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.

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.