A disappointment

My smoothie-maker hates me. I don't know why. All I've ever offered it is love, a nice home in the kitchen, and ritual cleaning after each use. But lately it has become possessed. Making fruit smoothies it decides it does not wish to remain together and the base releases from the plastic cup, sending out juices to stain my nice white counter. I thought perhaps I was working it too hard, making smoothies that were too thick, but today it did it with a very thin liquid. I wanted to make a frozen chai latté to celebrate the completion of my final paper, and I thought I would give it a try. I made sure everything was there and tightly fitted together, yet it still drained liquid all over my counter. I think it sensed that I was about to add more ice, and it just couldn't take it. I'm sorry, hun, but that's just the way a smoothie works . . . it needs to be thick. What else could I do? I sighed, cleaned up the mess, set my smoothie-maker aside, and borrowed my housemates, which delivered up a magnificent frozen chai latté. I do not wish to abandon my own smoothie-maker; it was good to me for six long months, but I'm afraid it may be time to call the smoothie-maker doctor to see what might be done to sustain and/or appease this one.

Now what?

Three and a half pages left to write in the morning, proofreading, then three hours of class and I'm done. How strange. This is really it. Graduation was Friday afternoon, and it was nice. It wasn't a real graduation; they preferred to term it a "recognition ceremony," but it had the feel of a graduation, even if I won't get my diploma until the end of September. So now what? I've been in school for the last eighteen years, and I don't have a job yet, so I'm kind of in limbo land. I haven't even gone to my last class yet, and already I feel as though there is something missing, some important part of my life that will suddenly be gone. I'm stuck in the liminality of it all!

So cool, in that totally-not-nerdy sort of a way . . .

I've moved on from the octavo books to the quarto/folio book section in Special Collections. Before I had picked up from where someone else had left off so I began my evaluation in PS, American Literature, which is fine except that the bulk of the books were dated 1970-2006. If I'm doing a preservation assessment, I don't want there to be anything wrong, but I do want there to be the possibility that there could be something wrong. But yesterday I finished the Z section of the octavos, so I moved on to the pre-1700 books of the quarto and folio books. I love it! The first thing I pulled off the shelf is the oldest item in the library, dating from the 15th century, though exactly when is unknown. This is a rubricated, codex manuscript bound between heavy boards, and it's terribly cool!

Today, though, I ran across some interesting things as well. One was a 1639 Natural History in excellent condition. As I was flipping through it to check the binding, certain words set in italics caught my eye, and I stopped at one spot to read about horse teeth. Surely everyone has at some point heard the phrase "don't look a gift horse in the mouth." But why would anyone do this? To tell the horse's age. Right. I've been told that you can tell a horse's age by looking at it's teeth. . . How?

Horses have, at three yeares old, a Tooth put forth, which they call the Colt's Tooth; And at foure yeares old, there commeth the Mark-Tooth, which hath a Hole, as big as you may lay a Pease within it; And that weareth shorter and shorter, every yeare; Till that at eight yeares old, the Tooth is smooth, and the Hole gone; And then they say; That the Marke is out of the Horse's Mouth.

If I could have, I'd have sat and read through the whole book today, but of course I had other work to do, but I absolutely love the random bits of information I get through working here. This little morsel is from Sylva Sylvarum: Or, A Naturall Historie.

This brings me to my next exciting discovery, for the spelling for the book title was actually Sylva Sylvarvm. This is not surprising given that the Latin alphabet did not originally have the letters U, W, and J. Instead, V was used for both U and W, while I was used for J. I knew all of this before, but what I discovered today was that the introduction of these new letters was not necessarily seamless, and I have to wonder if there was misunderstanding among some as to just what was going on with their alphabet. I ran across at least two books today which surprised me by replacing Vs with Us. So, for example, Henry the Seventh was written as Henry the Seuenth. I think I feel a future research topic coming on!

Hahvud called

Can I just say (as if you can stop me!) how much I love coming home after a long, hard day to find a note taped to my bedroom door that begins as such: "Harvard called . . ." I love the way it sounds! Unfortunately, I didn't make it home yesterday until about 9:00, so I missed the human resources office by hours. Not to fear, though, for Harvard called again today. What I thought would be a call to set up a more exact time for my interview turned out to be but a delay. Summertime schedules are just too difficult to work with, so now they can't bring me in until sometime in mid-September. Sound good to me! I'll have more of a "vacation" at home this way, which means that I'll have more time to apply for other jobs, and I'll probably be home long enough that I could pick up a part-time/temporary job. I'm thinking I'll apply to the local public library as well as check with the college to see if they can use me. If neither of these pan out, I might substitute teach at my mother's school. I don't know that I can handle thirty anything-year-olds, but at least it's an option. Yay for mini-vacations!

A lunch-time adventure

I have just tamed the mighty king of the jungle! The man-eating tiger was so calm under my influence you'd have thought him plastic. He did not attack as everyone expected, but he let me climb upon his back and then whisked me along with a strange pack of horses, pigs, ostriches, giraffes, and eagles. Never once did I fear, for though he would leap high, I knew I was master over this savage beast, and all the while a gentle, carnivalesque music kissed my ears.

Dear Housemates,

I realize that you do not read this blog, or even know about it, which is why I am comfortable in writing this here. I suppose I should begin by thanking you. I really do appreciate that you are beginning to make more of an effort to keep the house clean. It is always nice when I walk into the kitchen and do not find crumbs, splatters, and bits of dried cheese covering the counters and floor, for you must know that I don't really like cleaning up after you whenever I wish to make myself some dinner. This has been such a wonderful improvement to our living arrangement here. It is also very kind of you to put my dishes away for me when you wish to reload the dishwasher right away. It is a great help, so I bite my tongue and say nothing about the way you intermingle large plates with small, ignore the fact that the silverware is clearly organized into spoons, forks, and random knives, and can't seem to figure out that like objects should be kept together in general. If, however, you could not put away dishes that quite obviously didn't get clean, that would mean a lot to me. There is just something about pulling out a glass, nearly filling it, and then discovering that it is quite dirty that speaks of not-goodness. So, should you continue to help out around the house, which I love, if you could just keep this one little guideline in mind, things will flow all the more smoothly and I won't have twitching fits with my breakfast.

With love,
Jessica

Bittersweet

Major power-outage in Oakland today. Woo! I arrive at Hillman Library only to discover that the doors are locked and all the lights are off . . . ALL of the lights are off! Yes, I know I just said this, but it's significant, and it bears repeating. You see, Special Collections has no mechanism for shutting down the lights at the end of the workday and a full 200 footcandles of hopefully UV filtered light pours down on the rare books 24 hours/day. Recommended lighting for displays of non-light-sensitive materials (light-sensitive being such things as photographs and watercolors) is something like 15 footcandles. So the thought that, finally, they are having a little respite from the glaring light, was very exciting . . . for a few minutes.

Then it hit me . . . If there is no electricity there is no light, but there is also no HVAC system which translates to no temperature or humidity control. That is not so cool, and certainly not so on a super-humid, sometimes rainy, 85 degree day. The electricity is out, so the library is closed which means there is no one around to know where the ceiling is leaking, which it inevitably is, and no way for the preservation department to go in and cover shelving with protective sheeting. Sounds like a recipe for mold to me. So, umm, yeah. . . all of the lights are out. *sigh*

Looks like a job for Super Librarian!

Is there a little rumbly in your tumbly? Do you have a paper that needs proofread? Have you noticed a foul odor coming from the basement? Just give me a call, and I'll be right over (in your dreams . . . oops, was that out loud?) Simultaneously preparing dinner, unplugging a nasty drain (washing my hands), and doing a bit of last minute editing, all without breaking a sweat or spreading germs. Oh yeah, because I am that good.

Parallax

From the article, "Consortial Preservation Management" by Brian Baird in the September 2002 College & Research Libraries News: "America's librarians are an aging population: 66% are over 45 years of age and only 22% are under 40 years. This means that future prospects do not look bright for filling specialized professional positions, such as [Preservation Administrators], because threre will be fewer candidates for the jobs posted."

If you ask me, I think that sounds like a pretty good thing. I'll admit that it isn't great for libraries, but for those of us graduating in just three weeks who are fervently (or apathetically, as the case may be) applying for any preservation job we find, this is good news. Having just come from the wonderful world of the humanities where there are more qualified candidates than there are open positions, I find this information especially reassuring.

I must wonder, though . . . if only 22% of librarians are under the age of 40, what percentage is, like me, under the age of 25? Also, I wonder what age they expect people to be entering the field. I've not conducted any formal surveys or anything, but I'd state with a fair amount of confidence that the average age of library school students is somewhere in the mid 30s at the very least. The fact that 66% are over the age of 45 may not seem so great for libraries, but, trust me, it is wonderful for the graduates!

Exhilaration

Spinning and twirling, double cuddle and a dip.
One two three kick turn,
one two three kick turn,
one two three kick turn,
one two three forward,
jazz box,
cha-cha-cha,
cha-cha-cha,
cha-cha-cha,
cha-cha-cha,
step-slide step-slide step-slide step-slide,
one two cha-cha-cha.
Jitterbug, Charleston, Lindy-hop.
Waltz, foxtrot, cha-cha.
Three and a half hours then two miles home.
Sore muscles, jello legs, sweat dripping, inability to walk straight.
Same time next week?

An Unexpected Caller

Today I worked all day in the preservation lab, encapsulating architectural blueprints that someone once thought a good idea to use for wall-paper. Needless to say, they are a mess. I had been working on these fairly consistently, with only half an hour break for lunch, since eleven o'clock this morning, when the Conservation Technician came into the lab near the end of the day to tell me I had a phone call. I've never taken a phone call while at work, and I didn't know who could possibly be calling me there. I followed Jenny into her office, and then it hit me . . . potential jobs! I don't have an office of my own, so I've been putting Jenny's number down as my work phone number.

Taking Jenny's telephone and trying to project confidence and professionalism over the phone line, I answered to a young woman whose voice I didn't recognize. I found I had guessed correctly when she introduced herself as so-and-so from the Office of Human Resources. She wanted to verify that I am still interested in the position of Collections Conservator and to let me know that they would be setting up a time for me to come up for an interview sometime in mid-late August. This is perfect timing because it allows me to relax a bit following graduation. I imagine anyone would want a little time to unwind after turning in term papers and before heading off to Boston for a job interview at Harvard University. I still can't believe it's true, but I pinched myself, and I'm not just dreaming here! . . . Harvard! *smiles a big goofy grin that just won't go away*

Dear Veterans current and future,

On this, our nation's birthday I feel impelled to express my gratitude toward all who fought so hard so many years ago to make this country a free nation. They gave their lives so that we could enjoy the comforts of a life without oppression. And still today there are men and women who are willing to join in the service to maintain the security of our nation and our many freedoms. To all who have served, to all who now serve, and to all who may one day serve our country, I thank you. In times of trouble and doubt, it can be easy to forget the importance of your commitment, but you are the defenders and our protectors, and we need you. Never forget how loved and honored you truly are.

Judging books by their covers

I've just come across a most interesting book in Special Collections! Its title . . . How to Take a Trick a Day with Bisquick. It was published in 1935! I didn't know they wrote manuals for that kind of . . . oh, wait. It's a cookbook.

I had forgotten this could be so nice

This past week or so I have come to a startling realization: school has become, for me, a part of my life. You will read this and say, "Jessica, you are in graduate school. School has always been a part of your life." I must, then, emphasize the key part of that sentence. School has become a part of my life. For the past five years I feel as though I have done little outside of going to classes, preparing for classes, and writing for classes. Quite honestly, there were times, especially second-semester Freshman year when I took eight classes, that I would really run myself quite ragged. Now, suddenly, I have time to devote to non-graded activities. I'm still a very busy person, taking two classes and spending thirty hours each week at work or in my internship, but since it is only two classes, one Monday and the other Thursday, I feel so much freer than I can remember feeling for years. Yesterday I spent a much needed evening of solitude at a conservatory/botanical gardens, and this morning I roamed a new (to me) section of the city, drinking in the atmosphere of happiness and lively activity created by the street vendors, musicians, and the farmers' market. I then chose to give half an hour to sitting in a park listening to some jazz before catching a bus home. Both yesterday and today I was in the company only of a good book, and one that I'm not reading for a class. Tomorrow afternoon will likely be spent down at the Point for the second of a four-day celebration of our nation's birthday. It is quite liberating and refreshing, having extra time to spend as I wish. =]