers at the computer stations, the online catalog, books on CD lining the shelves, DVDs to check out covering a wall. “ Nothing’s really changed you know, ” the ghost smiled.
“It’s okay really dear, these things happen. It’s part of being a librarian.”
“These things don’t happen” she wanted to yell. “You don’t exist.”
But somehow at the moment, the ghost’s existence seemed more real than all the things she had to do on her to do list. It must be doing the taxes she thought. Or all the kids she had to tell to be quiet everyday. Or tracking down missing books. Or figuring how to squeeze one more program out of an already overloaded budget. Or maybe it was doing yet another craft involving glue and construction paper without gluing herself to everything in sight. She was losing her marbles; breaking up fights between a library gnome and a bookshelf kobold, taking advice from a long dead librarian. A vacation was definitely what she needed.
She turned back to look at the two tiny creatures in her hands, but they had disappeared. She glanced around the empty reading room, looking down each row of stacks, but no silvery ghost glimmered in any corner. She peaked under the circulation desk, but no floppy eared kobold, or pointy hatted gnome hid anywhere. She shook her head, as if clearing the happenings from her mind. Maybe she was hallucinating, but the quiet of the building settled around her. She headed back to her office, but as she walked past the children’s room she remembered story hour was today. She’d better get the craft together. She squared her shoulders and headed into the children’s room.
She wheeled the art cart to one of the small round tables and sat down on the child-sized chair. There was something about sitting in children’s furniture that always felt secure. She pulled a pair of small blunt nosed scissors, designed for children’s hands, some construction paper and glue out of the cart and began to cut out shapes. She was the least crafty person around. A craft needed to be something simple, something she could do without having to go home and take Valium afterwards.
She cut out round circles of paper and began feeling calmer. Construction paper and scissors always had that affect on her. Forget that her end product never really resembled anything. It was the act of creating it that mattered. It soothed her.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and without turning her head saw the gnome climb the art cart. He picked up a pair of scissors, bigger than he was, and holding them carefully over his head jumped onto the table. He began to cut out different shapes in an assortment of colors, a few snips of his scissors producing a wide range of forms.
She picked up the glue and began to make her sample. The glue came out in a big glob and ran off the construction paper, falling on the table. She placed the cut out on the center of the paper. Glue squirted out from under the edges getting on her fingers as she patted the circle into place. Covered with glue now, she wiped up the glob of glue from the table with one of her fingers and painted it on a piece of green paper. Her fingers stuck to the paper. She shook her hand, but the paper refused to come loose. Her husband was right. They should have never let her out of kindergarten. Cutting and pasting was beyond her.
The kobold chose that moment to reappear, jumping onto the table and grabbing the scissors from the gnome. The two of them began pulling on the scissors, screaming their high-pitched screams at each other.
“Stop it,” she yelled and even shocked herself with the loudness of her voice echoing through the empty library. The kobold and gnome stood staring at her.
“Now, now dear,” the ghost materialized next to her. “You mustn’t raise your voice in the library.”
She dropped her head into her hands and realized she’d glued her hands to her hair. Pulling her head slowly back, strands of hair stuck to her fingers. Little pieces of construction paper dangled from her bangs, swinging in front of her eyes. Tears began to roll down her face.
The ghost shimmered in front of her. The kobold stood perfectly still, for once neither hiding, running, jumping, or screaming. The gnome walked over to her hand and patted her fingers. Climbing up her arm, he walked across her shoulder and reached up to pat her cheek, his small hand only reaching the underside of her jaw.
The ghost of Miss Baldwin took the pencil out of the bun and in a perfect arch, brought the end that bore the date stamp down onto the pieces of paper scattered across the table. She methodically began stamping the date on the little bits of construction paper.
“I know honey,” she said. “It’s not easy. But you’re the Librarian.” The ghost studied her pencil for a moment and then slipped the cool yellow number two pencil behind the librarian’s ear. “Now put the glue away. Wash your hands. Straighten your cape and get back out there. You’re the Librarian and its Halloween.”
Monday, September 13, 2010
When you feel like a good cry
Sometimes I think, reading a book about someone’s loss and grief is like poking my tongue in a cavity. I know it’s going to hurt, but I can’t stop myself from doing it. I think, reading about grief, is also reading about love. I want that vicarious experience of a love that makes loss so painful and poignant. And I also want the reassurance that loss can be survived. In her memoir, Let’s Take the Long Way Home, Gail Caldwell delivers all that and more. She tells the tale of her life changing friendship with fellow writer, Caroline Knapp. And then when Caroline dies of lung cancer at the age of 42, Caldwell takes us along on her journey through the barren land of grief.
Gail and Caroline were introduced by their dog trainer. Their friendship, based on a love of dogs, the writing life, and their shared history of alcoholism, was a once in a lifetime relationship that grounded and stretched them both. Grieving Caroline took Caldwell through territory for which she had no map. Caldwell writes, “The only education in grief that any of us ever gets is a crash course. Until Caroline died I had belonged to the other world, the place of innocence and linear expectations, were I thought grief was a simple, wrenching realm of sadness and longing that gradually receded. What that definition left out was the body blow that loss inflicts, as well as the temporary madness, and a range of less straight forward emotions shocking in their intensity.” (p. 150)
Let’s Take the Long Way Home is a moving story of two women’s friendship, but it’s more than that. Gail Caldwell’s story chronicles the struggle of two women to carve out their own lives. It tells of the power of the human-canine relationship and the way dogs draw people together. Most of all it tells of living through the desolate landscape of grief.
A few years ago, I read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, another moving memoir about loss. The book begins with Didion and her husband’s return from the hospital where their adult daughter was unconscious in the intensive care unit. As they sat at their dining room table that evening, Didion’s husband had a heart attack. He didn’t live to make it to the hospital. Didion writes of her year following his death, her year of grieving for her husband, while trying to cope with her daughter’s life threatening illness. The title comes from Didion’s realization that grief took her to a world where she wasn’t always sure what was real and what wasn’t, where she couldn’t always remember whether her husband was truly gone or not. Her writing is so intense, so deep, that reading it felt like I was experiencing the same confusion and uncertainity that Didion herself lived through. Didion’s magical thinking of grief comes alive with her very words.
Yet, friends and lovers aren’t the only things we grieve. Phillip Simmons’ book Learning to Fall tells the story of Simmon’s diagnosis with ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease. Simmons, a healthy young man with small children, faced the loss of his ability to walk, to carry his children, and finally to breathe on his own. He confronted losing the dream of a future, of watching his children grow up. And finally he grieved the loss of his own life, watching his days grow short as his body failed him. It’s a grief of a different order, told powerfully by a man who struggled to find joy and meaning in his diminishing days and body. Through loss, he wrote, he learned “the art of living.”
As I read Didion’s book, often crying, Bruce asked me why I was reading it. It’s hard to explain, how something so sad, can also be uplifting. Even though these books aren’t easy reads, they all left me hopeful. Life can be hard and painful, but grief somehow says we are alive, we loved well and we can learn the “art of living” as Simmons calls it. For a sad, yet hopeful read, pick up one of these books. But keep a box of tissues handy.
Gail and Caroline were introduced by their dog trainer. Their friendship, based on a love of dogs, the writing life, and their shared history of alcoholism, was a once in a lifetime relationship that grounded and stretched them both. Grieving Caroline took Caldwell through territory for which she had no map. Caldwell writes, “The only education in grief that any of us ever gets is a crash course. Until Caroline died I had belonged to the other world, the place of innocence and linear expectations, were I thought grief was a simple, wrenching realm of sadness and longing that gradually receded. What that definition left out was the body blow that loss inflicts, as well as the temporary madness, and a range of less straight forward emotions shocking in their intensity.” (p. 150)
Let’s Take the Long Way Home is a moving story of two women’s friendship, but it’s more than that. Gail Caldwell’s story chronicles the struggle of two women to carve out their own lives. It tells of the power of the human-canine relationship and the way dogs draw people together. Most of all it tells of living through the desolate landscape of grief.
A few years ago, I read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, another moving memoir about loss. The book begins with Didion and her husband’s return from the hospital where their adult daughter was unconscious in the intensive care unit. As they sat at their dining room table that evening, Didion’s husband had a heart attack. He didn’t live to make it to the hospital. Didion writes of her year following his death, her year of grieving for her husband, while trying to cope with her daughter’s life threatening illness. The title comes from Didion’s realization that grief took her to a world where she wasn’t always sure what was real and what wasn’t, where she couldn’t always remember whether her husband was truly gone or not. Her writing is so intense, so deep, that reading it felt like I was experiencing the same confusion and uncertainity that Didion herself lived through. Didion’s magical thinking of grief comes alive with her very words.
Yet, friends and lovers aren’t the only things we grieve. Phillip Simmons’ book Learning to Fall tells the story of Simmon’s diagnosis with ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease. Simmons, a healthy young man with small children, faced the loss of his ability to walk, to carry his children, and finally to breathe on his own. He confronted losing the dream of a future, of watching his children grow up. And finally he grieved the loss of his own life, watching his days grow short as his body failed him. It’s a grief of a different order, told powerfully by a man who struggled to find joy and meaning in his diminishing days and body. Through loss, he wrote, he learned “the art of living.”
As I read Didion’s book, often crying, Bruce asked me why I was reading it. It’s hard to explain, how something so sad, can also be uplifting. Even though these books aren’t easy reads, they all left me hopeful. Life can be hard and painful, but grief somehow says we are alive, we loved well and we can learn the “art of living” as Simmons calls it. For a sad, yet hopeful read, pick up one of these books. But keep a box of tissues handy.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Book Marks
I keep threatening to write a blog about the top ten ways to annoy the librarian, but I'm trying to hide my true personality as much as possible. I'll let you in on one of them though - it's turning down the corners of the page to mark your place. To all of you who do that, I just have one question - don't you know that library books are sacred? And that the belong to everyone? (Okay, that's two questions.) So, please, get a book mark to mark your place. It makes the books last longer and it will keep me from having a stroke!
In an effort to help you break your page creasing habits, we've got help and it comes from one of the best kept secrets in Homer - The Homer Writers’ Group! This group of fun loving writers is always looking for ways to encourage ourselves to write. Writing is hard work and most of us really do want someone to read our stuff. That’s why the Homer Writers’ Group started “Book Mark Stories.” We’re writing short stories that will fit on a book mark. So far we have four to choose from. The Mark of the Book by Lynn Olcott, Book Marks by Shannon Maxson, and two different stories entitled It’s a Book, Mark, one by Jane Richardson and one by Priscilla Berggren-Thomas.
If you want your very own collectible book mark short story by a member of the Homer Writers’ Group, or you want to break your habit of creasing library book pages and contribute to the better health of the librarian, stop by the library and pick up a bookmark.
In an effort to help you break your page creasing habits, we've got help and it comes from one of the best kept secrets in Homer - The Homer Writers’ Group! This group of fun loving writers is always looking for ways to encourage ourselves to write. Writing is hard work and most of us really do want someone to read our stuff. That’s why the Homer Writers’ Group started “Book Mark Stories.” We’re writing short stories that will fit on a book mark. So far we have four to choose from. The Mark of the Book by Lynn Olcott, Book Marks by Shannon Maxson, and two different stories entitled It’s a Book, Mark, one by Jane Richardson and one by Priscilla Berggren-Thomas.
If you want your very own collectible book mark short story by a member of the Homer Writers’ Group, or you want to break your habit of creasing library book pages and contribute to the better health of the librarian, stop by the library and pick up a bookmark.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Rules of Reading
They stand, hips jutting out, swords swung over shoulders, midriff shirts and hip hugger jeans exposing flat, muscular abdomens. One after the other, they dot the covers of books lined up on the shelf. Girls with swords; it’s the latest fad in the fantasy scene. Modern girls fighting the unseen world, with swords, guns or their own hands. Whether they are demon fighters, vampire slayers, or shapeshifting mechanics, they all have killer abs and rock hard biceps. Oh, to be eighteen, sexy and dangerous!
So, you see, even librarians judge books by their covers. If the cover gets you to pick up the book, what keeps you reading? I used to believe that if I started reading a book, I had to finish it. Like there was some book reading god out there judging me on my completion rate. Until sometime after I finished my first college degree I realized I wasn’t reading very much. I had started this book that I just couldn’t get through, but because I couldn’t finish it I thought I couldn’t read anything else. Who made all these rules? And, of course, I realized I had. Or at least I was imposing them on myself. So I made new rules. First rule, no book gets read if it hasn’t total captured my attention by chapter two. And second rule, always read more than one book at a time.
As I’ve gotten older, my attention span has gotten shorter. There’s less time left and books get less chance to grab me. I’ve gone from giving a book two chapters, to one chapter, to one page, to one paragraph. Sometimes, I even decide in one sentence. All writers know this. Make your first sentence perfect. It may be the only chance you get.
I’m also of “the read a few books at a time” school. I like non-fiction, but I’m not a fast non-fiction reader. I always need a novel to alternate with my non-fiction. I usually have a book on writing I’m working on, too. And I may be reading a children’s or young adult novel, along with a slightly more literary work. I confess, I read a lot of young adult novels. They are fast past page turners that keep me reading. They usually have good first lines.
“What on earth do you have in here?” I get the comment a lot when people try to pick up my book bag. Books, of course! I not only read several books at a time, I like to carry them all with me. You never know when you finally get a minute to read, what you are going to feel like reading. So carry a selection, that’s my theory. I’ve usually got a novel, a couple books on writing, two journals and my netbook with me. Boy scouts aren’t the only ones who believe in being prepared. Writers and readers need to be always prepared, too.
So even though I don’t have rock hard abs and a sword in hand, if a see any demons I can hit them with my book bag. It’s loaded and ready for action.
So, you see, even librarians judge books by their covers. If the cover gets you to pick up the book, what keeps you reading? I used to believe that if I started reading a book, I had to finish it. Like there was some book reading god out there judging me on my completion rate. Until sometime after I finished my first college degree I realized I wasn’t reading very much. I had started this book that I just couldn’t get through, but because I couldn’t finish it I thought I couldn’t read anything else. Who made all these rules? And, of course, I realized I had. Or at least I was imposing them on myself. So I made new rules. First rule, no book gets read if it hasn’t total captured my attention by chapter two. And second rule, always read more than one book at a time.
As I’ve gotten older, my attention span has gotten shorter. There’s less time left and books get less chance to grab me. I’ve gone from giving a book two chapters, to one chapter, to one page, to one paragraph. Sometimes, I even decide in one sentence. All writers know this. Make your first sentence perfect. It may be the only chance you get.
I’m also of “the read a few books at a time” school. I like non-fiction, but I’m not a fast non-fiction reader. I always need a novel to alternate with my non-fiction. I usually have a book on writing I’m working on, too. And I may be reading a children’s or young adult novel, along with a slightly more literary work. I confess, I read a lot of young adult novels. They are fast past page turners that keep me reading. They usually have good first lines.
“What on earth do you have in here?” I get the comment a lot when people try to pick up my book bag. Books, of course! I not only read several books at a time, I like to carry them all with me. You never know when you finally get a minute to read, what you are going to feel like reading. So carry a selection, that’s my theory. I’ve usually got a novel, a couple books on writing, two journals and my netbook with me. Boy scouts aren’t the only ones who believe in being prepared. Writers and readers need to be always prepared, too.
So even though I don’t have rock hard abs and a sword in hand, if a see any demons I can hit them with my book bag. It’s loaded and ready for action.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Fun Summer Reading
The gardeners among us usually read more in the winter time. Once it’s time to start digging in the dirt, we don’t see as much of them at the library. Yet, for many of us, summer is the time of reading, kicking back on vacation at the beach or by the lake with a good book. There’s a long list of new best sellers that most everyone wants to read this summer, from the Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest to Sizzlin’ Sixteen. If you’re stuck in the holds queue and desperate for something to read, don’t forget there are a lot of good books out there; the oldies but goodies of the book world.
If you love southern fiction, try Brighten the Corner Where You Are by Fred Chappell. The story of Joe Robert Kirkman’s day as a school teacher in North Carolina during World War II, Brighten the Corner was one of my first exposures to the “southern” story and it’s still one of my favorites. It’s the kind of book that makes you feel like you’re sitting on the front porch with an old friend telling stories and drinking ice tea. But make mine unsweetened please.
For a light run read, I love Lorna Landvik’s Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons. Landvik is one of my personal favorites. She creates stories of women friends that make me want to go out and join the koffee klatch. Angry Housewives traces the friendship of 5 women over the course of twenty plus years, as they fall in love, marry, raise children, divorce, and discover things about themselves and each other. And all the while, their friendship grows and sustains them. Yet, don’t mistake it for a sweet story. This book is also a laugh out loud hoot.
For a literary pick, I love Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety and Birds in Fall by Brad Kessler. Kessler’s language is down right poetic. It’s a story about a woman who researches migrating birds and tries to find meaning after the death of her husband. Stegner’s book traces the fifty year friendship of two couples who meet out of graduate school in the 1930’s. Both husbands are English professors and writers. Kessler and Stegner both use language and metaphor beautifully as they tell their stories, but it’s the characters, as always, who keep us turning the pages. Here’s warning though, both stories are tearjerkers. So don’t read them while operating equipment!
If the sweet and literary doesn’t send you, here’s my suggestions for thriller and dog lovers. Play Dead by David Rosenfelt is about lawyer Andy Carpenter, who saves a dog from death row and then realizes the dog was witness to a crime. Andy now has to keep himself and the dog alive while trying figure out who done what. Then there’s Dog Gone It by Spencer Quinn. The story is told by Chet, the dog of a private investigator. With his easily distracted doggy memory, a great nose and an inability to communicate in human language, Chet has to solve the mystery and then make Bernie understand what happens. Rosenfelt’s books may be a little more serious, but Chet has to be one of the greatest characters to ever come to life on the page.
For lovers of Doug Adams A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy try almost anything by Christopher Moore or Terry Pratchett. My favorite’s by Moore include Practical Demonkeeping, Coyote Blue, and for the truly daring Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff Christ’s Childhood Pal. Be warned though, Moore is an acquired taste with language, sex and a high degree of irreverence. So, don’t try this at home if you aren’t prepared. Pratchett writes fantasy that takes place on Discworld, a flat disc that sits on the backs of 5 elephants, who are standing on the back of giant turtle, who is floating through space. Sir Pratchett (he’s actually be knighted by the Queen!) is a first class satirist, who can rip on anything from Shakespeare to Rock and Roll, or vampires to sorcerers, the army to the postal service. I prefer any Terry Pratchett novel that includes Death, his trusty steed Binky and Death’s granddaughter Susan, or Granny Weatherwax. Try Soul Music, Mort, or Lords and Ladies.
Finally, for something that defies categorization, I love anything by Connie Willis. Considered a fantasy writer, Willis has been doing time travel novels before it ever became popular. One of her best though has nothing to do with time travel and everything to do with life. Passages is an incredible story about a researcher who studies near death experiences and she discovers more than she ever imagined.
If you love southern fiction, try Brighten the Corner Where You Are by Fred Chappell. The story of Joe Robert Kirkman’s day as a school teacher in North Carolina during World War II, Brighten the Corner was one of my first exposures to the “southern” story and it’s still one of my favorites. It’s the kind of book that makes you feel like you’re sitting on the front porch with an old friend telling stories and drinking ice tea. But make mine unsweetened please.
For a light run read, I love Lorna Landvik’s Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons. Landvik is one of my personal favorites. She creates stories of women friends that make me want to go out and join the koffee klatch. Angry Housewives traces the friendship of 5 women over the course of twenty plus years, as they fall in love, marry, raise children, divorce, and discover things about themselves and each other. And all the while, their friendship grows and sustains them. Yet, don’t mistake it for a sweet story. This book is also a laugh out loud hoot.
For a literary pick, I love Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety and Birds in Fall by Brad Kessler. Kessler’s language is down right poetic. It’s a story about a woman who researches migrating birds and tries to find meaning after the death of her husband. Stegner’s book traces the fifty year friendship of two couples who meet out of graduate school in the 1930’s. Both husbands are English professors and writers. Kessler and Stegner both use language and metaphor beautifully as they tell their stories, but it’s the characters, as always, who keep us turning the pages. Here’s warning though, both stories are tearjerkers. So don’t read them while operating equipment!
If the sweet and literary doesn’t send you, here’s my suggestions for thriller and dog lovers. Play Dead by David Rosenfelt is about lawyer Andy Carpenter, who saves a dog from death row and then realizes the dog was witness to a crime. Andy now has to keep himself and the dog alive while trying figure out who done what. Then there’s Dog Gone It by Spencer Quinn. The story is told by Chet, the dog of a private investigator. With his easily distracted doggy memory, a great nose and an inability to communicate in human language, Chet has to solve the mystery and then make Bernie understand what happens. Rosenfelt’s books may be a little more serious, but Chet has to be one of the greatest characters to ever come to life on the page.
For lovers of Doug Adams A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy try almost anything by Christopher Moore or Terry Pratchett. My favorite’s by Moore include Practical Demonkeeping, Coyote Blue, and for the truly daring Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff Christ’s Childhood Pal. Be warned though, Moore is an acquired taste with language, sex and a high degree of irreverence. So, don’t try this at home if you aren’t prepared. Pratchett writes fantasy that takes place on Discworld, a flat disc that sits on the backs of 5 elephants, who are standing on the back of giant turtle, who is floating through space. Sir Pratchett (he’s actually be knighted by the Queen!) is a first class satirist, who can rip on anything from Shakespeare to Rock and Roll, or vampires to sorcerers, the army to the postal service. I prefer any Terry Pratchett novel that includes Death, his trusty steed Binky and Death’s granddaughter Susan, or Granny Weatherwax. Try Soul Music, Mort, or Lords and Ladies.
Finally, for something that defies categorization, I love anything by Connie Willis. Considered a fantasy writer, Willis has been doing time travel novels before it ever became popular. One of her best though has nothing to do with time travel and everything to do with life. Passages is an incredible story about a researcher who studies near death experiences and she discovers more than she ever imagined.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Playing with Words
There’s a small, but intrepid, group of writers who meet in the library community room twice a month. They’re people who love words, love playing with words, love trying to express ideas, stories, poems, thoughts, emotions with words. I think everyone who comes to the library loves words. Whether we write them or read them, we love the sound of them as they are spoken, the feel of them in our mouths, the idea of them in our heads. And we love the people who put them on paper for us to read, to paint pictures in our minds, to create characters in our hearts, to stretch us with their thoughts. It’s why I love the idea of bringing authors to the library. Whether you are a reader or a writer, or both, there’s something about meeting someone who believes in the power of words and works to put them together in stories, poems and information that is thrilling. For us wordy nerds it’s like meeting a rock star, a movie star or a great athlete. These are the people we want to be like. These are the people who amaze us.
Having had the opportunity to meet a couple of children’s authors in the last year, I have to say they were everything I imagined and then some. Their generosity of heart was the most amazing part. Their willingness to share their knowledge, stories, and encouragement with kids (of all ages) was inspiring. That’s why I’m so looking forward to Maggie Shayne’s coming – because now it’s the “big kids,” those of use who occasionally still act like kids, but haven’t been in a long time, that get to experience that generosity first hand.
I haven’t met Maggie officially yet, but from all our conversations and from what people that know her have told me, I can’t wait. Here’s a woman who does the hard work of writing and not only makes a living at it, but makes the New York Times best seller list. It gives me hope! I particularly like that she titled her workshop “Lying for a Living,” because it makes writing sound a little racy, daring and dangerous, rather than the scary and painful endeavor it sometimes feels like. And she’s willing to share her experience and words of comfort (or maybe even a kick in the pants) with those of us who are toiling away, or just testing the waters, or looking for the courage to put our thoughts, dreams, hopes and words down on paper.
Maggie writes paranormal romance, but she’s written it all - from romance, to westerns, to thrillers. If you like a sweet love story, or you like you love interest to have fangs and a bit of bite, there’s something for everyone in Maggie’s writing. If you love to write, want to write, want to love to write, or love to read and meet people who bring stories and characters to life, come to hear Maggie on the 10th of July. She’ll be giving an all day writing workshop at the library from 9 am until 3 pm. Happily Ever After Bookstore will be selling her books and there will be a signing at 10:30 am and again around 1:30 pm. The workshop is free, but call the library at 749-4616 to register.
This workshop is made possible with Funds from New York State Council on the Arts Decentralization Grant Program, a State Agency, and the Cultural Resources Council, a Regional Arts Council. Matching funds were provided by the Wilkins Foundation.
Having had the opportunity to meet a couple of children’s authors in the last year, I have to say they were everything I imagined and then some. Their generosity of heart was the most amazing part. Their willingness to share their knowledge, stories, and encouragement with kids (of all ages) was inspiring. That’s why I’m so looking forward to Maggie Shayne’s coming – because now it’s the “big kids,” those of use who occasionally still act like kids, but haven’t been in a long time, that get to experience that generosity first hand.
I haven’t met Maggie officially yet, but from all our conversations and from what people that know her have told me, I can’t wait. Here’s a woman who does the hard work of writing and not only makes a living at it, but makes the New York Times best seller list. It gives me hope! I particularly like that she titled her workshop “Lying for a Living,” because it makes writing sound a little racy, daring and dangerous, rather than the scary and painful endeavor it sometimes feels like. And she’s willing to share her experience and words of comfort (or maybe even a kick in the pants) with those of us who are toiling away, or just testing the waters, or looking for the courage to put our thoughts, dreams, hopes and words down on paper.
Maggie writes paranormal romance, but she’s written it all - from romance, to westerns, to thrillers. If you like a sweet love story, or you like you love interest to have fangs and a bit of bite, there’s something for everyone in Maggie’s writing. If you love to write, want to write, want to love to write, or love to read and meet people who bring stories and characters to life, come to hear Maggie on the 10th of July. She’ll be giving an all day writing workshop at the library from 9 am until 3 pm. Happily Ever After Bookstore will be selling her books and there will be a signing at 10:30 am and again around 1:30 pm. The workshop is free, but call the library at 749-4616 to register.
This workshop is made possible with Funds from New York State Council on the Arts Decentralization Grant Program, a State Agency, and the Cultural Resources Council, a Regional Arts Council. Matching funds were provided by the Wilkins Foundation.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Home again, Home again
Home again, Home again, jiggity, jig, jig, jig.
We arrived home on Tuesday evening. Coming out of Hancock Airport in Syracuse, I was struck by the scent of home. It smelled of early summer, green and growing things, new mown hay. I hadn’t really noticed what England smelled like, but standing on the sidewalk outside of the airport, I realized it hadn’t smelled like home. It was wonderful visiting England, but it’s good to be home.
This morning, standing in the quiet, closed library, I breathed in the scent of books and looked at the book lined shelves, filled with stories, adventures, other places, other people, knowledge, information and entertainment. I’ve spent that last few weeks traveling around another country, but these books also offer ways to reach other countries, people, places, times, cultures, adventures and stories. I haven’t read much in the last few weeks, other than road signs like “oncoming traffic in the middle of the road,” “layby closed,” “loo,” and even “don’t be silly,” so I think it’s time to dig into a good book and discover other worlds. But this time it will be through reading instead of traveling. See you soon at the library!
We arrived home on Tuesday evening. Coming out of Hancock Airport in Syracuse, I was struck by the scent of home. It smelled of early summer, green and growing things, new mown hay. I hadn’t really noticed what England smelled like, but standing on the sidewalk outside of the airport, I realized it hadn’t smelled like home. It was wonderful visiting England, but it’s good to be home.
This morning, standing in the quiet, closed library, I breathed in the scent of books and looked at the book lined shelves, filled with stories, adventures, other places, other people, knowledge, information and entertainment. I’ve spent that last few weeks traveling around another country, but these books also offer ways to reach other countries, people, places, times, cultures, adventures and stories. I haven’t read much in the last few weeks, other than road signs like “oncoming traffic in the middle of the road,” “layby closed,” “loo,” and even “don’t be silly,” so I think it’s time to dig into a good book and discover other worlds. But this time it will be through reading instead of traveling. See you soon at the library!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Last Day - Windsor Castle
Well, we head home tomorrow. It's been a great trip. Kind of sad to leave, but also totally exhausted, so coming home sounds good. Today we went to Windsor Castle for our last hurray in England.
Here's the view of the castle from the outside. Windsor is the oldest and largest continually inhabited castle in the world.
Here's the inner wall, once you come through the outer wall.
We visited the state apartments which are used by the royal family for state functions, but you can't take any pictures inside. Here's the walk up through the gates toward the state apartments.
The castle also has it's own church. It's called a chapel, but it looks more like a cathedral.
Windsor Castle is like a little village of it's own, within the castle walls. Here's the staff housing area.
Well, we fly out tomorrow morning. See you all soon.
Here's the view of the castle from the outside. Windsor is the oldest and largest continually inhabited castle in the world.
Here's the inner wall, once you come through the outer wall.
We visited the state apartments which are used by the royal family for state functions, but you can't take any pictures inside. Here's the walk up through the gates toward the state apartments.
The castle also has it's own church. It's called a chapel, but it looks more like a cathedral.
Windsor Castle is like a little village of it's own, within the castle walls. Here's the staff housing area.
Well, we fly out tomorrow morning. See you all soon.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
We are winding down
Well, we are coming to the end of our trip. Friday we went to the British Museum and the National Gallery. The British Museum, with it's Egyptian, Greek and Roman treasures, was like traveling all around the world. Here is a tablet of hieroglyphics.
And a mummy's tomb.
We couldn't take pictures at the National Gallery, but we saw VanGogh's, Renoir's, Monet's, even a couple of Rembrandt's. Then we went down to Westminster Abbey and attended Evensong. We had hoped to hear the choir sing, but instead it was just a hand full of tourists doing the singing. Here's the Abbey.
Saturday, we went to see the home and chapel of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism. Here's the chapel from the outside.
And the inside.
Today is was Kew Gardens. Here's the Palm House.
There are statues of the animals from the Royal coats of arms outside the Palm House. Here's the griffin.
And finally a funky flower!
Tomorrow it's on to Windsor Castle and then we fly home on Tuesday.
And a mummy's tomb.
We couldn't take pictures at the National Gallery, but we saw VanGogh's, Renoir's, Monet's, even a couple of Rembrandt's. Then we went down to Westminster Abbey and attended Evensong. We had hoped to hear the choir sing, but instead it was just a hand full of tourists doing the singing. Here's the Abbey.
Saturday, we went to see the home and chapel of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism. Here's the chapel from the outside.
And the inside.
Today is was Kew Gardens. Here's the Palm House.
There are statues of the animals from the Royal coats of arms outside the Palm House. Here's the griffin.
And finally a funky flower!
Tomorrow it's on to Windsor Castle and then we fly home on Tuesday.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
London
We arrived in London yesterday. Hurray, no more driving on English roads. Instead we took the train into the city and boarded one of the Big Bus Tours. Spent the day riding around London. Went to Hyde Park and to the Natural History Museum, as well as seeing Parliament, 10 Downing Street and Westminster Abbey.
Here's the Horse Guards.
And Big Ben.
Today we went to the Tower of London. Here's the armor of a knight on his horse.
Here's a couple of Yeoman Warders, the guards who live at the Tower and do tours.
Here's the Horse Guards.
And Big Ben.
Today we went to the Tower of London. Here's the armor of a knight on his horse.
Here's a couple of Yeoman Warders, the guards who live at the Tower and do tours.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Wimpole Hall
Well, we went to Wimpole Hall today - a estate built in the 1600's. And we finally saw Peter Rabbit. Here's Farmer McGregor and Peter in the walled garden.
Along with a manor house and gardens, Wimpole has a farm park which contains many rare breeds of livestock. Here I am riding a rare Blue Sheep.
Here's a Long Horn calf.
And finally the three little black sheep.
Along with a manor house and gardens, Wimpole has a farm park which contains many rare breeds of livestock. Here I am riding a rare Blue Sheep.
Here's a Long Horn calf.
And finally the three little black sheep.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Yorkshire, Puffins and English Breakfast
Well, we've had an action packed few days, covering large parts of England and seeing many sights. Not the least of which was finally having a real English breakfast - eggs, sausage, bacon, beans and tomatoes. We even got a picture of it!
We visited a few places in Yorkshire, including the Ryedale Folk Museum which highlights Yorkshire life and farming in the 1800 and 1900's. They have a few old breeds of livestock, including the Lincolnshire Curly coated pig. Isn't she a beaut?
Then we took a boat cruise along the chalk cliffs of eastern Yorkshire, where over 200,000 seabirds nest each spring and fall. They include razorbills, guillemots, gannets and puffins. Here are the cliffs with a colony of gannets. Gannets have over a 6 foot wingspan. They were almost extinct in England and have made a great comeback in the last 20 years.
Finally, we saw a few of the more elusive puffins. You probably can't tell from this photo - it was hard to get up close and personal, but here's a puffin. If you look closely you can see it's telltale white cheeks.
We visited a few places in Yorkshire, including the Ryedale Folk Museum which highlights Yorkshire life and farming in the 1800 and 1900's. They have a few old breeds of livestock, including the Lincolnshire Curly coated pig. Isn't she a beaut?
Then we took a boat cruise along the chalk cliffs of eastern Yorkshire, where over 200,000 seabirds nest each spring and fall. They include razorbills, guillemots, gannets and puffins. Here are the cliffs with a colony of gannets. Gannets have over a 6 foot wingspan. They were almost extinct in England and have made a great comeback in the last 20 years.
Finally, we saw a few of the more elusive puffins. You probably can't tell from this photo - it was hard to get up close and personal, but here's a puffin. If you look closely you can see it's telltale white cheeks.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Of Sheep and Roads
We leave the Lake District tomorrow and head down through Yorkshire. So today, we just took a little trip to the nearby town of Sedbergh. We toured an old woolen mill, did some walking and of course took pictures of sheep.
Here's a lamb using Mom for a warm and comfy bed.
And of course, the ubiquitous border collie, waiting for a 4-wheeler trip out to the sheep field.
And here are the roads I've been complaining about. This is the bridge on the way into Sedbergh.
Here's Main Street. Do I really want to drive down that?
Yes, this road is for two way traffic. But wait there are cars parked, so where am I supposed to drive?
Here's a lamb using Mom for a warm and comfy bed.
And of course, the ubiquitous border collie, waiting for a 4-wheeler trip out to the sheep field.
And here are the roads I've been complaining about. This is the bridge on the way into Sedbergh.
Here's Main Street. Do I really want to drive down that?
Yes, this road is for two way traffic. But wait there are cars parked, so where am I supposed to drive?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Beatrix Potter and Herdwick sheep
Wednesday we went to Hill Top, Beatrix Potter's home. We took the ferry across Windermere Lake and then the bus up to Near Sawrey, the village where Hill Top sits. Here's the sign at the ferry, telling the cars not to drive in to the Lake.
Beatrix Potter, the author of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit," used the royalties from Peter Rabbit to buy Hill Top. If you've seen the movie "Miss Potter," you may know much of the story. She moved from London and lived at Hill Top writing and illustrating more books. Unfortunately, we didn't see Peter Rabbit! She also became active in preserving hillside farms in the Lake District, helping keep the countryside available for all to enjoy. Here's her home, Hill Top.
We also finally found the elusive Herdwick sheep. Beatrix Potter was a breeder of prize winning Herdwicks, so it only makes sense we found these beautiful black and white sheep on the hill farms surrounding her home. Here's a Herdwick!
And now for the animal of the day. It's horses!
Beatrix Potter, the author of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit," used the royalties from Peter Rabbit to buy Hill Top. If you've seen the movie "Miss Potter," you may know much of the story. She moved from London and lived at Hill Top writing and illustrating more books. Unfortunately, we didn't see Peter Rabbit! She also became active in preserving hillside farms in the Lake District, helping keep the countryside available for all to enjoy. Here's her home, Hill Top.
We also finally found the elusive Herdwick sheep. Beatrix Potter was a breeder of prize winning Herdwicks, so it only makes sense we found these beautiful black and white sheep on the hill farms surrounding her home. Here's a Herdwick!
And now for the animal of the day. It's horses!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sizergh Castle
Tuesday we went to Sizergh Castle. (Don't ask me how you pronounce it!) The original part of it, the tower, was built around 1320. It has thick stone walls and only had one room per floor. It's been added on to and rooms subdivided since. The same family has lived in this castle since 1320, too. Newer sections were decorated in the 1800's, but the original tower definitely had a medieval feel. Here's a picture from the gardens.
The castle had a lovely rock garden, with fringy Japanese maples, tumbling water and pools. Here's a picture.
It was the day for cows, too. A few dairy cows were grazing near the castle. They came over for a drink and photo opportunity. Bruce was taken by the blue roan. Here she is.
The castle had a lovely rock garden, with fringy Japanese maples, tumbling water and pools. Here's a picture.
It was the day for cows, too. A few dairy cows were grazing near the castle. They came over for a drink and photo opportunity. Bruce was taken by the blue roan. Here she is.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Lake District
Well, we are in the Lake District now, the land of lakes, peaks, hiking, Beatrix Potter, and sheep, sheep and more sheep. Yesterday, we visited Castlerigg Stone Circle, not as famous as Stonehenge, but over 4500 years old. And just as important to the people of the time, as a ceremonial site. As great as the stones were, the sheep grazing around it were the best part, I think. Although, you had to be careful where you walked! Here's a picture.
Then we did a bit of walking near Bassenthwaite Lake. Here's that.
We've seen sheep everywhere and could easily take pictures of nothing but sheep. Here's a typical farm house. Stones are everywhere, as well as sheep. Stonewalls, incredibly close to the road. Stone houses, barns, circles, etc. etc.
And of course, the sheep. Here's a few Cheviot lambs looking into our back garden at the cottage we are staying at.
And another Cheviot lamb.
We kept thinking these guys were Scottish Blackface, but they are Swaledales. Here's a lamb.
And a ram.
We are still looking for the elusive Herdwick. A breed found almost exclusively in the Lake District. Not like anything we have in the US, they are black with white faces. Seen a few at a distance, but no pictures yet. But stay tuned, hopefully we'll find one!
Then we did a bit of walking near Bassenthwaite Lake. Here's that.
We've seen sheep everywhere and could easily take pictures of nothing but sheep. Here's a typical farm house. Stones are everywhere, as well as sheep. Stonewalls, incredibly close to the road. Stone houses, barns, circles, etc. etc.
And of course, the sheep. Here's a few Cheviot lambs looking into our back garden at the cottage we are staying at.
And another Cheviot lamb.
We kept thinking these guys were Scottish Blackface, but they are Swaledales. Here's a lamb.
And a ram.
We are still looking for the elusive Herdwick. A breed found almost exclusively in the Lake District. Not like anything we have in the US, they are black with white faces. Seen a few at a distance, but no pictures yet. But stay tuned, hopefully we'll find one!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Chatsworth House
Saturday, we went to Chatsworth House. For all you Pride and Prejudice fans, this was Mr. Darcy's Pemberley in the Kiera Knightley version. Alas, no Mr. Darcy, but some house.
Here's the 6th Duke's dining room. He was a bachelor - do you think he has enough elbow room?
There was room after room of pictures, sculptures, treasures of every kind. But this guy was my favorite.
Here's the 6th Duke's dining room. He was a bachelor - do you think he has enough elbow room?
There was room after room of pictures, sculptures, treasures of every kind. But this guy was my favorite.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Tudor England
Drove north on the highway today. No billboards on the roadside, but there was this one we couldn't resist at the service area.
Then we visited Little Moreton Hall, a house built originally in 1504. It was added onto by each of the next four generations, leading to a rambling home with pretty interesting angles! A real English Tudor home. And the families religion changed with every monarch, to keep them on the good side of the current king!
Then because we couldn't soak in the Roman Baths, we decided on a hotel with a jacuzzi. So here's where we are staying tonight, Friday. Had to eat a lot of grill cheese last week to help pay for it!
Then we visited Little Moreton Hall, a house built originally in 1504. It was added onto by each of the next four generations, leading to a rambling home with pretty interesting angles! A real English Tudor home. And the families religion changed with every monarch, to keep them on the good side of the current king!
Then because we couldn't soak in the Roman Baths, we decided on a hotel with a jacuzzi. So here's where we are staying tonight, Friday. Had to eat a lot of grill cheese last week to help pay for it!
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