Hard to Beat This Moment . . .

I am a very contented woman.  I am sitting in a comfortable, red leather armchair, looking out windows at a snow covered slope, with pine trees and a blue sky.  My first Honey Jack Daniels/diet 7-up/Rockstar is comfortably warming my belly and I just finished a great book.

You know those books that you slow your eyes down as you're reading the last few pages in an attempt to make the experience last?  The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly was one of them for me.  I felt a bit of sorrow as I saw the pages that were read far outnumbered the pages that were left to read.  This first Young Adult novel by a practicing physician and lawyer, who was born in New Zealand, raised in Canada, and currently  lives in Texas, is a Newbery Honor book.  It's a keeper.

The book is about young Callie, only girl of seven children, living in Texas.  The year is 1899.  Callie is an observer and has been recording her sightings and scientific thoughts/questions in a little notebook.  When a particularly puzzling question about some different grasshoppers leaves her stumped, she musters her courage and approaches her grandfather, with her query.  Although her grandfather has lived with them her whole life, all of the children are a bit frightened of this gruff old man who spends his time in his Library or out in the former slave quarters cum Laboratory where he is working on distilling pecans into a drinkable whiskey.

Her curious mind and boldness catches his attention and soon their friendship and explorations became the most important thing in their lives.  Callie's mother is determined to make a lady out of her, forcing her to spend endless hours learning to cook, bake, knit and tat (lace making).  In her stolen hours she steals away to spend with her grandfather, during which time they discover what might be a new type of plant.  They take the specimen into town to have it photographed and sent off to the National Geographic Society.

As I read this delightful book, I thought often of my late grandmother, Edna Boyd, who had many stories about her life on the farm in Minnesota and how she and her many siblings spent their time. She would have gotten a kick out of this enduring story.  I am also particularly drawn to stories about girls who lived before electricity.  I still have my first copy of Little House on the Prairie.

What eased the bittersweetness of ending this lovely book was the fact that we recently arrived in Running Springs (in the San Bernardino Mountains) to stay for the weekend at a cabin of a distant cousin.  He has invited us up repeatedly over the years and this is the first time we've taken him up on it.   Boy, have we been missing out.  This cabin is divine.  Decorated to the last inch in vintage Western, you can tell this place is his pride and joy.  (He's a brave guy, inviting us up with three kids!!!)  Soon as the majority of our baggage had been brought in and enough stuff had been put away to assuage any guilt over being "lazy", I sat down in this cool chair with my delicious beverage and finished the book. (Ironically enough, this chair reminds me of one owned by my grandfather, Kenny Gribble, also a gruff and slightly intimidating old man.)

Don't worry, I have three more books with me.  I am almost halfway finished with The People of Sparks, book two in the City of Ember series,  a third through Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, which I started yesterday at work, and have some required reading in The Essential Ernest Holmes, for a class I am taking, plus magazines and five picture books that are up for the California Young Reader Medal award that I wanted to run by my niece before I start reading them to the kids at school, after which they get to vote for their favorite, state-wide.

This place is adorable, from the jukebox stocked with old school (and very palatable) country, the bear skin rug in the master bathroom, to the distressed wooden doors.

 Tonight I will be taken out to a Valentine dinner with my sweetie.  Life is good.  Thanks for listening.

Doggone Tired

I am tired.  Doggone tired.  And I have a new level of respect for Elementary Librarians and Teachers in general.

Recently, I was blessed with a job change.  No longer would I be driving 45 minutes to work in a Middle School Library.  Now I drive 5 minutes to an Elementary School.  Super cool.  Super stoked.  Super tired!!!

"Are you alright?" my girlfriend, Claire, asked me last night as we were practicing our songs for next Sunday's service.  "Yeah!" I responded in surprise, wondering why she would ask.  Well, she can probably sense that I am maxed out.  I am daydreaming of parent-teacher conferences, when the Library will be closed and I can make sense of what I've been making sense of since the end of August.

Here's my schedule:  Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays I see classes about 4 hours of the day.  30 minutes a pop.  Mondays and Wednesdays I don't see classes, but I spend about 3 hours tutoring 2nd graders who are struggling with their reading.  I work a 6 1/2 hour shift.  On the books, I take a 30 minute break.  (Snicker, snicker, guffaw.)  In the "free" time I shelve books, repair books, read about books we need, compile a wish list of books to order (What???  We don't have a copy of Harold and the Purple Crayone???), help any of the staff members who need something from the Library, and work the AR program.  For those of you who don't know about AR, it's a reading program called Accelerated Reader.  Students are tested and placed in a reading zone, which helps them find which books are at their level so that they can feel successful and challenge themselves.  After they finish the book, they go online and take a short comprehension quiz, which gives them points.  The zones are distinguished by color.  In theory, if a student is reading at orange level, any book in the Library with an orange sticker is in their range.  Sounds pretty good, but the problem is that AR was only introduced to our school a few years back and less than half of the books are stickered.  I have put out the call for help and the PTA goddess crew stepped in overtime last week, pulling books, looking them up online, stickering them if they were in the program, writing the level, quiz # and point value inside each book.  (I came up with the brilliant idea of putting a small check mark in the upper corner inside the book if it is not currently in the AR system, so we don't spend time backtracking and looking up books more than once.  This is not a fool-proof plan, as AR is constantly creating quizzes, but it works for me right now.)  As the books come in from student checkouts, I am looking up those books before shelving them.  Needless to say, I'm behind on my shelving.  There is a back table in the Library that held about 150 or so non-fiction books that I wasn't able to shelve before the class visits resumed last Tuesday.  I now have the entire table shelved, except for the 50ish that have no AR sticker.  That's not counting the books that were returned today or tomorrow.  The cart is full.  I think I might be sneaking some books back onto that table early in the morning.  At least the ones that don't have stickers.)

So, with AR, I am hosting a race between classes.  The classes with the most points get to go to a party with the Principal at the end of the year.  There is also an AR Wall of Fame, for the students who have 100 points +.  (They also get to go to the party.)  I am also going to order lanyards for all the students who reach 25 points by the first trimester, whenever that is . . .)  I asked around, got the website and some pricing.  Now to spend some time on the order.  Also, every Monday, I run a report and track the points of every classroom, and move their Vehicle tokens up on the AR Raceboard wall.  Oh.  And each winning class gets to keep a stuffed wolf (our mascot) for the week. The highest point students will also get to be "Staff for the day", working as the Principal, Secretary, Custodian, Computer Tech and Librarian for a day.

Did I mention lesson plans!?!  Yeah, I get to do those now.  I was so scared of this that I put off doing the first ones until about 4 days before class visits first came.  Now I'm getting a little better, but I definitely need to get more ahead on these.  Luckily I have a huge stack of books in the back room that I think are awesome, and when I'm panicky about what to read or promote, I go check the piles

.

Let's see . . . what else have I got going on?  Last summer I was approached by the Board president of my church if I could head the "Conscious Giving" dinners this year.  Well, my summer was pretty kick-back so I agreed.  Too bad none of the work was to take place in the summer!!!  I now have a gigantic paper hanging on my laundry wall which is methodically filled with sticky-notes of hosts and guests and dates.  (And I have threatened Jake's life if he moves any more sticky notes.  NOT FUNNY!!!)  I have the task of inviting every single member of the congregation to a dinner, hosted by another member.  I have only been attending this church for a year, so I am unfamiliar with most of the names as of yet (but I'm getting to know them pretty quickly!)  Two church goddesses came over last Sunday and helped me identify and organize the attendees.  I told them I felt like a White House intern who has been charged with setting up a diplomatic dinner.  Yikes.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  I'm above the water, or at least breathing through a long and wide tube at this point.  I'll be able to calm down once the invites are officially out and the ball is rolling.

Today I attended a GATE meeting at my son's school.  It was pretty informative and they've got some great stuff planned for the students this year.  I apologize to the woman who ran the meeting for not making eye-contact when she asked for parent volunteers.  My plate's full and overflowing.  I send love and light out to the parents who step forward.  I stare down the guilt that I feel about not helping the program and I shush the voice that says that I could probably squeeze it in.  BOUNDARIES is the name of this game.  Sanity and contentment and peace.

Thanks for listening.
And thanks to coffee for being my pal.

The Exquisite Pain of Being Alive

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.  From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one.  Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine.  And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale.  One superlative song, existence the price.  But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.  For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain . . . Or so says the legend.

I just finished reading The Thorn Birds.  Again.  I think I may have read this book about 7 times since my grandmother first introduced it to me in high school.  Published in 1982 and written by Colleen McCullough, this dynasterial epic spans decades and continents.  It is about love and loss.  Family and lovers.  Death and new life.  Hope and marking time, waiting for the grief to abate. 

My own copy is worn out, pages are loose, the paper rips easily.  It is badly taped together.  I also have my grandmother's hardback edition.  There are very few books I own two copies of.  (Harriet the Spy is the only other, I believe.) 

The real reason I wanted to babble, was, however, on the topic of longing.  That feeling that is hungry and incessant.  Sometimes it hibernates for years, but a few words from a friend can awaken it with a vengeance. 

Recently, in my a.m. ponderings and prayers, I was moved to ask for "light to be cast on my shadow self."  I watched as I greedily awaited what would come.  I admit to having a sick fascination with drama. But I am also more alive than I have been in a long, long time and although I knew that I was inviting change and maybe some difficult times to my world, I know it is for my own highest good.

 Old feelings started coming to the front of my consciousness again, feelings I had not dealt with for a long time.  I have faith that my cornerstone is higher in my mind now, I hope to not be dragged down into old, debilitating spirals.  Being wracked with uncertainties is not my idea of a good time and I am very aware of my satisfaction these days; my hunger for more is of a practical design:  less clutter, less drama, more awareness of God in my life. 

So when I awoke this morning with that old, familiar hunger in my belly, I lay with it awhile, refusing to let it pull me under.  My shadow self has awakened and is to be acknowledged once again.  I don't feel like packing my bags and I'm not dreaming of a different life.  I am content with my beautiful reality, but the time has come again to look deep inside and feel the truth inside myself.  Time to shed my skin one more time.  Perhaps this time I can do it more lovingly and with eyes wide open.  No need to rip and tear this time. 

The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing.  At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note.  But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know.  We understand.  And still we do it.  Still we do it. 

Thanks for listening . . .

Modoc

"Need anything from Barnes and Noble?" I ask my girl, A, last week.  Being a bookclubber, she often has a novel on her "need" list.  I was there for a Library Tech meeting with my member card in hand.  I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.  "No, but you need to read Modoc," she tells me.

  Modoc, The True Story of the Greatest Elephant that Ever Lived by Ralph Helfer took up my Memorial Day weekend, (along with double batches of potato salad, s'mores bars, and good times with friends and family).  Ralph Helfer is an animal trainer and behaviourist, who specializes in affection and kindness to lead animals to do what he needs.  He was also the last owner of Modoc, an amazing elephant whose life span covered multiple countries and 70 years of adventures.

Modoc was born in Germany and was raised in a circus at the loving hands of Josef Gunterstein.  Josef's only child, Bram, was  born the same day.  Josef finally had the son and daughter he had been waiting a  very long time for.  The two were raised side by side and their bond lasted a lifetime. 

When the circus was sold to an American, Bram stowed away to be with his beloved elephant, leaving behind his recently widowed mother, Gertie, his first love, and his circus family.  The ship sinks and all the animals but Modoc perished.  Modoc floated in the ocean for several days, helping to keep a few survivors alive.  She and Bram rehabilitated in India, at the amazing Elephantorium.  Bram learned even more about elephant training and the bond between all living things. When the American Circus owner heard that Modoc was alive, he was determined to once again separate her and Bram.  Bram sneaks off with her to work the teak forest.  They survived many dangerous adventures and eventually came to the U.S., with Bram being reluctantly hired by the Circus owner who resented his Jewish heritage, but felt Bram owed him big time and was determined to get compensated by working him cheaply.

I'm doing my best not to ruin the whole storyline here, as I highly recommend reading Modoc.  This amazing creature wrapped her trunk around my heart and I shed a few tears as I followed the path she and Bram took together over their lifetimes.  I also really appreciated the spiritual aspects.

Sometimes it is better to accept help than to suffer the consequences without it.  Only men suffer the pride and ego that they themselves have created.  The Creator never gave animals these burdens.  They are of little use, but it is my guess that He had to test us to see if we could overcome. 

All life is built upon steppingstones that reach into the Beyond.  Without them, we could never reach our goals.  Use them, you have earned them, and they are yours.

It is 3:45 a.m. and I haven't slept much this weekend. I finished the book, and turned off the light, but my thoughts went round and round.  I figured a blog was in order.   I don't usually suffer from insomnia, but I guess as long as there are great books around, I'll always have something to turn to.  Pick up Modoc.  You won't regret it.  Thanks, A, for insisting I read this amazing book.  

Let It Snow . . .

I borrowed this picture from another blog.  I took my own pictures, but somehow am missing my memory card to transfer them.  Thanks, Google!

"Wherever you go, there you are", the saying goes.  It's one of my favorites.  Sometimes I use it to point out that a change of location won't necessarily make one's personal problems go away.  (And ain't that the truth?!?) This time however, I am just ruminating on how the things I love when I'm at home, I especially appreciate when I'm away on vacation. 

I married into a family that likes to have fun, both at home and on the road.  After joining this family, I learned the joy of the road trip.  And yes, I mean the joy.  I love that feeling of having the checklist done, the house locked up, the dog being taken care of by awesome neighbors, and that sense of adventure as we pull out of the driveway.  We tend to start our trips with a mighty "woo-hoo", which helps dispel any tension that has invariably accumulated because of that darn checklist.  Vacation is a lot of work; a lot of planning and packing and phone calls to make and arrangements to be made.  About a year ago, I created a printout entitled "Vacation" so I don't have to endlessly list the minutiae that needs to go with us when we take off.  Camera, batteries, snacks, sleeping bags, books, movies, music, oh . . . and clothes!  I have given up trying to plan for the exact amount of clothes for myself.  Inevitably I end up with not enough underwear or socks when I do that.  My checklist has a spot to mark the number of days to plan for, but I just throw in extra of everything to make sure.  This used to drive E nuts, but then a few years ago, Santa took pity on me and got us all our own duffel bags so my overpacking is less noticeable.  (I still pat myself on the back for that stroke of genius.)

Last year, before my father-in-law became terminally ill, my wonderful in-laws purchased a timeshare in Big Bear.  It's fun going back to the same place year after year, especially when it is now officially "ours".  Pulling in last night, my mother-in-law insisted that we take the master bedroom.  I was horrified.  Yes, there's three of us and only one of her now, but still.  Symbolically, he is still with us.  I went out to pull more stuff out of the car and let a few tears fall.  His loss is still right around every corner, reminding me that he is not physically around anymore.  I wonder when the hurt will lessen?

But the point of my ramblings today wasn't to get all emo about death, but to just say that all the stuff I love at home, I love up here in the mountains.  Food, books, movies, gorgeous scenery and fun with family and friends.  I packed three books, my journal, laptop, ipod and favorite beverages.  I officially retired my skiis a few years ago after getting to the bottom of a run and turning to my in-laws and stating that I ****ing hated skiing and was finished.  Sweet, optimistic mom insisted that I was just so good at it and couldn't fathom that I was really done with it all.  My father-in-law just chuckled and bought me a drink at the lodge.  Seriously folks, I have skiied since 1988 and have never loved it.  Never.  The acquisition of the ipod helped create a diversion in my head from the fear and frustration of the lifts and other people coming up behind me too closely and the cold and uncomfortable boots, but not enough.  I finally made my stand and have stuck by it.  Our son is still at the age where he wants me to join him in everything he enjoys.  He was angry with me when he found out I wasn't going on the slopes.  "You might as well have stayed home!" he stated.  What and miss out on my music, books, movies and scenery up here?  Not to mention the freedom of having the day to myself.  They are having fun up there and I am having just as much fun here.  I drove to the store to stock up on a few more supplies before the storm hit and took the "scenic" route.  (One of these days, I'm going to get a GPS!) The store was a madhouse, with everyone stocking up for the next few days. 

My heart and head constantly go back to my dear friends at home who are going through tough times right now, but there's nothing I can do about them except send them love and prayers.  In the meantime, I will crank up this awesome Seal song and start the water for the pasta.  Those hard-playing-athletic people of mine are gonna be hungry.  Thanks for listening.

Wow. What a ride!

Mockingjay emblem

Harriet the Spy, my childhood hero

I have always been drawn to books with strong, female characters.  It's one of the reason I love reading Stephen King books.  When I was young, my life was shaped by books like Walking Out, which tells the story of a city girl who survives a plane crash and lives in the woods until she is rescued.  The Girl Who Owned A City told the story about "the end times" when children were the only survivors and how one girl rallied the children against bullies and re-established some semblance of normality in a world without adults or electricity.  I read and re-read Harriet the Spy.  My dad bought the book for me at a church rummage sale and I still have the original copy.  It's held together by a rubber band.  None of these books affected me like The Hunger Games series, however, and this is said by an adult who has immersed herself in YA lit for the past few years. 

I just finished book three of The Hunger Games and wow.  These books are INTENSE!  I read the first one shortly after it came out and had to wait (very impatiently) for books two and then three to make their way into my greedy hands.  I will do my best not to ruin the story for anyone who is moved to read it, so bear with me as I tell a bit of this amazing story.

It is the future.  The United States no longer exists.  The country is divided into 12 districts, in a communistic state, run by "The Capitol".  People are told what to do, who to marry and have barely enough to eat.  They are not allowed to leave their districts, which are surrounded by electrical fencing.  Katniss Everdeen is about 14 years old, and the main provider for her family, since her dad died in the mines and her mom has been swallowed by depression.  She has learned how to escape the boundaries and hunts to supplement her hungry family.  The title, The Hunger Games represents the horrific event that is held to amuse the people who live in the privileged Capitol and their president, Snow.  Many years ago, District 13 rebelled and were supposedly defeated.  As a gruesome reminder to stay submissive, two children from each district are required to fight to the death on public television.  (Think "The Running Man" but with kids.)  Katniss' little sister, Prim is called to join the games.  Katniss steps up to take her place.  What follows is a bloody and heartbreaking adventure, where only Katniss and her fellow district tribute, Peeta survives.  Katniss eventually becomes the figurehead of the rebellion against President Snow.  In an effort to quell the rebels, Katniss and Peeta are called back into the arena.  (I said that I would do my best not to spoil anything, but I think I may have already given some plot away.  Tough.  Read it anyway!)  In book three, Mockingjay, named after Katniss and the discarded weaponry of the Capitol (Mockingjay's were hybrid birds that and the capability to repeat what they heard to the establishment.  They were discarded after being fed misleading information by the rebelling citizens but survived and pick-up song and speech they hear).  Mockingjay has become Katniss' symbol.  Ok.  I've told you a lot.  Now stop reading and go read The Hunger Games and don't stop until you've read all three.  You may weep, you may cheer this amazing heroine, you will probably love her and all those she loves.  Then call me.  We'll chat.

That Rush You Get . . . Part 2

As if the excitement of buying all those books from the Scholastic Book Fair wasn't enough, a few days later I found myself at the local Barnes and Noble with a gift card worth over $700 in my hot little hand.

It started off innocently enough.  I was at the store to sign some paperwork confirming that our school would be  holding an event with Barnes and Noble in December.  The gift card was a result of all the hard work last years' librarian put in at her event. 

I had a short list of titles to purchase while I was there, some more copies of Twilight and Breaking Dawn, some manga, the second book of Skeleton Creek, and a Goosebumps book that had been requested.  Then the Barnes and Noble rep gave me a tour of the area where we would be setting up our event.  She showed me a copy of a local author I might be interested in having come to my school.  I grabbed a copy of his book, (autographed with a cool octopus picture on the title page) and was ready to find the other titles.  Then the rep had the brilliant idea of getting me a cart.

Oh Dear.  Barnes and Noble doesn't provide carts to the everyday shopper.  They don't even have little baskets, that I have noticed, anyway.  So she comes out from her office with this funky little dolly-type thing that is made for holding books.  Lots of books. 

Whooee.  With a book cart and a gift card for over $700, you can only imagine how much fun I had!  I got all the books on my list and about 30 more.  Seriously.  I spent over half of the card.  Yup.  That's right.  Only a little over half.  That means I get to come back.  Good.  I already have a list started.

beep....beep....beep....beep....beep....beep...

Inventory at the library.  I've got my ipod in my ears and a cordless scanner in my hand.  I'm scanning in the non-fiction section, one book at a time.  Beep . . . beep . . . beep.

Our school's twin servers crashed about 2 months ago and we lost track of which patron had which book.  When we re-installed our circulation program, last year's graduated seniors were back in the system and the freshman were nowhere to be found. 

In an effort to get back as many books as we could, we promoted a "no fines" campaign.  People thought we were so generous, to delete all  previous fines and not charge any more through the rest of the year.  Little did they know we simply wanted out books back.  I posted witty announcements like, "A Child Called It . . . Bob Marley biographies . . . Anne Frank, Diary of a Young Girl . . . Come on ya'll we need our books back.  Don't be lazy!  No fines for late returns!"  and stuff like that. 

We did get a lot back, our section holding The Outsiders looks pretty full.  Got back both copies of Always Running.  My grin was huge when someone returned our seriously late copy of Brisinger, the only copy we had.  Then the staff thought we should get a jump start on the inventory because 1)  I am probably getting transferred to another school and 2)  Who knows how many days of summer the new person will have to devote to inventory.  Our inventory program is very unforgiving, however, and I goofed and ALL our books were marked to "missing status".  Needless to say, an inventory was needed in a real bad way.

I am on this "consciously conscious" kick and am watching my thoughts a lot.  As I was scanning and scanning and scanning, I was thinking about the site where I am proably going to be transferred to.  It is a middle school, but not the one I started in.  I thought about the decorations I wanted to put up there and looked forward to reading some more of the fiction there.  I am big-time into middle and high school lit these days. 

Beep . . . beep . . . beep. . . I noticed my thoughts and feelings touched on sadness and regret.  The incoming freshman to the school I am currently assigned to were my 7th graders a year ago.  My biggest wish was to see them again as incoming freshman.  I acknowledged the sadness and reminded myself to be unattached to the outcome.  All year I have focused on this detachment train of thought.  It is not easy to change how we think!  Soon I felt neutral in my feelings, though not before sending out a little wish to the universe to be able to stay at this site.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . Summer school is being held in the library while I work.  I have my ipod on quiet enough to hear the beeps and in case anyone needs to speak with me.  The summer school teacher is nice but I can tell she can keep these kids in line.  The are upcoming seniors who need this make-up class in order to graduate.  I am amazed at her outfit.  At first glance, it is a matching floral top and skirt, but after a second-take, it is glaringly mismatched in a cool, don't give a sh## way.  She doesn't care.  She can make it work.  Beep . . . beep . . . beep.

My ipod goes randomly from one artist to the next.  Sarah Maclachlan, Tori Amos, Cypress Hill, Bob Marley, Rollins Band, Man is the Bastard, Soulfly, Emmylou Harris.  I take note of who is performing and which books I am scanning.  Tennyson, Basketball, Climbing Mt. Everest.

My brain turns to my idea of putting display shelves up on the non-ficiton walls.  They are blank and there are so many interesting books that haven't been touched since I did inventory last July. 

Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .  There is a book out of order.  Reach and exchange it for it's rightful place.  When I remember, I put my hand behind the books to find any lost puppies.  Every once in awhile, I find one that's been pushed back when a student replaced a book. 

Then my brain starts thinking about all the creative energy put into all this music and all these books.  The Mars Volta kicks in as I scan a book of essays titled, How to be Alone.  Living Colour plays their funky jams as I scan SeinLanguage by Jerry Seinfeld.  I didn't know we had this . . . Eric Clapton rocks on and I find a chewed lollypop stick.  Devo plays while I scan Walden and Civil Disobedience. 

Beep. . . beep . . . beep . . . Oops, Volume 2 is shelved after Volume 4.  Madonna croons a sad song.  Out of curiosity, I open a really old copy entitled Anthology of Romanticism from 1933.  It was last checked-out in 2003.  Not bad. 

Dig, Primus, Eagles of Death Metal, The BBQ (E and Jim's project band) play as I scan in the plays.  U2 comes on while I wait for the information to transfer from the scanner to my computer.  The section I just finished contained 728 books (read 728 beeps) with only 4 missing.  Not bad.

Tad kicks in as I go back to the stacks to scan some more.

Thanks for listening.

Thrift Shop Junkie

I love to shop and I love to buy things cheap.  There's a song by Voodoo Glow Skulls called "Thrift Shop Junkie".  A few years ago, E introduced and dedicated the song to me.  Sometimes while perusing possible used treasures, it runs like a theme song through my brain.

Today I had a little time to kill (after getting my eyebrows done and while waiting for E to finish up work so we could "do lunch') so I visited the Brother Benecio Thrift Shop in Oceanside. 

I spent $25 bucks.  Bought a swimsuit (with the original tags still on) for $2.  Score!  Plus . . . it's Sparkly!

I also scored (off the dollar rack), a t-shirt with this funky chick surrounded by books.  It says "book woman" and if I am anything, it is a book woman!  (Got 3 new ones on grace and spirituality in the mail this week, plus bought the 2 Marvel graphic renditions of Stephen King's The Gunslinger at Barnes and Noble with giftcard money.) 

The one drawback to buying clothes at most thrift shops is that you usually can't try the items on.  I got an adorable red top with SNAPS (awesome), but the sleeves are a bit short.  A usual story for me.  It fits alright besides that, so I can wear it with the sleeves rolled up a little if it bugs.  I love the red, floral print.  E wasn't so excited about it, but I didn't expect him to be.  I like it . . .

I also bought two skirts.  The jean one is a bit tight but I can get away with it.  The long, black one will fit better when I lose a little of this amazing weight I seem to have embraced lately. 

As for the sundress, well, I wonder what I read when I thought the tag said it would fit me.  Not by a long shot.  Oh well.  It's washing up and I will scout around my skinny friends to see if any of them want it.

I bought about 10 paperback books.  Kid friendly.  I stashed some of them in a bag in my truck.  Tomorrow I will schlepping around 3 kids who will have been together for almost 24 hours.  If they start shining or bickering, I will toss the books at them.  A bit of diversion never hurt anyone.  I bought a few of the other books (including the ever-popular Twilight) in hopes that I will be working at the high school next year and can hold another BookSwap.  These will be gobbled up quick by the students if given the chance.

The last two things I bought were a small booklight (run on AA's, not those funky tiny batteries) and a big soup pot.  I walked away from the soup pot initially, but my impulse brought me back.  It was new and shiny and there were a few times these past months that I had wished I had another big pot to create yummy food in when my 2 big pots were busy.

Now to go through my closet and donate to our local thrift shop.  Gotta keep the stuff moving!  I read recently that my spirituality can be hindered by too many material goods.  I also read that if something can be lost in a sunk ship, it doesn't really belong to you.  I guess that would apply to pretty much everything I hold dear in my life.  Stuff to ponder.

Stephen King's "Under the Dome"

I am a huge Stephen King fan. Huge. He is on my short list of people I would like to hang out with. Even though some of his stories absolutely terrify me (The Shining, Pet Semetary, Carrie, (and I will never read Cujo again)), he has a way about him that is comforting. It's like he says, "Dear Constant Reader, I will tell you a story now. You might get grossed out. You might cry. But you're gonna enjoy yourself and I'll hold your hand from time to time. Trust me."

My favorite book of his is The Stand, which is about the United States after a superflu bug is set loose from a military base and kills 99.9% of humans (and dogs). It is a monster of a book, weighing in at about 4 lbs. Seriously. I have read it at least 4 times.

Last year, Under the Dome came out. As usual, I waited until I got my hands on it at the library. I am on the waiting list for the audio version, but found it in regular form the other day when I took Jake to replenish his supply of audio books. (He was sick and bed-bound. Nothing like a little Goosebumps to make you feel better, I guess!) King's latest tome caught my eye. Without thought, I picked it up, cradling it like a long-lost babe. (I had been waiting A YEAR!)

Now this book is 1074 pages, including his Author Note (in which he stated that he started the (now lost) manuscript in 1976.) I have a huge pile of books by my bed (and I am currently reading at least half of them, have more books by my comfy chair in the dining room with bookmarks sticking out of them, a book in my car, plus two at work. This "Dome" book pretty much negates anything else for the time being. (Although I have to admit being pretty into John Joseph's autobiography, The Evolution of a Cro-Mangnon and will find a little time to keep chugging through the life-changing Women Who Run with the Wolves (by Charissa Pinkola Estes).

Chapter one of Under the Dome begins with a woodchuck being cut in half when a mysterious dome slams down around a town. Birds in full flight slam into it, breaking their necks. A woman is learning to fly a plane. It rams into the dome, body parts raining down with fiery plane pieces. Another woman is gardening, her arm outstretched. It is lopped off.

It's gonna be a good one. Stay tuned.