Oh how I hate flurries!

Doesn't it always seem that bad news travels in a pack? I've certainly seem my share of personal (i.e. family) bad news, but when I broaden the scope, here's what I see scattered around:

• A dear friend whose doctor needs to have evil things done to him for ignoring her phone calls for weeks until she showed up in his exam room in early-stage organ failure because of medication he prescribed! [this brings up ghosts from my childhood and freaks me way the fuck out in very abnormal ways]
• Someone who is hospitalized tonight because of a fall a couple of days ago.
• A coworker who's father died just under a month ago.
• My sister needs a tuneup in her brain electrodes, but there are some issues there. Long story. Of course.
• Another friend who's mother died about 10 days before mine.
• And a couple of others' whose parents are at the stage my mom was at about 5 months ago.
• People forgetting the whole "innocent till proven guilty in a court of law" thing. Accusation doesn't equal fact.
• Ongoing medical issues with another friend who has, essentially, had a headache since November. Every day. Can you imagine dealing with a three-year-old 24/7 with a headache? Yeah. Doctors have no idea. Doctors suck.
• Gout in another family member. Though that's easing due to--of all things!--cherries.
• Stupid men involving themselves in extramarital situations and having their lives destroyed over it (not to mention the lives of their wives and families). Guys: KEEP YOUR DICK IN YOUR PANTS, and your pants zipped/glued shut!
• The legal maneuvering over my mom's broken leg is still hanging fire in our family. See footnote here.
• The economy is hitting home in libraries across the country. Ohio is slashing and burning its way through their astoundingly fabulous libraries. Our city is sending ominous links via email to articles about other communities' belt-tightening as we approach the budget planning sessions for 2010-11.
• Schedule Nazi just doesn't seem to understand that some of us never want to see her again.
• PTF pissed me off this week in a way that he hasn't achieved for months. Possibly over a year, in fact. Over something insanely stupid. Of course. What else is new?
• [whinge] I work Tuesday-Friday this week. I'm going to ALA on Saturday--just for the exhibits--all day. I work Sunday; Sundays S U C K! And then I work Monday-Thursday next week. So basically I'm working 7/7-16 every day.[/whinge] The problem is exacerbated by the feeling like I'm at work for 7 or so hours daily and get virtually no cataloging done. Since that's the part of my job I love the most, I'm getting whinier and whinier about it, not to mention behind-er.
• Our super-wonderful senior shelvers will be leaving for college in 5 weeks or so. WAAAAAHHHH!!! Am so sad about this. For me; not for them, of course.

There's also the fact that the new director, while starting to get her legs under her as far as the job goes, is still needing a LOT of information regularly. And we've undertaken to make some rather ginormous changes in some of of our major work procedures...there's a lot of stress. I like change. These will be good changes when they are all in place and understood...but it's hard.

This is the sort of mood where I probably could use a large glass of wine (or two), but I'm too afraid of using alcohol as a crutch (family history + ) so I probably won't. But the inside of my skin itches from all this drama and angst and things to think about that I don't even know where to start. Gah.

See ya soon, Mom

Mom found her escape from pain at about 9:15 p.m. last night.

Quick turnaround

I'm flying to Colorado tomorrow. I feel that I have to, not only for my future peace of mind, but for Mom's current peace of mind. I also feel like I need to give my sister a break on carrying the load. She's tough but this stage of things is particularly hard to deal with alone. My other sister simply can't physically be here, and my brother has (apparently) checked out of things. Neither of Marie's daughters (nor any other grandchildren) are picking up the slack either. That leaves me.

A word to the wise: chickens really do come home to roost. And you reap what you sow. I'm not going to explain that except to say that when you treat people with love and respect and understanding, usually they'll return the favor.

I bought a return ticket that is non-refundable, so clearly I expect to return on Wednesday regardless of where things stand with Mom. I'm not sure if that makes me an optimist or not.

In the meantime, Beast has a business trip around a fairly close-by portion of his sales territory, so Sparky is going to travel with him, spend lots of time in hotel rooms (and the car), and bond with Dad. They'll actually leave tomorrow too and return home sometime Thursday.

My short-term goal tomorrow: don't cry in public. This means, in effect, "Don't think. Distractions are good!"

My long-term goal for the week: ....

As usual, I have none beyond getting through it alive and with some shreds of my pride and mental health intact. I have pretty low standards.

Marie and Jan do have a computer, so I'll be able to check in, but not to the level that is "normal" for me. So, I'll see you all Wednesday or Thursday.

Upsetting

I grew up in Colorado, in a suburb of Denver. My parents and I went to church about 3 miles from my house, in yet another suburb. That church was and is 2.5 miles as the crow flies from Columbine High School. When I was in high school in the late 70s and early 80s, many of the other teens at my church went to school at Columbine.

So, on April 19 20, 1999, I watched with the same profound shock and horror as the rest of the country as two boys destroyed any shards of any feeling of safety we had left about our country's schools. The acrid icing on that poisonous cake was that I knew alumni, I knew the community, I knew the places the national media was talking about: Swedish Medical Center (I was a candystriper there), Clement Park (teen hangout), Ken Caryl Ranch (lots of our church members lived there), and so on.

Knowing the area, of course, didn't make the event any more comprehensible. The explanations that the media quickly began to promote didn't make a lot of sense either. And that school's architecture is forever etched in my brain as a building I don't want to be near. Ever.

In 2001, we went to visit my family (who now live elsewhere in Colorado) and stopped in Denver for a couple of days. One of those days was a Sunday, so we went back to "my" church. There were a few discrete items in the building and moments during the service where the presence of the killings loomed large, even two years later.

The next day, we went to visit all the family graves (most of my family is in two large cemeteries on different sides of the city). As we drove through the cemetery looking for my father's burial site, we slowly approached 13 crosses standing in an "island" in the roadway. My father's resting place is about 25 feet from the official memorial for the Columbine victims. I believe those crosses were wooden at that time. They have since been replaced by 8'-tall black granite crosses. (If you watch the virtual tour here, you'll see the crosses at the end, briefly.)

Aside: my father built the original mortuary at this cemetery in the mid-1960s. He was paid, at least in part, in kind: four burial plots.

ANYWAY. I'm reading the book pictured here--Dave Cullen's "Columbine." It is very detailed, easy to read...and I've been trying hard not to read it at bedtime so that it doesn't affect my dreams too much.

I am about 2/3 through the book. I may have to stop reading it. I spent part of today compulsively Googling factoids, drawings, schematics, and photos since the book itself is all text. And I came across a photo today that I never should have embiggened. I knew when I saw it small that clicking on it would be a bad idea. And I watched my hand as the index finger banged down on the left mouse button anyway. Now I can't get the image out of my head, and it only fueled my compulsion to do more research.

I know that what I'm looking for is twofold: 1) Why did Harris and Klebold do what they did? and 2) How can I be sure that my son will never, ever, be involved in something like this? I know that reading this book is not going to answer either of those questions. It's the same quandary I had in 1999 immediately after the shootings happened, and after 9/11, and all the other times when I've wanted nothing more than to go far away from the world and protect my son from Everything Bad. The panic will pass. In the meantime, I can't help but look at every passing teenager with the thought "This could be the one. Or that one could be...."

The mission trip in a week--where I'm surrounded by 60 high school kids 24/7--could be fun if I don't get over this tout de suite. Anxiety + paranoia is not a great frame of mind to be in anyway. It makes for difficulty in concentration among other things. There are no answers, and eventually I'll get back to accepting that fact.

More screaming at God

That would be me. Screaming W.T.F.??. Because really, if being a Christian means that I have to condone this in any way whatsoever, God, I'm out. Just out, done, finished. Done. Over.

But I don't think it does. But people who twist around the "good news" this way make me so very angry. Good thing He can take it, from me and from others who are just as angry.

Thank you

...to all the veterans and those currently serving in the military. I appreciate your sacrifices, be they large or small.

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.

I heard the sound of Taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That Taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.

Freedom Is Not Free - Kelly Strong

EDITED to add: Go read this. Don't you dare get the fo0d out for the BBQ or turn on the TV or whatever before doing so.

Elijah (Rich Mullins)

[this comes from my favorite Rich Mullin's CD] The Jordan is waiting for me to cross through
My heart is aging I can tell
So Lord, I'm begging for one last favor from You
Here's my heart take it where You will

This life has shown me how we're mended and how we're torn
How it's okay to be lonely as long as you're free
Sometimes my ground was stoney
And sometimes covered up with thorns
And only You could make it what it had to be
And now that it's done
Well if they dressed me like a pauper
Or if they dined me like a prince
If they lay me with my fathers
Or if my ashes scatter on the wind
I don't care

But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars
It'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye

There's people been friendly, but they'd never be your friends
Sometimes this has bent me to the ground *
Now that this is all ending
I want to hear some music once again
'Cause it's the finest thing that I have ever found

But the Jordan is waiting
Though I ain't never seen the other side
Still they say you can't take in the things you have here
So on the road to salvation
I stick out my thumb and He gives me a ride
And His music is already falling on my ears

There's people been talking
They say they're worried about my soul
Well, I'm here to tell you I'll keep rocking
'Til I'm sure it's my time to roll
. . . ________
*very disappointing when these are Church People

Our Buddy

...curled up and went to sleep in the corner of the cage for the last time last night.

Sparky found him this morning.

RIP, dude, RIP.

Buddy with Ruka behind him, Fall 2008

[edited to add photo]

Confluence

It's weird how life works.

In the past couple of months I have discovered two bloggy friends live in the same town as one another. They are 100% unrelated in every other way, don't know they live within miles of each other, have completely different careers, and are generally about 180-degrees in every way.

Also in the past couple of months I have found out the Secret Identities of two of my favorite library bloggers. It's quite weird to be in on the secrets (one of these people doesn't actually know I know, either, thus doubling or tripling the secrety-ness)--and no I'm not telling who is who on penalty of Extreme Blog Dishonor!

I could go on about the stuff I hear in youth group that I have to keep quiet--nothing dramatic, nothing scary, just teenage drama mostly. There are a lot of things that fall into the "what happens in youth group stays in youth group" rule, and then there are just the things those kids say/email to me that I know are for my ears/eyes only.

I just find it freaky that the universe has rather suddenly decided to entrust me with a whole passel of stuff right now. Apparently I am now, officially, a good Secret Keeper. The irony is astounding.

---

Urban Word:

Frisbeetarianism: dThe philosophy that when you die, your soul goes up on a roof and gets stuck. (George Carlin)

I think I may have spent some time living the Frisbeetarian life this winter, and was that roof ever bleak!

I love you, George, wherever you are.

Poetry Month

Religion
by Robert Wrigley

The last thing the old dog brought home
from her pilgrimage through the woods
was a man's dress shoe, a black, still-shiny wing-tip.

I feared at first a foot might be in it.
But no, it was just an ordinary shoe.
And while it was clear it had been worn,

and because the mouth of the dog--
a retriever, skilled at returning ducks and geese---
was soft, the shoe remained a good shoe

and I might have given it
to a one-legged friend
but all of them dressed their prostheses too,

so there it was. A rescued
or a stolen odd shoe. Though in the last months
of the dog's life, I noticed

how the shoe became her friend, almost,
something she slept on or near
and nosed whenever she passed,

as though checking it to see if,
in her absence, that mysterious, familiar,
missing foot, might not have come again.

Poetry Month

Travelin' Shoes
by Cornelius Eady

And at last, I get the phone call.  The blues rolls into
my sleepy ears at five A.M., a dry, official voice from
my father's hospital.  A question, a few quick facts,
and my daddy's lying upstate on the coolin' floor.
     Death, it seems, was kinder to him in his last hour
than life was in his last four months.
     Death, who pulls him to a low ebb, then slowly
floods over his wrecked body like a lover.
     Cardio-vascular collapse, the polite voice is telling
me, but later my cousin tells me, he arrives on the
ward before they shut my father's eyes and mouth to
see the joy still resting on his face from the moment
my daddy finally split his misery open.

Poetry Month

the sonnet-ballad
by Gwendolyn Brooks

Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?
They took my lover's tallness off to war,
Left me lamenting. Now I cannot guess
What I can use an empty heart-cup for.
He won't be coming back here any more.
Some day the war will end, but, oh, I knew
When he went walking grandly out that door
That my sweet love would have to be untrue.
Would have to be untrue. Would have to court
Coquettish death, whose impudent and strange
Possessive arms and beauty (of a sort)
Can make a hard man hesitate--and change.
And he will be the one to stammer, "Yes."
Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?

This reminds me of the Aeniad for some reason.

Annus

Remember the Queen of England saying in 1992 that it had been an "annus horribilus" for her that year?

I can relate. I'm trying like hell to manage and deal, but wow there is a shitload of pain and grief around me, not to mention what's inside of me. I can't even keep track of what's going on, really, just that lots of friends have lost family members recently, lots of other friends are facing the death of family members, and lots of people have been really sick for a long time. Add to that news of teenagers being hit by cars, kids killing themselves, local educators being incredibly--CRIMINALLY--stupid.

Jenny and I have always cheered each other up by saying, "Could be worse. Could be raining." It is raining. As I said earlier today, the volcanic eruptions and earthquakes should be starting here any second. We've already got thunder, lightning, flooding, and fire going for us.

I just realized that one of our regular patrons actually talks like Bill Murray in Caddyshack.

Yes there is a connection. But I'm going to bed. You'll have to sort it all out while I sleep.

Poetry Month

Mid-term Break
by Seamus Heaney

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close,
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on the left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in a cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

Poetry Month

I Am a Cowboy in the Boat of Ra
by Ishmael Reed

'The devil must be forced to reveal any such physical evil (potions, charms, fetishes, etc.) still outside the body and these must be burned.' (Rituale Romanum, published 1947, endorsed by the coat-of-arms and introductory letter from Francis Cardinal Spellman)

 I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra,
sidewinders in the saloons of fools
bit my forehead   like   O
the untrustworthiness of Egyptologists
who do not know their trips. Who was that
dog-faced man? they asked, the day I rode
from town.

School marms with halitosis cannot see
the Nefertiti fake chipped on the run by slick
germans, the hawk behind Sonny Rollins' head or
the ritual beard of his axe; a longhorn winding
its bells thru the Field of Reeds.

 I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. I bedded
down with Isis, Lady of the Boogaloo, dove
deep down in her horny, stuck up her Wells-Far-ago
in daring midday getaway. 'Start grabbing the
blue,' I said from top of my double crown.

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Ezzard Charles
of the Chisholm Trail. Took up the bass but they
blew off my thumb. Alchemist in ringmanship but a
sucker for the right cross.

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Vamoosed from
the temple i bide my time. The price on the wanted
poster was a-going down, outlaw alias copped my stance
and moody greenhorns were making me dance;
   while my mouth's
shooting iron got its chambers jammed.

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Boning-up in
the ol' West i bide my time. You should see
me pick off these tin cans whippersnappers. I
write the motown long plays for the comeback of
Osiris. Make them up when stars stare at sleeping
steer out here near the campfire. Women arrive
on the backs of goats and throw themselves on
my Bowie.

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Lord of the lash,
the Loup Garou Kid. Half breed son of Pisces and
Aquarius. I hold the souls of men in my pot. I do
the dirty boogie with scorpions. I make the bulls
keep still and was the first swinger to grape the taste.

I am a cowboy in his boat. Pope Joan of the
Ptah Ra. C'mere a minute willya doll?
Be a good girl and
bring me my Buffalo horn of black powder
bring me my headdress of black feathers
bring me my bones of Ju-Ju snake
go get my eyelids of red paint.
Hand me my shadow

I'm going into town after Set

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra

look out Set   here i come Set
to get Set     to sunset Set
to unseat Set  to Set down Set

               usurper of the Royal couch
               imposter RAdio of Moses' bush
               party pooper O hater of dance
               vampire outlaw of the milky way

This poem makes me smile. Doesn't it make you smile? It's a little bit of a rictus, really.

I love the imagery, the surprising complicity of Old West symbolism with Egyptian mythology.

Death, yeah, is pretty much a party pooper. Unless you're Irish.

"Uncle"

OK.

Enough.

One of the guys who works (worked) at our library system HQ--age 36--died night before last, of a heart attack. To the best of my knowlege, he was in good health, and relatively fit.

Talk about a kick in the shorts reminding me to make my peace with people sooner rather than later, because later it may not be possible.


And...

...can we be done now?

Whew!

Mood: Tiiiyyy-yerrrrd
Hair: French-braided outwards, still 98% in place after 15 hours
Eyes: I apparently don't look well, but they don't feel horrible
Listening to: Beast talking to his family...and golf (in February--WTF? Can you say "torture"??)

The meeting went fine (though of course there was drama--when is there not?), and we had no major crises with meal prep/cleanup except a broken plate and two broken coffee cups. Sparky is no longer allowed to touch anything breakable. (He also spent 20 minutes in tears...still working that out.) We ran out of spaghetti sauce, but we have about 10 lbs. of noodles left. The kids earned about $30 each for about 90 minutes of work.

I need to send an email to my family about what's going on in our lives. Trust me, you regular readers know a helluva lot more than most of my family. It's too complicated to explain to them.

Two quick things: an acquaintance from church probably died today (we got the news via prayer chain email that his wife had requested the pastor immediately), and a coworker at the library is having more tests done to ensure that whatever has been going on with her for the past several months is NOT cancer. She looks quite ill, in a worrisome way.

Oh, and the NIU thing...hit even closer to home this weekend. And that's all I'm willing to say about that.

Did I mention I'm tired? I also have a killer sinus headache, which has been around all afternoon and is fading into manageable proportions now that I FINALLY took the pill I set aside to take at 2 this afternoon. After I compose this email to my family, I will be going to bed. No memes tonight. So, up I go to turn on the heated mattress pad so the bed is all ready for me when the email has been sent.

Good night.


P.S. Also, this is funny.

I hate this winter

Can we be done now?

Because, yeah, kinda tired of hearing bad news...totally tired of winter. Between the two, and the whole "itchy, red eyes" thing, I'm toast.

The latest:

• Dean, back in the hospital, hasn't had surgery yet. Not sure what's going on there. I'm hearing everything third-hand, underwater, in Esperanto, from someone who only speaks Basque.



• Maniac found out this week that her dad has metastatic bladder cancer. Two days later she fell on her porch and whacked her head (as mentioned earlier this week).



• James, in a completely retarded relationship. He's pushing toward romance, but she couldn't be sending any louder "not interested" signals in response.



• One of the victims from Thursday went to high school 40 minutes from us.



• The father of my longest-term best friend died this morning after a week-long heart surgery. That's the short version of what started out as pretty basic bypass and turned into something else.

Really. Can't we just...I dunno, have a do-over starting about last November 15?

What in the HELL!

OK, this is just a little too close to home. I somehow feel like the idea of having Sparky sign up for online college courses in a few years might not be such a bad one.

OK, not really. But...

My heart goes out to everyone affected by this horrible thing.

Oddments

• Work today was...annoying. I spent over an hour trying to a) download an ebook onto this here laptop, and then b) transfer it to my MP3 player. I was, eventually, successful on a), but failed dramatically at b). And now my laptop is snubbing my Zen. This came about after an abbreviated attempt at doing just this thing last Sunday. So, the upshot is that I have two downloaded books on my laptop, and no way to transfer them to the Zen...and I've lost the manual for the Zen here at home somewhere.



• The highlight of the day is that we got our copy of OJ's tell-all, the money going to the Goldman family. [This, by the way, was not the book I downloaded!] I *totally love* the cover layout. There's a tiny little "If" inside the first I of the title itself.



• What I should be doing right now: figuring out how to use the church website software. I've had the instruction manual for ten days now; it's less than a foot from my left elbow. I can't seem to make myself start.



• I also should be prepping for mentoring on Saturday. --sigh--
  
  
• My RSS feed for the local paper informed me this morning that there was a flight-for-life rescue going on about halfway between my house and work about an hour after I arrived today. I have since found out that a teenager blew a stop sign, and drove out in front of a motorcyclist who plowed into his car at highway speed. The motorcyclist was pronounced dead at the hospital later in the afternoon. When that kid got up this morning, he was 17 and carefree; two hours later, he's got blood on his hands, and his life has changed forever.



• That sort of put the rest of my evening into perspective.



• There are some really scary people who use my library. I just wanted to remind you all of that fact. There are also some really ICKY people. I wonder if wearing a radiation suit while working in public would scare away the nice, normal people. Yeah. Probably so.



• We had shrimp arrabiata for dinner. I laugh whenever I say "arrabiata" because of Eddie Izzard. If you don't know why, it will only confuse you more when I say that Darth Vader has never been funnier than when ordering penne al'arrabiata at the Death Star canteen.



• I have "new hair" again. OK, it's the same old hair I had Monday, but it's slightly redder, a little shorter, and it smells really good. You'll have to trust me on this.



• I love Meebo. I am currently IMing my sweetie (who is in the city next to the capital of a state that looks a lot like an obese, left square-bracket) from my webpage--this very one--because his StooPid company software won't let him use Yahoo or Gmail to IM "normal." He's telling me about the oddballs in the hotel restaurant last night, including a woman who announced to the entire restaurant and bar that she sleeps naked on silk sheets.



• When I travel, no one does anything remotely bizarre like this in my vicinity. Or maybe I just don't notice? Probably the latter. Is that because the people with whom I travel ARE the most bizarre people in any given situation? No. That can't be it, can it?



• My eyes...don't hurt...! But they are dry and tired and itchy. So I think I'm done here now.



• Besides, I just had to do a hard reboot of the laptop to finish this post after it froze up during the uploading of the OJ book cover.



• So, yeah, I'm off to bath, then sleep. In pajamas. In my bed, made up with decidedly NON-silk sheets.