OneRareBook

2010-07-07T00:33:00.001-04:00

So I was out listening to Le Not So Hot Klub with a friend from work tonight, and I happened to see a flyer advertising the bistro's summer specials. The last one on the list was "Leek and Pea Soup." Make of that what you will.

e-mail fun

2009-02-02T14:00:00.002-05:00

"I am definitely qualified and certainly be interested in helping out with this project, though I'd need some more information before saying so with certainty."

... wait a second . . . what was she doing in the first part of the sentence if not "saying so with certainty"?

Would Jesus Discriminate?

2009-01-21T14:53:00.003-05:00

As I was driving to the local Wal-Mart this past weekend, I noticed a new billboard that asked, simply, "would Jesus discriminate?" Clearly we are supposed to have a gut reaction of "No! Of course not!" Indeed, this was my initial reaction, but very quickly I began to think about the word discriminate. While the word has gotten a bad rap lately, to discriminate is not necessarily a bad thing. All it really means -- and the Oxford English Dictionary backs me up on this one -- is to distinguish or differentiate between things. To say that I discriminate does not mean that I treat certain groups of people poorly. It could merely mean that I can tell the difference between apples and oranges.

Now, Jesus came to save the lost, correct? If He did not discriminate, there would be no difference between a murderer and a saint. Thus, no one would need to be saved. While I can't imagine Jesus discriminated between black and white or rich and poor, I'm certain he discriminated between good and evil as well as between repentant and unrepentant. If there were no discrimination -- no differentiating one from the other -- then what was the purpose of His coming?

So, in answer to the billboard's question. Yes! Most definitely, yes. Jesus would, and did, discriminate. And we are blessed because he did.

2008-07-25T11:13:00.003-04:00

I just ironed a book! And it worked! I had a book in my lab whose thin layer of plastic covering the cover was delaminating, and while I have never repaired anything like this before or read anything telling how to fix this kind of problem, I took a wild guess that the plastic was probably originally adheared using heat, so I took my tacking iron to the book! First I put down a barrior layer of silicone release paper, to that I wouldn't get melted plastic on my iron, and then I went at it. I couldn't believe how quickly and how well it worked! Yay for experimentation!

Warning: Rant to ensue

2008-05-06T11:09:00.004-04:00

I'm discovering that being a unit manager might not always be as easy as it thus far has proven to be. My most pressing concern at the moment is that my graduate library assistant (GLA), who signed a contract at the beginning of the semester to work 320 hours, did not show up yesterday and is already over an hour late today without calling about either one. The larger issue, though, is that he is 50 hours behind with only 19 days to work the remaining 130 hours of his contract. I knew from the start that he would be out of the country for a week, so I didn't expect to see him last week, and he has assured me that he would have plenty of time to complete his hours after returning, since his classes would be finished by then, but he also assured me that he would be back in my lab by yesterday. I'll give him until this afternoon to show up before I start calling around to see where he is. But I called the administrative office this morning to see what happens if he doesn't complete his required hours, and it is as I expected. If he doesn't complete the hours, they will have to dock his pay check, since they've been paying him based on his working 20 hrs/wk rather than on actual hours worked. Moreover, if he doesn't work at least 50 hours during this last month, he will have to pay the library back. Meh! Somehow I'm going to have to convince this boy to work 7 hour days for the rest of the month. I'd feel so much better about this if he would at least call in to tell me why he is now 1 1/2 hours late for work!

I'm just glad my head doesn't melt

2008-03-07T18:34:00.002-05:00

I blame it all on Megan. I told her about a week ago that we were supposed to get snow, and she laughed, saying it would never happen. We didn't get as much as they predicted, but we had a good 1/2 inch. As if that weren't enough, she claimed that it would be the last snow we'd see this year. So what happens? We get another four inches within about five hours yesterday! Megan is going to have to learn to stop making such silly claims. We were sent home three hours early due to hazardous roads, and we even had a snow day today since it was considered too icy this morning to go in. I'll not complain; I never really expected snow days in Texas. Roads were really nasty yesterday, and it took and hour to get home where it usually only takes 10-15 minutes. When I finally made it into my apartment, I got all bundled up and took my camera for a walk through a nearby park. There were people (mostly adults) everywhere building snowmen. It's amazing to me to see the joy snow can bring to people who so rarely experience it. Already the snow is melting away, and there are only a few patches left in shaded areas. A few of the snowmen still have the bottom two snow mounds, but most are down to just one. I didn't spot any with heads today. Such a short life in Texas, but a happy one.

To bake?

2008-02-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

My smoke alarm is out to get me. All I did was try to bake cornbread muffins, and in that short time the alarm reduced me to a quivering leaf, standing on my ottoman and fighting off tears while waving a pillow under my smoke detector and pleading with it that "Nothing's burning. Please stop!" I'm not the kind of person who typically talks to inanimate objects, but it just insisted on screaming at me with steady, loud beeps. And, seriously, nothing was burning. The beeping started about ten minutes before the muffins were finished and continued for a good fifteen minutes after I turned off the oven. I had to remain on the ottoman nearly the entire time, for if I stepped off to open a second door or to take the muffins out of the oven, the alarm would sound again before I could make it back to the ottoman. Nor would it allow me to rest for a moment from my constant fanning without punishing my ears. By the end of the ordeal, I was near wits end as I found myself pleading in a broken voice that it please just stop as nothing ... NOTHING ... was burning. As the odors of my baking died down, there were 3-5 minute lulls where I could go about my business thinking that perhaps it was over, and then it would beep at me a few times while I looked at it in horror, prepared to wave my pillow in supplication once again. Had it gone on any longer, you probably would have found me lying in the fetal position under my smoke alarm in the morning.

A new breakthrough in cleaning technology!

2007-12-01T11:48:00.000-05:00

I learned a difficult lesson about a month ago and have spent the past few weeks paying for my mistake. The lesson? Soup can burn. Also, when tomato soup burns, it picks up a vague burned-marshmallow flavor, which just isn't nice. So I kept this pot, which is the nicer of the two that I have, in the sink and over the course of a few weeks I scrubbed at the black crust whenever I washed dishes. Success was minimal and grudging. Finally, growing desperate, one day I noticed a small portion of egg-shell that had somehow made it's way into said pot, and I decided see what would happen if I rubbed it around. Success! Bright, shining, bottom-of-the-pot success! So I then hard-boiled another egg in the same pot and used this new, larger shell as an abrasive. I couldn't believe how well it worked. After so many weeks of trying different methods and lots of elbow grease, who would have thought that all it would take was a little egg shell? I knew eggs had to be good for something!

And then again begin

2007-11-30T09:40:00.000-05:00

I have my car back again! Minus the few days in the middle when I had it before it died again, it was in the shop for 11 weeks. All appears to be in good working order now. I hope it's fixed for good this time!

The Saga Continues

2007-11-18T13:22:00.000-05:00

So I very excitedly received my car back from the body shop on Nov. 8, almost two months after hydroplaning and smacking into two concrete barriers on a busy interstate during morning rush hour. It didn't seem to run quite right, but I wasn't sure. I decided I would contact either the body shop or the dealership as soon as was feasable to have them check it out for me. I didn't have time to do this before I had to take the car to Addison, which is just North of Dallas, for two days of training paid for by my university. While there, what should happen, but that my car dies. More than that, my cell phone also is on it's last legs, and the only charger I have with me is the car charger. Needless to say, Tuesday was very stressful for me as I tried to contact the guy who had been working on my phone to let him know what happened and yet save as much of my phone's battery as possible. The car guy was wonderful, sending a tow truck all the way to Addison to take my car back to the dealership, where they were to have fixed the mechanical problems before, and arranging a rental car for me while I attended my training. What a crazy couple of days. I'm in a rental still, but I like this one better than the first, so at least that is a plus!

2007-11-08T21:34:00.000-05:00

So ... 59 days after my car decided to visit some concrete barriers, I finally have it back! Yay and happiness! :)

2007-09-27T17:52:00.000-04:00

In reading someone's livejournal this morning, I ran across the term "ethical neutrality"; what could this imply? Is ethical neutrality a form of apathy, or perhaps is apathy the result of ethical neutrality? Is it a form of moral relativism or a different beast entirely? While moral relativism seeks to approve of everything, being ethically neutral seems to imply that you wouldn't even go that far. Rather than approve or disapprove of anything, one would simply refuse to make any kind of judgement call at all. An action is not good or bad. It merely is. And then, aren't "ethically neutral" people legally termed psychopaths? I'm positively negative about the idea of ethical neutrality.

Butterfly bruises

2007-09-12T22:00:00.000-04:00

I am finding myself rather enamored with a new bruise I have developed just below my collarbone. It is too faint to photograph; trust me, I tried. The cool thing about it is that it looks rather like a butterfly wing. The top edge is smooth, but the bottom is scalloped and delicate. How does one achieve such a bruise, you might wonder? Well, it takes some work, and I wouldn't suggest the process to anyone. I did it completely by chance, and I could not guarantee the results of anyone else attempting this.

You see, what you do is you wear a shirt or other top with a scalloped neckline. This is the key to having a butterfly bruise. Forget this step, and the rest of the process is just a costly mess. Next, you hop in your car and head to work on a Monday morning when it's dark and pouring down the rain and you'd rather just stay in bed. Some of these elements are not essential to attaining a butterfly bruise, but this is how I got mine. The next thing you do is head up a small incline and hydroplane, hitting first one concrete barrier and then crossing a lane of traffic to hit the concrete barrier dividing the highway down the center. Your car should then turn about 140 degrees to face and block oncoming traffic. Don't forget to scream in terror while this is happening or to be eternally grateful that no one else was hurt and that you walked away with only a couple of bruises. Give yourself a day or two to calm down and then take a peek at where the seat belt came into contact with your skin. There you should find your butterfly bruise!

As cool as this is, though, please take my word for it that the coolness of the bruise does not merit the wild ride required to get it.

My first rodeo!

2007-08-23T00:37:00.000-04:00

I have yet another picture post! I went to the North Texas State Fair and Rodeo tonight. I ended up going alone, but I had a good time by myself. I was attracted tonight by the Mutton Bustin' (4-6 year olds riding sheep), but I didn't manage to get any good pictures of that. The pictures I have here (12 of the 120 I shot) are highlights of the evening, and speak for themselves.

Artist trading cards

2007-08-18T00:48:00.000-04:00

Someone in the library has decided to create a group to exchange "artist trading cards." These are one-of-a-kind hand-made 2.5" x 3.5" cards that are intended to be traded and never sold. I've decided to join the group for their first meeting, the loose theme of which is Fire & Water. What I have made thus far is pictured below.

This is fire (notice the candle):

This is water:

This is also water:
This is fire on the water:

And this is fire-water:

May Day in July

2007-07-31T23:18:00.000-04:00

I've found it amusing lately that my yogurt containers have little yellow banners claiming that yogurt may help with digestion. Just like it may enable you to fly. Or it may cause you to run around in little circles singing "The Song that Never Ends." I should label everything in my apartment with little quips like "may start to wiggle," "may ring spontaneously," or "may cause you to laugh so hard you pee yourself."

On the road again

2007-06-13T21:46:00.000-04:00

What a weekend! I took my first long car trip on my own, driving two hours to spend the weekend with a friend for his birthday. The drive up was uneventful and pleasant, though I discovered shortly after I arrived that my front right tire had gone flat. Had that happened while I was flying along at 80 mph (not often, but occasionally), who is to say just what might have happened. Needless to say, it was quite scary when the realization hit me of what danger I had put myself in. Luckily, my hero came out to change the tire the next morning (on his birthday), and the rest of the weekend passed smoothly enough. It was a weekend of watching movies, feeding the ducks/geese at a local lake, meeting his friends, going to church, grilling out, and staying up far later than we should have. I'd do it over again in a heartbeat, flat tire and all.

Is someone selling car insurance?

2007-06-04T23:17:00.000-04:00

So as I was heading upstairs today to discover whether or not (not yet) the computer people had succeeded in cleaning out the office that they had taken over from preservation, I saw a tiny creature wiggle across the floor. Now, wiggle may sound like an odd adjective to use here, but it really was a squirmy little thing. I called my graduate library assistant up to see, and she ran off after a moment to return with a coffee mug and a piece of mylar. It took a little coaxing, but we eventually trapped the little lizard in the cup and took him outside to release him into an environment that would be more likely to have a food source for him. I would have preferred to leave him in the building, but I don't think it could have survived, and any insects I've seen in the building have been considerably larger than this gecko. Oh, well ... I've been told we commonly get much larger ones in the building during the summers, and those ones like to jump out of boxes at people! Happiness.

A magic cape

2007-05-16T13:55:00.000-04:00

With a bright red blanket tied around his neck for a cape, the child peddled around the parking lot as fast as he could make is little bike go. He became his own superhero as the fabric fluttered behind him. He wasn't just a child on a bike anymore. No; he was flying, soaring through the air to save the world. From what, you ask? Only he knows.

Simply lovely

2007-05-14T16:30:00.000-04:00

I had an amazing weekend of cooking, building friendships, music, visiting the zoo, and laughter. Ah, why did it have to end and leave me sitting in my ice-box (a.k.a. my office)? Rather than recount the entirety of my wonderful weekend, I'll give you only a small snippet from Mother's Day.

The praise team, made up of four middle-aged women, a middle-aged man, and a boy in his early teens stood at the front of the church throughout much of the early part of the service. When we paused for prayer, most of the praise team took a seat on a step at the front. The teenager crossed the platform to sit next to his mother during prayer. After it was finished, he held out his hand in a gentelmanly fashion to gently aid his mother in standing. The boy then gave her a hug (yes, a teenage boy willingly hugged his mother in public) before returning to his microphone next to the older man. It was a very short scene, but a lovely one because it was natural, unforced, and rather unexpected.

Enough!

2007-05-08T12:59:00.000-04:00

Such a sound sleeper am I that two girls screaming just outside my bedroom door on my first night spent in my first apartment away from home failed to wake me. I also tend to find out about late-night thunder storms the next day. Not this time! I awakened at 2:59 this morning to fairly constant peals of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. I remember the time so clearly because the tornado watch was set to expire at 3:00. Evidently sometime yesterday afternoon/early evening, the tornado sirens sounded (so say my staff), but I never heard it, which is cause for some concern. I'll have to find myself a weather radio somewhere soon. I'm really starting to tire of the weekly severe thunder storms and tornado threats. I think we've had quite enough. Is this my welcome to Texas?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre ...

2007-04-27T13:00:00.000-04:00

What a week it has been! It all began a week ago today when the new friend (a youth pastor) I had planned to spend some time getting to know that evening called to tell me that his father had been in a fender-bender, and he needed to help him take care of that. So we post-poned our "hanging out" until Saturday. He said he would call me at noon to set up plans.

Enter Saturday. Not knowing exactly what our plans would entail, I spent the morning cleaning up my apartment, making the living room and kitchen presentable. When 1:00 rolled around and I had yet to receive a call, I called him to see what was going on. Since there was no answer, I decided instead to take a book and go read by the pool. He called just as I made it pool-side, and plans were made to go goofy-golfing at 2:15. Given these plans, I returned to my apartment, changed clothes, and ate something small for lunch. The phone rings at 2:15; someone rear-ended him, so it would be at least another hour. I returned to the pool with my book and waited for him to call again. An hour and a half later I realized how long it had been and decided I should probably get out of the sun. Just as I walked in the door he called to say the police had finally left and he needed to run home to get cleaned up before coming over. He didn't call and didn't call, so I called twice to make sure everything was ok. He didn't answer. Five hours later, and deeply apologetic, he called. He had fallen asleep.

Sunday comes. I'm in great pain from the severe sun burn I received the day before, but I made my way to church anyway. The youth pastor asked if I'd determined what his penance should be, and after tossing around possibilities of manicures or leg waxing, I decided to be kind and instead make him go with me to see the new Disney movie. After church, I drove to a drug store to buy some aloe and sunblock. I spent the rest of the day tending to my burns.

The dreaded Monday. I was in too much pain to go to work, so I took a sick day. Based on advice given by the brother of a friend of my mother, I went to the store and picked up of a container of Dreft laundry detergent. The rest of the day was spent soaking in a bath of Dreft and alternately applying aloe and lotions. (Dreft, by the way, robs the sun burn of some of its sting.)

Tuesday. As I got in my car to go to work, the "malfunction indicator" light came on in my car (which has fewer than 2000 miles yet!). While at work, a severe thunderstorm arrived in the area, bringing with it tornado watches and one tornado warning. I drove home at the end of the day through flooded streets and tracked the storm on my television and computer, preparing to hide in my closet should the need have arisen. About an hour before the tornado watch was set to expire, lightning struck and took out my computer.

Wednesday arrived bright and shining with no trace of the evening's storm. While at work, I called my insurance company about the computer and found out that the $500 deductible isn't really going to help much in repairing or replacing my $500 computer which is already 1.5 years old. I also called the local Chrysler dealer to find out what to do about my car. Their first suggestion was that I check the gas cap, which was fine. Since that didn't take care of the problem, I headed to the car dealership after work and they ran a diagnostic test which told them that there had been a problem with the transmission ... but evidently it's fine now. A man from church came in the evening and picked up my computer to work on it.

Thursday. No word about my computer. The youth pastor called to set up our movie night, and a very good friend called to cancel/delay the tentative plans we had for the weekend. I was a student for many years, so I absolutely understand the time crunch of the end of a semester. Still, it's somewhat disappointing since that means plans are now delayed for another two weeks.

And now Today. My burn still hurts, and despite my best efforts with aloe, creams, and lotions, I'm peeling like crazy. I'll call the computer guy when I get home, and hopefully he will have good news for me. I'm also completing the cycle by planning to get together with the youth pastor again tonight. I hope all goes as planned, because this could really set the tone for my next week. :P

Slaving away ... at what?

2007-04-16T13:11:00.000-04:00

Thus begins my third week as the Preservation Librarian at LPU (Large Public University). I think I'm going to like it here, though I am still working without any kind of a performance agreement. I was promised that we would discuss this sometime last week. It didn't happen. I was also assured that I would have my employee ID number, which allows me to have such things as an ID card, access codes to disarm the security alarms, and a key to my office, by the end of week two. This hasn't happened yet, either. So ... What am I doing? Well, I've been reading through documents in a shared file on my computer to get a feel for just what it is that goes on in my department. I've been talking to my staff, student assistants, and graduate library assistant about what it is that they do here. And I've been contacting the woman who held this position before me to find out such things as what this jug of odd-smelling colorless liquid is under my desk. Turns out it's just water. As it kind of smells like paint-thinner, I'll be disposing of it shortly.

I will have some direction in my actions this week, since I have four meetings to attend. Two of them are today. I'll meet with my staff to discuss metadata for the new web re-design and then meet with a new representative from the commercial bindery we use for many of our repairs. Later this week I'll attend the Collection Development Workgroup meeting and the Library Liasons Meeting. Evidently I'm going to be the liason to the Honors College next fall. So what is it I do here? I go to meetings.

Happy Easter!

2007-04-10T22:11:00.000-04:00

Well, I arrived in Texas just in time to spend yet another Easter alone. Or so I thought. Last year I had papers to write or something, and so I wasn't able to spend the holiday with my family. I spent it alone, working away and eating a hot pocket for Easter dinner. I had feared this holiday would pass in the same way, only without the school-work to distract me. Instead, a good friend living a few hours away invited me to visit his family for the weekend. His parents and sister, whom I had never before met, graciously took me in and treated me as though I were family, quickly making me feel as though I were at home. It is not just anyone who would open their doors to a complete stranger on what is traditionally a day spent with loved ones. This was an Easter I will not soon forget.

Howdy!

2007-04-02T19:16:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm still working on arranging my apartment into some kind of order. A few rooms are in fairly good shape, but my kitchen, especially, is a disaster. I can't bring myself to really cook dinner until it is cleaned up and arranged, so I guess I'll be eating frozen pizza and such at least until the weekend.

It's been quite a week. I finally got my license on Tuesday after having my permit for just six weeks. I then left home and drove to Texas with my parents on Wednesday. I moved into my third-floor apartment on Friday. My parents left early Sunday morning and someone picked me up to take me to a church service. And then I started work today.

I've gone from absolutely hating Texas on Friday, to finding it quite beautiful on Saturday. I've gone from being terrified of the traffic on Friday, to disliking it on Saturday, to being fairly comfortable with it today.

I just hope I don't end up saying Y'all!

Odd-jobber

2007-03-23T22:36:00.000-04:00

Shhh-shhhh ..... shhh-shhhh ..... shhh-shhhh

An elderly man dragging a metal rake hehind him on the sidewalk announces his presence by the rhythmic shhh-shhhh of metal on concrete. As he comes closer, his rake concert is made more full by the rattle of a can against a chain fence. He looks at my small group a little too directly for comfort and continues his accompaniment as he passes us. I will miss such little scenes when I move away. Yes, I know there will be similar things in Texas, but it's not the same; it's not here.

A simple riddle

2007-03-10T22:57:00.000-05:00

What has a great body, four doors, and tangerine paint?

My new car!

A beginning

2007-02-15T21:29:00.000-05:00

Nervous, yet surprisingly calm, she gathers together her coat, briefcase, and book, checks her hair one last time, and exits the aircraft holding the single red rose lightly between her fingers. Finding her way to baggage claim, she looks around, expecting to find him waiting. The tensions mount when she does not immediately see him, but he must be there; he promised he would be there. She walks half-way across the room to where a man sits waiting and looking weary. He lifts his head and glances around the room, briefly resting his gaze on her without showing any sign of recognition. She is unwilling to risk the embarrassment of a mistaken identity, so she turns and walks back toward her entrance. Setting down her bag and leaning back against the cool wall, she takes a slow, deep breath and dials his number on her cell phone, never taking her eyes off of the man across the room. He does not reach for a phone, nor does he appear to be aware that anyone might want his attention. Confident that this was, indeed, not the man she sought, she looked once more across the room. There he was; not the mysterious seated man, but him! She could not, and nor did she wish to, stop the smile that painted her entire being at seeing him. This must have erased any doubt in his mind as to who she was, for before she had time to do anything, he was standing before her, enfolding her in his arms.

Off I go

2007-02-15T01:20:00.000-05:00

So I'll be moving to Texas in about six weeks. My future supervisor offered me the job, unofficially, before I even left the library after my interview on Monday. She then took me apartment hunting Tuesday morning before dropping me off at the airport. I received an e-mail today saying that the official offer letter was put into the mail yesterday! Talk about cutting through red tape quickly...

This was my first time west of Chicago, I believe. I think I'm really going to like it; it's a different world down there. The job should also be good. They encourage professional and personal growth, and I am already seeing ways in which I can expand upon what they are currently doing. The job appears great, the weather nice, and the people wonderful. Look out Texas; here I come!

Patterns in the snow

2007-02-08T12:20:00.000-05:00

Stepping into a shadowy paradise of pristine snow, I am greeted by the sounds of birds calling one to another. I do not see the elusive fowl, but instead find myself distracted by the stark patterns against the smooth white canvas. Snow piles high on a maze of limbs against the vibrant blue sky, leading the eye ever further while leading nowhere. Walking further along my path, I discover deep rabbit tracks intermingled with the delicate convolutions of my mysterious feathered friends. All is still in the morning coolness, and I hear only the birds' whimsical cadenzas interweaving with my steadily crunching rondo.

One of my favorite things ...

2007-02-04T15:59:00.000-05:00

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things...

Actually, one of my favorite things is heat, and not just any heat, but heat from the oven. Even in the summer, I'm often so cold that this dry heat is a welcome change. After baking, I love to pull the door open a crack and just stand there, soaking in the heat that escapes as the oven cools. My body craves this warmth, and it makes me reconsider the story of Hansel and Gretel, where the witch was going to bake Hansel and he pushed her into the oven instead. Perhaps this was not so much cannibilistic and murderous as it was caring and a token of affection?

Wow

2007-01-28T21:16:00.000-05:00

24? Really? 24? But wasn't it just last year that I turned 18?

Once more into the fray ...

2007-01-25T23:02:00.000-05:00

So I get this e-mail starting out:

"Thank you so much for applying for our position in the Preservation Department. It is so nice to get an application from someone who had an idea of what "preservation administration" entails."

The only thing missing from this first paragraph is an actually. But the result of this e-mail and the ensuing telephone conversation is that I'm flying to Dallas in two weeks to interview at the University of North Texas in Denton. Things are looking pretty good. The job is both what I want to be doing and where I'd like to be doing it for now. It sounds pretty wonderful all around. I do have to give a 30-45 minute presentation on the topic of my choosing, so I'm thinking I'll discuss the larger topic of preservation, and, because I need this for myself, I'll outline it here:

The enemy -- agents of decay in a library

water/leaks
high or low relative humidity
high temperatures
fluctuation in relative humidity and/or temperature
insects
mold
dust
improper handling
book drops
inherent vices
vermin
vandalism

Level of granularity in preservation activities

collection level preservation for useful though not necessarily valuable or significant collections
item level preservation for rare, much used, or valuable materials
item level preservation for entire collections deemed important to the library's mission

Collection level preservation activities

stabilization of environment
staff and user education
monitoring for insect presence
maintaining a secure environment
mass deacidification

Item level preservation activities

Individual evaluation and treatment
recase
reback/retained case
phase box
clamshell case
pamphlet bind
individual deacidification
encapsulation
send to a professional conservator
send to a commercial bindery

Choosing between in-house work, a professional conservator, or the bindery

Is the text-block split?
No -- in house
Yes -- send out
Boxed or repaired?
Boxed -- if rare, valuable, or use does not merit repair
Repair -- if not rare or containing intrinsic, artifactual, historical, or associational value.
Is it rare or valuable?
No -- do in house if no for question one
No -- send to commercial bindery if yes for question one
Yes -- send to professional conservator for repair or create a box in-house
Does the objects past and projected use merit the level of attention and time required to repair it properly?
Yes -- repair it in-house or send it to a professional conservator
No -- create a protective enclosure, such as a phase box or a clamshell case.

How to battle mold and dust

maintain a stable environment
change filters regularly
clean books and shelves with a dry cloth
vacuum any books having suspected mold growth (and any next to it) with a HEPA filtered vacuum
use a dry sponge in a well-ventilated area to wipe away any remaining spores
closely monitor any previously affected materials, paying especial attention during times of high humidity

Disaster response

most involve water
each library should have a Disaster Response Kit
each library should have a Disaster Plan
training sessions for staff
all staff should know who to call and what procedures to follow in case of an emergency

Am I missing anything vital here? Please chime in!

Happiness is ...

2007-01-11T20:07:00.000-05:00

Happiness is sitting at a card table in a Victorian bedroom (where I'm doing an internship), assessing the condition of old books, and watching giant flakes of fluffy snow gliding to the ground, all while listening to the mingled sounds of big band music and two sexagenarian ladies discussing how they first met and fell in love with their husbands.

Resolve to get married, huh?

2006-12-31T14:13:00.000-05:00

Leaning down to hug a sweet little (oldish) lady at church this morning, I was taken off guard when she asked, "You going to get married this year?" I chuckled and responded that it wasn't likely, seeing as how I'd need to be dating someone in order for that to even be a possibility. Sally quite eagerly asked, then, if I am seeing anyone, to which I had to give a reluctant, "Well, no." :p

This, though, got me thinking. I assume she asked me this because its a new year starting in just a few hours. So, I think I should make some resolutions. Clearly I cannot resolve to get married, because I'd want at least a year's engagement, which would mean I'd need a proposal ... tonight. This is difficult to arrange when you aren't seeing anyone. I can't even resolve to fall in love, for that would cheapen everything. Instead, I resolve to:

1. Lose weight -- This is typical on a list of resolutions, therefore it shall be on mine as well. This type of goal is supposed to be manageable, though, so I'm thinking maybe one pound per month. That should be achievable.

2. Find a real big-person job -- Admittedly, I'm already working on this, but I need to do it more diligently ... and I kind of need it to happen soon.

3. Read more classic literature -- As much as I love it, I had to let it go last year while doing my MLIS, and I just haven't picked it back up yet.

4. Read non-fiction -- I typically shy away from non-fiction, but I've come to discover that there is some really good stuff out there. I think I need to just bite the bullet and read a little Ravi. I mean, I know I'll like it once I start ... it's the starting that's difficult for me.

5. Eat healthier -- I'm not talking a total revamping of my eating habits. Minor tweaking would be fine. I wouldn't even have to get rid of things ... adding fruits and vegetables would do wonders, I'm sure.

6. Go forward with confidence -- I have confidence in my abilities; I trust I can accomplish whatever task is set before me. What I mean here is that I need to not retreat to the back so much. Put me in a group situation, and I'm much more likely to listen and observe than to actually say anything myself. This needs to change.

7. Be a better housekeeper -- I have a messy room ... I've always had a messy room. But, I don't have to have a messy room.

8. Cook more -- In a few years, when I've been proposed to and can reasonably resolve to get married, I will want to be able to cook wonderful meals for my fiancé/husband. Best to get a head start on perfecting some recipes.

9. Make music -- I played the violin for four years. I have a bowed psaltery as well. I used to be a member of an amazing concert choir. I should be happy taking up any one of these again.

10. Finish projects -- It comes honestly (from my mother), but I tend to get interested in craft projects, buy materials to do them, do them for a short while, and then become interested in other projects, renewing the vicious cycle. I want to go back through my materials and take up some of these old projects. Really, who doesn't need a book thong?

Unripe

2006-12-27T23:03:00.000-05:00

This year's crop of candy canes have been harvested and laid aside. Some have found their end in a blender with chocolate ice cream and milk, while others drowned in white chocolate and candy sprinkles. 'Twas a sad yet tasty passing, indeed. What candy canes survive the chocolate-peppermint milkshakes, however, will see an extended life of 6-8 months. "Green" candy canes should not be eaten on their own. Ripe ones, however ... ah, now there is a real treat! The perfect combination of chewy-on-the-outside-and-crunchy-on-the-inside must be reached in order to fully enjoy the minty goodness of a candy cane. Remember children, never eat a candy cane before it is ripe.

I'll be home for Christmas

2006-12-25T01:02:00.000-05:00

Christmas, this year, will prove somewhat different from past Christmases. For the first time in my life, my family has nowhere to go for Christmas. When I was very young, the Christmas routine included opening gifts at home in the morning, going around the bend to my Grandma Phillips's house to visit with that side of the family, and then heading to my Grandma Lott's house in the afternoon to exchange gifts with the other side of the family. Ever since my Grandma Phillips died, we have had the morning to ourselves, but the afternoon and evening of Christmas day has consisted of uncomfortable reunions with family we typically see only on Christmas and do not necessarily ... umm ... well, like. This year, however, my grandmother decided to go out of town to visit a sister up North for an unspecified period of time. This means that we will postpone the discomfort until some later date. And this means that our Christmas celebration can be much more relaxed, and, consequently, much more pleasurable. Yay for unexpected vacations! And merry Christmas, all.

It is written ...

2006-12-10T12:57:00.000-05:00

Those things which were not foretold have come to pass. I am the chosen one. I accept this as my lot in life at Christmastime. And so it was that I spent twelve hours with my grandmother yesterday. This after spending two and a half hours trying to get twenty children to settle down and practice their roles for the Christmas Program. But that is something I choose to do; this is something I must do. Who, aside from me, cares that I had wonderful plans to attend a progressive dinner yesterday, my grandmother has decided to go shopping, and I am the one who must help her. No one else will do, so armed with a pen, a list of twenty-three people, and a resolve to be patient, I set out to fulfill my Christmas destiny. Any men in my family who may somehow stumble across this, forgive me for spoiling the surprise, but you're getting the same ugly coats you received last year, and the year before that, and they year before that, and so on. Ladies, be grateful if only that I was able to save most of you from the "one size fits most" night gowns. I'm sorry I could not save you all, but after a while, I lose my resolve. Four and a half hours after entering the J.C. Penny's Outlet, we finally emerged with gifts for everyone on her list. I'm told there is a mall attached to this store, but I've never yet made it out of the outlet before the rest of the mall closes. Even as we shopped yesterday, the clerks busily cleaned up for the evening as she checked out. Another four hours later, after making various stops for dinner and to visit one of my grandmother's friends, our journey reached completion as I returned home at 1:30 this morning.

Perhaps the brightest spot to this dotty experience is that the little dog, after having had a day away from my grandmother, no longer appeared stoned. Evidently her drug-induced buzz wears off we give her enough time to detox.

Oooookaaay

2006-11-30T20:04:00.000-05:00

The telephone rings, and I answer to a cellular number I do not recognize. Cue the vaguely Asian female voice:

Hello. I am calling from “X” organization for marketing research about smoking in Ohio. *signal breaks up and obscures a sentence or two* … then enter your name into a drawing for $250. I would like to speak to the youngest adult in the house. Would that be you?

Yes, that’s me.

Ok. I would like to ask you a few preliminary questions. How old are you?

Twenty-three.

Thank you. Now have you already completed a Bachelor’s Degree at a four-year college or university?

Yes, I have.

Ok. What is the town you live in, in Ohio?

Adelphia.

Odelphina?

No, Adelphia. It’s a-d-e-l-p-h-i-a. *she spells something different with me*

Is this county in Ohio?

Oh, county? I thought you asked for the city.

The county is Cutler, and it is in Ohio.

Cutler.

Yes.

Ok. What ethnic group do you most closely identify yourself with? White/Caucasion, Black/African-American, Asian-American, Hawaiian/Pacific Islander, Alaskan or Native American?

White.

Ok, thank you. I have no further questions at this time.

But wait I thou.. *click*

*names have been changed to protect the ... me

Thankful it's over

2006-11-27T20:51:00.000-05:00

As Thanksgiving has just passed, I should write of that for which I am most thankful, which is that Thanksgiving has just passed. It was a long weekend of eating with family, family, and more family. I love them, but a little bit does go a long way. I missed the Wednesday preparations, as I was out Christmas shopping with some friends, but the fun started Thursday morning as my Aunt Arlene came over around 10:00 to help prepare lunch. We (my parents, Arelene, and I) ate around 12:00 and my sister finally arrived with her husband and two children at 1:30 or so. This would be excusable if she lived three states away rather than on the other side of town. We chatted and played games (mostly Chronology) throughout the afternoon.

Our house cleared out by 5:30, and my parents and I headed to my Aunt Linda's house, less than five miles away. There we chatted again, ate again, and played more games (this time Mexican Train). Here we had Aunt Linda, Uncle Bob, and their granddaughter Kristina, Arlene and her daughter Beverly, my cousins with their spouses and children, and various in-laws of cousins that I had never met before ... craziness!

Craziness? Hmm ... actually that word better fits Saturday and Sunday, when I was at my Aunt Kathy's house in Cleveland. This was a busy weekend of shopping and basketball games and no plumbing. Yep, ten people in one house and no toilets but the ones in the gas station down the street. Sleeping arrangements were also fun. There were five people in beds, four on couches, and one on the floor. I had a couch and shared a room with my aunt's granddaughter, Kristina, and my Uncle Jeff's mother, who, though sweet as can be, suffers from dementia. Fun, fun, fun.

I think that was more than enough fun for one weekend.

Not so bad for the first time!

2006-11-21T21:24:00.000-05:00

Arriving at The Castle early for the volunteer's "gingerbread house workshop," I waited around in the kitchen as the directors desperately tried to figure out whether they should follow the icing/mortar recipe that called for one cup of powdered sugar and one egg white or the one for one pound of powdered sugar and three egg whites. Would that I knew which recipe my icing used! Mine was somehow one of the few houses that didn't have serious structural issues (e.g. walls caving in, roofs sliding off, and general implosions).

I must say I found my fellow gingerbread house builders quite charming. I was not entirely surprised to find myself the only twenty-something in the group, but I will admit that I didn't expect the next-youngest person to be (and I'm guessing here) a good forty years my senior. I truly enjoyed spending the afternoon with these witty women, and I do believe they were just as delighted to have such a young'un joining them for the day.

A Joy to Watch

2006-11-19T21:18:00.000-05:00

One of the most beautiful scenes I know of is a man skillfully caring for his well-behaved child. I am lucky enough to see two such scenes play out simultaneously once a week. There are two men, married to sisters, in my Sunday School class who each has a son about nine months old. The babies are usually very quiet and sweet, but the father's are also so wonderfully attentive with them. Unlike other men I've seen who appear helpless when handed a child, these two come armed with burp cloths, blankets, bottles, and binkies. They always seem to anticipate just what their sons will need or want and have it right at hand. I find myself constantly drawn to these scenes. I only hope it's not an overly obvious observation!

What about the Humanities?

2006-11-13T23:31:00.000-05:00

So I ran across an interesting problem this evening while applying for a City Archivist position in San Antonio. The set-up seemed a bit strange to begin with, because instead of just sending in a cover letter and resume, like most positions request, this application was electronic and quite lengthy. Everything progressed smoothly until it came time to put in my undergraduate major. What follows is but a small sampling of the majors from which to choose:

Advertising
Building Construction
Chemistry
Dietetics
Epidermiology
Fire Administration
Golf Course Operations Management (no, I'm not making this one up!)
Home Economics
International Trade
Journalism
Library Science (thankfully)
Merchandising
Nursing
Ornamental Horticulture
Psychology
Records Management
Science
Turf Management
Urban Studies
Vocational Industrial Education

This is quite the list, no? No. I quickly discovered that "English" hadn't made the list. Okay ... "Literature"? Not there. Hmm ... "Language and Literature"? Nope. "Humanities" then ... sorry, but no. Only one choice from the vast list actually worked for my undergraduate major: "Other." A quick skim revealed that "History" and "Philosophy" also failed to find spots on the list. Can I really work in a city so utterly deviod of the humanities? Only time will tell.

Mini-me

2006-11-08T10:42:00.000-05:00

Very recently I met a child who is very much who I was at nine years old. (Yes, I know you will cringe over so many weak linking verbs. Sorry.) This girl has absolutely attached herself to me during the children's Christmas program practices. When we put the children into groups to sing parts, this one always has to be in my group. When they come in and take seats to begin, this one always sits directly in front of where I will be standing to lead them ... and if I don't stand there, she moves. When the other children take a break and go to play games with the other program directors, this one chooses to stay back to talk with me. You might think this would bother me, but it rather tickles me.

I enjoy this, because I was this girl. I always adored the teens and young adults when I was younger. I liked the elderly too, but I didn't have that same sense of awe with them. I especially remember attaching myself to the music/theater students from Mount Vernon Nazarene College (now University) who would come down and perform for us. I remember one girl to whom I attached myself played the French Horn, which I just thought the most wonderful thing in the world ... once I knew what it was.

Even as I was attaching myself to teens, younger children were attaching themselves to me. There was one girl named Amber who adored me. I used to babysit her and her little brother all the time. Royal terrors, they could be. But Amber just thought I was the greatest thing, and I tolerated her as the teens tolerated me. Now this child who I've known since she was in diapers is a senior in high school and doesn't even acknowledge my presence. But, then, she is a teenager now, and she doesn't really acknowledge anyone. Perhaps one day she will be like me ... sitting in a Sunday School class with her former babysitter and wanting to ask "do you remember me? Do you recall the fun times we had?" but feeling too awkward about it to actually say anything. Or, perhaps, that one wasn't so much like me after all.

Creative Haloween

2006-10-29T20:49:00.000-05:00

One umbrella + long strips of bubble wrap + thin iridescent ribbons + glow-in-the-dark paint = a jellyfish!

One cardboard box with a hole cut out + one shoe box + one tin can + blue paint + black paint + five paper plates + two ropes = Thomas the Train!

One onesie + a pair of yellow pants + one pair of yellow rubber gloves + two white feather boas + one shower cap + felt = a chicken!

... but I only made the jelllyfish :)

Wisteria dreams

2006-10-28T11:37:00.000-04:00

Someday after I have met the most wonderful man and we have dated, become engaged, married, and then settled down into our home, our own home, I want to plant wisteria. In addition to being an absolutely beautiful flower with the inviting meaning of "welcome fair stranger" and the more apt ones of "obedience" and "I cling to thee," I think it a lovely symbol for a loving relationship. Wisteria requires much care and attention (though too great an effort will prove a hinderance), and even under the best of circumstances will not flower for the first few years. Though this may prove frustrating as the gardener is eager to see the fruits of his/her labor, these things naturally require time, and the promise of the mature plant's splendor makes the wait worthwhile. Once it has taken off, wisteria cannot be allowed to run freely in any direction it chooses. It requires discipline, pruning, and training to a support in order to survive many years. The longer wisteria lives, the stronger and sturdier it becomes, but always, always, does it require support to bear its own weight and to prevent it from falling. The longer wisteria lives, the more beautiful it becomes. I dream of wisteria. I dream of love.

Unfortunate News

2006-10-22T21:20:00.000-04:00

I received a call earlier this week from Harvard University ... the only place that really showed any interest in hiring me. They, unfortunately for me, have decided to "go with someone else" for this position. Surprisingly, I'm ok with this. Don't get me wrong; I am disappointed, but I guess this just wasn't meant to be. I canceled my plans for that evening and my family was good enough to leave me at home alone, and I wept uncontrolled for several minutes, perhaps even half an hour ... I didn't time it. ;) But we must move on, right? So I said goodbye to visions of Harvard, washed my face, ran on the treadmill to distract myself, and prayed. Now, as much as I wanted this job, I want God's will in my life even more, so I am truly at peace with this. The hardest part is telling people the news. So many people come up to me expectantly asking "do you have good news yet?" and I have to say, "no good news." So now it is back to the drawing board. I have about half a dozen applications out yet and probably just as many more to send out as I get them prepared, so all is not lost. But now I must return to a question I asked quite some time ago ... where will I end up?

North Carolina? California? Delaware? Maryland? Texas? I only wish I knew.

Sing a song of sixpence

2006-10-16T14:50:00.000-04:00

I had a very enjoyable, and very musical day yesterday. It started in Sunday school, when the teacher began singing, though perhaps calling that music is a bit of a stretch. I left class just a bit early so I could make it to choir rehearsal on time, but I was stopped by the music minister (also my hairdresser) on my way. He wanted to know if I would go downstairs with my mother after the choir finished singing and help her with the children's choir practice. So I had a good hour or more of singing in the morning, and then when I got outside I ran into my former violin teacher, Claire, who I hadn't seen in a year or so. She mentioned the high school fall choir concert, and I decided that I needed to go. So ... I hurried home, ate lunch, arrived at the concert half an hour late, listened to some second-rate/some amazing music, and then went outside, where I bumped into Claire again. She mentioned that she had a concert she had to give that evening in another state, and I commented that when I had tried to tune my violin the last time, I had broken a string. Claire has offered to re-string my violin for me, so now I need to make an appointment with her to have that done ... but there's a catch. After she volunteered that service, she threw in the hurried "andthenI'llmakeyouplay" with a mischevious grin. But I would like to play again, so I suppose the only thing to do is to endure initial humiliation of my efforts after not having played in five years. :P

Worlds apart

2006-10-14T20:17:00.000-04:00

As we begin to really get into autumn, dusk falls on us earlier and earlier each day. I ran out of the house today at a quarter to six to go on a deer-watching stroll through a lovely cemetery with my parents. We have to time these walks just right if we are to see many deer, and we were a bit early it seems, though the light had beautiful, rich red tones as it came through the trees. Sunset was at 6:48 this evening, and my father, thinking we were running out of daylight, rather rushed us out of the house. At the time, I was talking online to a friend who is a world away ... ok, a quarter of a world away. But as I had to rush off, I gave him my wishes for a great day. It seemed very strange that as I was hurrying to catch the last rays of daylight, he should be just about ready to start thinking about lunch. Now it is quite dark outside and what bugs are bold enough to brave near-freezing temperatures are making their nocturnal music. Meanwhile, my friend is out somewhere enjoying the peak of his day with its eighty-four degrees and his three and a half more hours of sunlight.

Whirlwind

2006-10-09T16:38:00.000-04:00

Wow! What a week this has been. The fun all began two weeks ago when Harvard finally called me to let me know they wanted to set up my interview for just one week later. This began a flurry of activity as I began setting up flights, trying to contact friends in Boston, and figuring out where I would stay while in Pittsburgh for a week.

So Sunday came around and I went to morning worship service with my parents, came home, finished packing, and headed off to Pittsburgh. Once in Pittsburgh, we ate dinner and went to the church I attended while living in Squirrel Hill. My parents then left me with Lois, my host for the week, and I had the most fun I can remember having in quite some time. I thought Lois to be about 70, but it turns out she is actually 83! I couldn't believe it. I had such fun running around with Lois and her friends, going out for ice cream, shopping at Wal-Mart, playing dominos and eating a free dinner at Applebee's. I also spent a good bit of time at the Preservation Lab repairing and photographically documenting a book for a class of second graders at St. Mary's School in Marietta.

In the midst of this time of fun and games, I hopped on a plane, flew to Boston, took a taxi to Harvard University, wandered around at night hoping to find something to eat and L.A. Burdick Chocolate (sadly I failed with the latter), returned to my small but posh room for an early bedtime and a much-needed chat with a good friend. The next day was a 6.5 hour interview, beginning with an hour-long lunch, and followed by half an hour with human resources, half an hour touring the conservation lab, 1.25 hours in the actual "interview" part, and a fifteen minute break wherein I spilled milk on myself while no one was around. I then began again with a half hour presentation of my portfolio which HR forgot to mention until they called to set up the interview, half an hour of questions with the conservation lab staff, an hour and a half lunch, and finally a half-hour wrap-up with the search committee. I then left Harvard Square, headed to the Harvard Museum of Natural History to visit with a friend who works there for a few hours, walked back to my hotel to pick up my bag, took a taxi to the airport, and flew back to Pittsburgh.

I had fun. The entire week was fun, even the interview. I left feeling good about it, though, of course, the search committee really gave me no indication of how I did. I can say with confidence that I didn't do anything embarrassing ... when anyone was around to see it!

Thus said Willa:

2006-09-10T17:01:00.000-04:00

"Where there is great love, there are always miracles."
~Willa Cather

Grabbing at rainbows

2006-09-07T15:21:00.000-04:00

A beveled glass window in the front door casts rainbows around the living room in the afternoon. These pretty little plays of light often catch the attention of small children, as they attempt to pick them up or to step on them. My youngest nephew, Reese, is no different. He began crawling less than a week ago, and I first saw him do it yesterday. It was a sweet moment. He crawled away from me to reach for this odd thing on the floor, which, of course, he couldn't touch. After playing with the light for a minute or two, he became frustrated and crawled back to me, reaching for me and fussing. I picked him up, rocked him from side to side and began to sing him a lullaby. The child was asleep before I finished, and it's a moment I'll always cherish.

A surprise camping trip

2006-09-04T23:54:00.000-04:00

It was a beautiful weekend. My father and I had written off the possibility of a camping trip when my mother began feeling ill. Sunday morning began a bit rough as she suspected she was coming down with strep throat. A trip to Quick Care and a diagnosis of sinusitis, however, and mom decided we would all go anyway. Dad and I returned home from morning worship to find Mom with a few prescriptions, s'more ingredients, and a cooler with food. After grabbing a quick lunch, tossing some clothes into a suitcase, and loading the back of the truck with camping gear, we set off into the great unknown ... a.k.a. Wolf Run State Park.

We found a nice, large campsite near the showers and (far too near the screaming children at) the playground. It is a very pretty and clean campground, so we were highly pleased. After setting up the tent and arranging camp chairs and picnic tables to best suit cooking and card playing, we took off for a short hike down to the ice cream shop about a mile away from where we set up. It was a leisurely walk there and back, but then most walks with my father are done at a rather slow pace. By the time we made it back to the campsite and got a nice fire going, the temperature had dropped from the already cool seventies down to the rather chilly fifties.

We pulled our chairs in closer to the fire, cooked hot dogs, and just watched the flames dance different colors. Mostly it was yellow/orange, but there was just a touch of intense blue/purple at the tip of one log. We didn't speak much to each other, but lost ourselves to our own thoughts and the sounds of insects and birds in the woods. I commented on this lack of communication, but was unable to ignite anything more than just a superficial discussion. Eventually we gathered at one of the picnic tables with a gas lamp and played Chronology for a while. For some reason we always seem to put off card games to after sunset. After my parents had tired themselves of the game, we settled once again around the fire for warmth, but looked to the sky to pick out a few constellations. I was pleased to be able to pick out one, but I'll be lucky to recognize one of the two or three new ones my father pointed out to me last night. Cassiopeia I already knew; Signus I may remember. It remains to be seen.

I believe we all headed into the tent shortly before 11:00, and my father was snoring within minutes. For some reason, lying there in semi-darkness with a thin fabric curtain as a partition between my parents and myself, I became talkative. My mother and I lay there talking until well past midnight, and we spoke much more freely than we are wont to do. I told her of things I had no intention of yet telling her, and although they are not bad, her reception of them was much better than I had anticipated. Somehow the veil of night frees the heart and mind to speak of things which might at other times seem awkward or embarrassing, but which really are quite natural. I think it was a good evening for both of us, and it helped to draw us closer together. My father ... well, he slept through it all, but I enjoyed spending time with him earlier in the evening as well, even if it largely did consist of gazing into the fire or up at stars.

Unchaining the inner child

2006-09-02T23:06:00.000-04:00

I've rediscovered in just the past few days something that I've known about myself for a long time. The ways people perceive me has great import for me. This past sentence provides a perfect example, for I reworked it in my mind a few times in order to avoid the inclusion of a weak linking verb, something which really bothers only one person who probably doesn't read this blog anyway. And yet it still follows me around.

This, however, was not my point (ack! One slipped by). Children love me. Ok, so well-behaved children love me. When I baby-sit -- and this has become more in my attention since I've had my nephews this past week -- the children and I have a wonderful time, playing games and being downright silly. If, however, any adults are present, my manners change significantly, and I rather unconsciously adopt a more reserved mien. The other adult's behavior matters not at all, it seems. Even if this other person does just what I would be doing were they absent, I still only grudgingly take part. I first noticed this sense of decorum in the presence of adults as a contrast to my freedom with children when I took my very first babysitting job at age twelve. It has been in me to do this for so long that I don't know that I can easily change, nor am I entirely certain that I want to. But I do wonder what makes me do this. I think it rather odd in me.

The Lockmaster

2006-08-21T12:06:00.000-04:00

Straining with all he had to offer, the young man leaned into the bar and pressed the crank around in tight circles. With tight muscles pushed nearly to their limits, he opened first one heavy, wooden gate and then the other, allowing the small sternwheeler to enter the lock. This young man then retraced his steps, leaning into the bar that turns the gears to press the doors together again, shutting the little boat into it's watery prison.

Then, lying down on one of the block walls, bent at the waist and stretching his arms down, the lockmaster received his toll before setting himself to the cranks at the other end of the locks, slowly letting in water to raise the boat over the dam. Then to the gate again. Muscles taught once more, the man walks the metal bar in circles, coming perilously close to the wall's edge in his single-minded effort. Finally, the gates open, the Nancy Ann toots her horn and paddles up the river toward home. Four pleasure-boats filled with families take her place on their journey downstream. No rest for our lockmaster on this blazing August day.

A week of goodbyes

2006-08-14T23:56:00.000-04:00

It has been a long week of saying goodbye and of avoiding saying goodbye. The avoidances came early in the week, while I did actually bid farewell to people toward the end of my stay in Pittsburgh. It was kind of odd, really. On Tuesday I said goodbye to my field placement supervisor in Special Collections. He shook my hand, wished me the best of luck, and I left, saying a casual goodbye to my co-workers without any indication that it was a final farewell. Then on Wednesday I went off to work with the expectation that my housemates would be gone when I returned, but as they remained in their room until I left that morning, I made no effort to say goodbye. Nor am I disturbed by this arrangement.

When I got to work on Friday, there were muffins and orange juice waiting for me as a thank you/goodbye, and we all sat around eating and chatting for a while, but although I was the "guest of honor," I was by no means the center of attention. My goodbyes at the end of the day consisted mostly of well-wishes and a few hugs, but it didn't seem, and still doesn't seem, all that final, for we are professionals now; we will likely run into each other at conferences and such. Sunday was the big day for hugs and goodbyes, which is logical, since it's the day I actually moved and this was my church family. I had more hugs that one day than ever before at this church, and people who had never before spoken to me made a point to tell me how much they had enjoyed having me with them this past year. As odd as it sounds even to me, I do think they were sincere in their sentiments.

Ah, it's always difficult to leave, but at the same time, I'm happy to be home again and look forward to cheerful reunions with old friends.

Dances with Butterflies

2006-08-07T22:24:00.000-04:00

The concept of dancing waltzed through my mind multiple times today. This theme has so inundated me today that it's had me spinning in circles. It began this morning as I was heading down to the bus stop and a small white butterfly passed back and forth in front of me. DoSaDoing around each other, we parted ways and I hurried on. Later in the day, I took my lunch break in Schenley Plaza, as I am want to do, and as I was reading in Pride and Prejudice about a ball at Netherfield, I was listening to the lunchtime music and thinking how wonderful it would be to dance barefoot in the grass with someone. I was in the midst of trying to decide whether the music would better suit a jitterbug or a lindy hop when the musicians introduced themselves as being members of the Boilermaker Jazz Band, who played at Swing City the last time I went. This made for a charming lunchtime entertainment, even if all I did do was read and dream of dancing. I returned to work and did an awkward little dance with a man I don't know, as we shuffled left and right together in a failed attempt to stay out of each other's way at the elevator. But it has now occurred to me that I may have left Elizabeth at the ball in my haste to return to work on time, so now I must return to Pride and Prejudice so that the poor girl may finish her dance. She must be mightily weary by now.

An outward expression of an inner faith... and...?

2006-08-06T23:31:00.000-04:00

I made an important decision this past week or two, one I perhaps should have made some time ago. A few Sundays ago, my pastor announced that there would be a baptismal service during evening worship on August 6, and I told the pastor's wife that I thought I would be interested in taking part in this. I then went home, contacted a friend whose judgment on such matters I trust implicitly, and read through several scriptures concerning baptism.

You see, I was born into the church and don't recall there ever being a period of more than a few weeks where I have missed church services, and if there have been, they were likely due to either vacations or illnesses. I was born into the church and knew that baptism was a common occurrence, yet I didn't really know why we did it. I was never baptized as an adolescent, even though my sister was, because it really seemed like something that adults did. Then, once I grew older, I was somewhat embarrassed that I had never been baptized (though I still didn't know the significance of the ceremony), thinking that people at the church would naturally assume that, since I had always been in church, I had already been baptized sometime along the way. I was unwilling to expose myself to the humiliation of admitting that I had never done it.

In addition to this, all I had ever really heard about baptism was that it was an outward expression of an inner faith, but I knew there had to be more to it than that. That's perfectly nice, but it is too simple to really merit a ceremony of its own. We outward express our inner faith in far too many ways for this to be all it really meant. So, when the opportunity presented itself this time, I took it, and I did some searching. There are various passages that discuss baptism in the Bible, but most of them do not go into the why of it. But, ahh. Romans 6:1-14. This is, indeed, just what I needed to know, and it was the deciding factor. I was baptized this evening by Pastor Joseph Stump in someone's backyard swimming pool. Although 23 years is a long time to wait when you've been in church your entire life, I am truly glad I waited until now to make this decision, for now I understand what it is I have done. There are, of course, little sins with which I struggle from time to time, but through this I have proclaimed myself dead to sin; it has no hold over me and I only give in for my own weakness anyway. I realize that my being baptized will not remove all temptation from my life, but I do think that it means I have an even greater responsibility than ever before to resist temptation and to attempt to lead a life which is unblemished and pleasing to God.

A disappointment

2006-07-31T14:08:00.000-04:00

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?

2006-07-31T00:11:00.000-04:00

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 . . .

2006-07-26T15:49:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-21T17:57:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-17T13:53:00.000-04:00

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,

2006-07-16T12:48:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-13T18:15:00.000-04:00

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!

2006-07-12T20:48:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-11T22:48:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-09T14:28:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-07T19:36:00.000-04:00

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,

2006-07-04T09:47:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-03T12:48:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-01T17:42:00.000-04:00

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. =]

And breathe . . .

2006-06-25T23:58:00.000-04:00

Today has been full, fun and somewhat productive. It went something like this:

Go to a wonderful, uplifting church service
Return home at 12:30
Devour a granola bar, swig some milk, grab my umbrella, and head out the door by 12:34
Catch a bus into Oakland
Help out at a Stories for the Summer event held at an assisted living community featuring some of my classmates
Return home
Chat online with a friend or two
Read for class
Apply for a job at MIT
Blog

Any number of these could have an entry of their own, but the only one receiving one tonight is the storytelling event. I wanted to go because I knew it would be a rewarding experience and I wanted to support my friends who were selected to tell tales. To be honest, though, I've never liked nursing homes, so I was dreading the institutional feel and the smells and sights I associate with such places. This, however, was quite nice. It almost looked like an expensive hotel.

As I was not telling a story today, my professor asked me to go out into the hallway and catch people as they came out of a little chapel one room over to see if they would like to join us. A few people kind of smiled at me and went on their way to their rooms and others made excuses why they couldn't go, but a good number of residents did choose to attend the story session. One adoreable little lady said she would like to attend but then whispered to me that she had to go to Wal-Mart.

After I had coralled as many elderly as I could into the atrium room, I joined them to hear the last three of five tellers. Watching the expressions of those I could see, I found one woman, especially, who seemed to be really enjoying the stories. And I'm not positive, but she may have been the one who felt the need to explain the punch lines and important events to those around her. Whether this was necessary, I don't know, but at least she was entertained. One man in the back of the room fell asleep. How he could sleep through my friend Jasmin's story and her yelling of AyAyAy is hard to comprehend, but he did it somehow.

There were carts of lemonade and little cakes for after the event; however, there was no one to serve them, so my classmates and I quickly jumped to the task. I was quite proud, I must say. I didn't even spill one drop of lemonade! I wonder if I missed my calling as a waitress . . . nah! We passed out refreshments to the residents and then helped ourselves before mingling with the elderly, who really were quite sharp, mentally, and a pleasure to talk to for the most part. I suppose that is one of the differences from a traditional nursing home, that these people are still physically and mentally able to take care of themselves, at least to an extent. I really must make reference, if only in passing, to the resident flirt, a charming man who sat at the back of the room and told one woman that she had put her finger in his drink while serving him and had thereby made it so sweet he could hardly drink it.

I had many compliments on my dress (really, it is a great dress) and necklace. Someone told me it looked like a real family hierloom, and I suppose it probably does, though I bought it new just a few weeks ago. The nicest compliment I received, though, came from one of my classmates and was quite unexpected. Abby was one of the chosen tellers and one of the two I missed today, but she really does a nice job. Anyway, we were standing, figuring out the refreshments, and she said she had wanted to tell me what a nice job she thought I had done in this class all semester. It's possible that she was just being kind, but she really did sound sincere. She said she was impressed with the way I always delivered my stories so well and with such confidence. This was not my opinion of myself, but we are our own harshest critics, and someone standing near Abby did agree with her. Little did they know that it was only a perceived confidence. In reality, I was terribly nervous, but I guess that didn't show somehow. Hopefully this "skill" will follow me if I ever do get any job interviews. We shall see.

And now the final bullet point:

Go to bed

Color Me Confused

2006-06-22T10:32:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I had my last official class in Storytelling, and since I had to tell my final story "Gode's Story" by A.S. Byatt, I decided I would dress up. I wore black slacks with a silky top, which is difficult to describe but which reminds me of water and waves. This was appropriate since the story I told was about a sailor and the souls of the dead coming in on the waves at Toussaint. A cheerful little piece, I know, but at the same time it's enchanting. Anyway, I had the strangest compliment after class. I ran into one of my friends in the hallway, and she said "I like your shirt." (Please hold here for the dramatic pause that ensued.) "It has colors in it!" Well, yes . . . my shirt does have colors in it. I'm not pulling an "Emperor's New Clothes" look or anything. What was more strange was the random woman who was waiting with us for the elevator who echoed her sentiment, with "It does have colors in it!" Guess what! My clothes today . . . they have colors too.

Appropriately Null

2006-06-17T23:57:00.000-04:00

Thank you my punny DanDeLion! You have saved me from having to post a sad comic online that I read while at the Pirates game yesterday. I saw it and thought, "yeah, that's just about like me," but then I came home and discovered that you had commented, thus saving me from a tragic, tragic fate. Instead of posting the comic, I'll merely link to it now. http://www.comics.com/comics/pearls/archive/pearls-20060616.html

This is a real job?

2006-06-13T17:05:00.000-04:00

Ah, what a wonderful day in Special Collections. Today I got to play with . . . *Ahem* I mean, I got to seriously study and evaluate . . . the double folio portion of the Rare Books. They're wonderful. Just what makes them so different from the rest of the collection, I cannot actually say. They have something special, though. The duodecimos do too. I suppose perhaps they attract me because they are uncommon. You just know by looking at them that they will prove special because someone put extra thought into their assembly, wanted to make an impact with their size. So today I flipped through a few folio facsimilies. One was the manuscript text to a novel I read a few years ago for my "Concepts of Tragedy" course, Sons and Lovers. How fun to read Lawrence's original text alongside his amendments! The other facsimilie was the Book of Kells, which I leafed through sitting cross-legged on the floor between the stacks, breathing in the familiar odor of old books, which isn't exactly a musty smell, though it is a distinctly old and comforting one.

I, of course, looked through and inspected (for I really was working, most of the time) many other large tomes today as well. Had you been standing near me you would often have heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a low "ooohhhhhhh" as I pulled out shelf after shelf of books. There were sixteenth and seventh century Bibles with their heavy metal clasps (http://libwww.syr.edu/information/spcollections/conservation/clasp2.jpg) still in place and functioning just as well today as they ever did, holding the book tightly shut and keeping all the pages crisp and clean. My jaw dropped over a box set of the first two books of Gulliver's Travels that had the voyage to Lilliput in duodecimo form of only a few inches high and tiny print and the voyage to Brobdingnag as a double folio with large print to give one something of the perspective of Gulliver while reading. I marvled over a book which was probably better than a foot thick and bound in corderoy. Not at all practical to use, for the spine will never bear such weight, but intriguing nonetheless. They finally kicked me out at 5:00, but I trust it was nothing personal. I mean, it was closing time.

It's Game Time!

2006-06-11T18:43:00.000-04:00

Ok kids, it's time to play a game. Can anyone tell me what these three songs have in common? Your only hint is that it relates in some way (some horrific and amusingly embarrassing way) to my morning.

That's Amore

Bad Moon Rising

Blinded by the Light

Best of luck, and happy guessing!

His will, not mine.

2006-06-10T10:00:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to be patient, to listen for God's direction in my life, but it is difficult. I graduate with my master's in just eight weeks, and I don't know where I'm going yet. Will I be a Preservation librarian in Boston, Massachusetts? Perhaps. Will I be a Special Collections librarian in Missoula, Montana? Hopefully. Will I be an Academic librarian in Stephenville, Texas? It's possible. Will I be hauling all my stuff back to my parent's house until I find a job somewhere? Ideally not, but maybe. It can be so difficult to wait for answers, even when I know that everything will turn out alright in the end. God surely has not carried me this far only to let me fail. I just have to keep reminding myself that everything will happen in His time. In the meantime, I'll try to remain patient and not go running off in my own direction only to go flying off of a cliff in my haste to have answers.

I will NOT wear a sweater in June!

2006-06-06T19:02:00.000-04:00

No. Absolutely not. I will not wear a sweater in June. What does this mean? Well, for one thing, it means I'm cold at work. I prefer it that way, because the other option is to be hot before and after work and during my lunch break. I seem to acclimate fairly quickly anyway so that if I'm not just sitting while in Special Collections, I don't really notice the chilliness all that much. Today I realized just how cold I was when I left the library to hurry home for an important phone call. As soon as I stepped out of the building, my skin started drinking in the warmth, eagerly accepting the sun's kisses. It was such that I wanted to just stand there at the entrance, soaking in as much heat as I could. I, however, had something to attend to, and so I headed home feeling wonderfully warm, except for my hands, which were still noticeably cold. But what is warmth when you have an important call to catch?

So I'm a little behind . . .

2006-06-03T01:01:00.000-04:00

After only two weeks of summer classes, I returned home for a sojourn into the tourist-populated wilderness of Hocking Hills State Park with my parents and a cousin we kidnapped for the trip. The day was just about perfect, with a dry ninety degrees in the sun and a somewhat cooler temperature in the cave and wooded areas.

Rarely do I ever refer to the park as Hocking Hills; for me it has always been "Old Man's Cave," but I suppose that is because that portion of the trip always served as the main attraction. No one ever suggested that we go to Rock House (featured in the photo, by the way; thanks Mom!) for the weekend or to Ash Cave. No, it was always more of a "let's go to Old Man's Cave." Regardless, the trip was wonderful, and the three of six parks we visited were beautiful. I found the light coming through the woods surrounding Rock House to be especially enchanting.

This is a trip I have made with my family for as long as I can remember. It's not terribly far from home, and it makes a great day trip. Perhaps I will someday take my own children there, to explore the dark caves, be amazed by the waterfalls, and to revel in the beauty of it all. One thing is certain, though: I'll have no child of mine standing so carelessly at the edge of such a high precipice!

We're an ADA/EOE compliant library with 5.2 FTE

2006-05-24T20:41:00.000-04:00

A great mystery has been solved! Ok, so perhaps it wasn't such a "great mystery" as a personal enigma and it wasn't really solved: more like I stumbled across the answer. Still, "a great mystery has been solved" sounds much better than "I stumbled across the answer to a personal enigma," so we'll leave it at the first statement. Perhaps you are wondering just what this great mystery could possibly be. Do not worry; I'm about to tell you. I promise.

I've spent much time lately in reading job postings, and I keep coming across variations of a phrase that puzzled me greatly. This would be something like "supervises 5.2 FTE." Now, I interpreted FTE to mean "full time employees," yet I could not figure out just how one could have two tenths of a full-time employee. I can rationalize away the average American family's 2.5 children easily enough, but there is little I can make of two tenths of an employee. But today, yes just minutes ago even, I ran across a written out version of FTE to discover that FTE=full time equivalent. Aha! Now we are getting somewhere. Just where, I do not know, but I strongly suspect I'd prefer to supervise 5.2 full time employees than the 10-12 part time employees that FTE potentially indicates.

Fragility of water

2006-05-21T20:54:00.000-04:00

Small dark clouds hang over the city against a rust-tinged evening sky. Their lack of willingness to move gives one the impression that they are parachuters suspended forever in mid-fall, patiently watching the streaming flow of headlights far below. Frozen in time and doomed forever to perch on air, does time appear to stop for them as well? Do things proceed as usual for these flying men, or does everything move at great speed beneath them? They have transformed themselves into mere silhouettes, dancing motionlessly in the sunset. How long will they stay and dance on air for me? Ah, a gentle breeze comes and they dissipate before my eyes.

Just a quickie!

2006-05-18T20:57:00.000-04:00

The clouds stood like mountains on the horizon,
obstinate in their purity against the liquid blue sky.

Jobs and such

2006-05-18T12:24:00.000-04:00

The semester has begun with a flurry of activity. My classes have started off running so that even though it is only the first week, I'm already realizing how quickly it will all be over. No dallying around this semester! I only have five weeks left before I have to turn in two final projects for one course.

Amidst all this, I also have to try to find a job. Hmmm. Where to look? Well, I've applied to three thus far: one in New York, one in Kentucky, and one in Texas. Monday I heard from Cornell University that they had over 225 applicants for the position and that they would not be pursuing my candidacy at this time. Tonight I'll apply for a job at the Massachusetts Historical Society in Boston. That one is a Preservation Librarian position, and I really think I would enjoy it, though it will carry much responsibility. After that, I think there are two in Ohio I need to look at and one in Montana, if it is still open.

What irks me about these job postings is the tag line at the end: "Women and under-represented minorities are encouraged to apply." Well, yes. Of course we are! Why shouldn't we be encouraged to apply? I've even seen job postings that will hint that women, minorities, and Vietnam-era Veterans should apply. What does this mean for a young, caucasian male's chances for employment? I don't want to be handed a job that someone else is more qualified for just because I'm a woman. I want to be hired on my own merit, not merely because I happen to have a double X. Is that really too much to ask?

The wisdom of ages

2006-05-12T16:40:00.000-04:00

Having just come from the university book store, I plopped my bags down on a park bench to wait for my bus to come along. I wasn't there long before a little old man, who was surely no younger than seventy and could easily have been eighty, came along with several bags and sat down next to me. I'm not in the habit of speaking to strange people at bus stops, but he struck up a conversation right away. He first asked what bus I was waiting for and responded with a slow, 67F, which was good, because by the time it came by he was so engrossed in a story that he would have missed it had I not pointed it out to him.

Seeing my bags from the bookstore with University of Pittsburgh emblazoned across them as well as my college ID hanging from my neck, he rightly assumed that I was a student and asked what what I was studying. When I answered "library science" he became even more interested in talking and turned to face me, saying, "tell me, before you started classes here, what was your opinion of the future of libraries." We breifly discussed the impact of technology on the future of the book and the way in which people have been predicting the death of the book for centuries, for it seems that any time there is a new development that could possibly impact information retrieval people expect books to just fall to the wayside. Clearly this has yet to happen. Who wants to read a novel on a computer? Cuddling up next to a roaring fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate, a heavy blanket, and a laptop just doesn't quite cut it somehow.

Anyway, it turns out this elderly gentleman is, or was, an aero-space engineer and has taught computer literacy programs at the downtown branch of the Carnegie public library for over thirty years. He shared several stories with me, mostly relating to changes in technology and advances in information retrieval, each time starting out with the charming clause, "in my lifetime I have seen." I could have listened to his stories all day, but his bus came in the midst of his recounting the history of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin and his development of the theory of nooshpere in 1918, which, in a sense, predicted the development of the internet by the end of the century. Such a sweet, intelligent little old man, and I never even caught his name.

Her Daddy's Coat

2006-05-11T21:19:00.000-04:00

As I walked home this afternoon, I followed briefly behind a mother and daughter. The little girl, probably only five or six years old, trailed behind her mother at times, skipping through puddles and seeming to thoroughly enjoy the light rain. From time to time she would catch her mother's hand and walk under the umbrella, but she made a charming image on her own, this child, splashing about in a drab brown dress, little white tights, shoes that were easily a size too large for her, and what must have been her daddy's coat, dark leather with sleeves that reached to her knees and flopped loosely as she went along her merry way. The girl would stretch out her arms for balance, sleeves dangling inches past her fingertips, when hopping over, around, and through the pooling water, and I eventually lost sight of the pair when they disappeared into a small grocery. The child was dripping but happy, because for a moment there, she became a bird, soaring over puddles in her daddy's coat.

A wonderful deception

2006-05-07T23:45:00.000-04:00

Now I've done something that will shock everyone; I've bought a book. At first glance it would appear to be nothing especially wonderful, aside from the fact that it's fairly old -- circa 1869 -- and covered in a much rubbed paper over rounded boards. The cover of the book claims that this is a copy of Brooks Primary Arithmetic: The Normal Primary. This isn't what the book contains at all, though. Someone has made this into something of a book of useful knowledge, ripping out all of the original pages and sewing in their own. The new book is made up of only two signatures. The first is either one signature from a larger book or an entire book without its title covers and title page. Regardless, it contains recipes for cookies, main courses, and medicines, along with testimonials and advertisements such as the following:

"Mothers. Mothers. Mothers. Don't fail to procure MRS. WINSLOW'S SOOTHING SYRUP for all diseases incident to the period of teething in children. It relieves the child from pain, cures wind colic, regulates the bowels, and by giving relief and health to the child, gives rest to the mother."

The second signature contains clippings from newspapers and books that have recipes or medical advice. These have been pasted onto lined paper that had been used for lessons of some sort and which were cut down to fit this book. Each paper has a line of text written across the top, and this text, often scripture, had been copied out over and over on the pages. Written upside down in this section is a record of marriages, deaths, and addresses. Such a wonderful find! I think I'll take it to work this week and see if my boss will let me make a phase box for this charming bit of history.

Taylor in Wonderland

2006-05-04T01:13:00.000-04:00

"Look Taylor! Do you see that rabbit up there? It's right there, in the garden."

"Oh, ok. See the bunny. I see him jump."

"But do you see it?" she asks, noting that he's not looking in the right direction.

"Umm . . . no." Jessica sets the three year old down at the crest of the hill and points to the rabbit. "Oh," the child exclaims, "I found him."

"Go get him!"

Once free of his aunt, the red-haired ragamuffin hurries over a mostly barren, uneven ground dotted with patches of tall, hardy weeds. The rabbit easily eludes him, hopping away and through a hole in the fence before the child takes a dozen steps. Looking up at his aunt with big eyes and raising his arms to be carried again, he pleads, "Jessica, I want to see another bunny!"

Swinging Taylor easily up onto her hip, Jessica suggests that they go to the end of the small field to check behind grandpa's special tree. Why it is special she no longer remembers, and her grandfather cannot remind her, but there was surely something wonderful about that tree. At any rate, there were no rabbits to be found. Instead, they found something equally exciting to a little boy.

"Jessica, look! It's a calpillar!"

"Would you like me to put you down so you can see it better?"

"Yes!" Squatting above the insect and leaning forward with his hands clasped behind his back, Taylor asks in all seriousness, "Where are you going cowpillar?"

Curious to see how the boy will react, his aunt answers from behind him in falsetto, "I'm going to watch the big trucks on the highway!"

"Oh," he responds, "I like trucks." Taylor watches the caterpillar for a few minutes longer before again asking, "Where are you going calpillar?"

"I'm going to watch the big trucks on the highway!"

"Nooo," he says with mild disbelief. "Where are you going cowpillar?"

"Well I'm really hungry, so I'm looking for some good leaves to eat. Then I'm going to go build a cocoon and go to sleep for a few weeks." Switching to her natural voice, Jessica feigns excitement, "Wow Taylor! Did you hear that? He's going to go build a cocoon! A cocoon is like a little house where the caterpillar will sleep for a few weeks. Then he'll come out as a beautiful butterfly."

"Him's building a cocoon house?"

"Yes, he's building a cocoon!"

"Wow. I want to see another bunny." She lifts the small boy and carries him back over the uneven terrain to his great-grandmother's somewhat ramshackle house.

"I don't see any more rabbits, Taylor, but I think it's time to go home now."

"Ok. Take a calpillar home?"

"Hmmm. I don't think your mommy would like that very much," she says with a smile.

Stooping down to the bottom of the fence where another caterpillar busies himself, Taylor lets out a small sigh and looks sadly at his new friend. "Goodbye, cowpillar."

Relaxation . . . I could get used to this!

2006-05-01T22:45:00.000-04:00

Ah, what a wonderful weekend. I worked all day on Friday in the Preservation Lab and then spent the evening with people from archives and preservation at Dave and Buster's for an end of the semester "bash." My parents made it in late that night and we headed off to the Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium early Saturday morning. The afternoon was spent wandering around downtown and through Point State Park, and we went to a Pirates game in the evening. We won. :)

Today I slept in and then spent most of the day alone. I wanted to try my hand at my violin again, but all of the strings were terribly loose. I tried to tighten the G, even though I have nothing to test it against to know when it's in tune, but the string snapped. So much for that idea! Perhaps I can take my violin somewhere to have it restrung and tuned. I spent the rest of the afternoon in knitting and card-making and watching bad television. This was until my mother came home with my three-year old nephew.

As soon as Taylor saw me, he said "there's aunt Jessica. I found her!" He's so cute. I don't believe he was here for more than a few hours, but in that time we played hide and seek, did a rhinoceros puzzle, sat on a teeter-totter, slid down a slide small enough for me to easily step over, and ate German Cheese (known to all but Taylor as American Cheese). I absolutely love this kid. He and I (and his mother and baby brother) will go for a walk through a park near the river tomorrow. I can't wait to hear what precious and adorable things will fall from his mouth.

Now I had intended for this blog to be more creative in nature, and I realize that this is more journalistic, so I promise my next one will be more creative in nature.

How to articulate a color?

2006-04-26T23:14:00.000-04:00

My class let out about an hour early this evening, allowing me to experience the wonder that is twilight. As I left my building, I was struck by how pale the sky appeared . . . such a light blue transitioning to a gentle pink over the museums. The two hues never met, for a nearly colorless band divided the two. All color seemed to drain from the sky while I stood waiting for the bus, the white band ever expanding over the city.

I half-dozed during the ride home, having had only five hours of sleep last night and no longer feeling the need to spend every spare minute in reading or writing something for a class. By the time I got to my bus stop the sky had regained color, but this was not the vapid blue of perhaps half an hour earlier. No. This was a rich, intense blue-just-tinged-with-green, vibrant in its surprising clarity. This wonderful hue did not have the same coolness typically associated with blue, yet neither could it be said to convey the idea of warmth. More accurately perhaps, it could be said to have depth; one could easily get lost in such a sky as this.

I never denied my nerdiness

2006-04-22T23:59:00.000-04:00

Today I chose to spend the afternoon at the Carnegie Museums of Art and Natural History. I did this because the day was grey and damp and because, well, it's the end of the semester, so I actually had the time to spare. I must say, it was wonderful . . . not so wonderful as my last experience there, but I probably can't ask for something like that to happen more than once. Anyway, I spent about five hours walking through the museums, one hour of which was a docent-guided tour of the Impressionists. Even though I love Impressionism, the highlight of the tour was not the images themselves, but the paper and the techniques used to make the prints (for we did not look at actual paintings until later). We had discussed etchings, woodcuts, and lithography in my "History of the Book" class, and I enjoyed getting to see the differences between the techniques. The absolute best thing, though, was the laid paper! First, I read one print was a lithograph on wove paper, and it struck a bell, but I didn't think anything of it. Then, I saw an etching on laid paper . . . I got close, probably far closer than the curators would have preferred, and yes, I saw the chain lines. Very exciting, very exciting indeed. The more I learn, the more I find I enjoy art on many levels. 'Tis a beautiful thing.

Good news for all you vegetarians!

2006-04-20T01:24:00.000-04:00

I always knew chocolate was a wonderful thing! According to this wrapper, created sometime between 1893 and 1930, chocolate is "more sustaining than meat." I really want to believe that statement. My thanks to the Library of Congress's American Memory Project and to Duke University for providing this image.

Remembered melodies

2006-04-18T23:27:00.000-04:00

As I walked home from campus this evening, a wonderful sound greeted my ears. It wasn't at all well executed, and it couldn't really even be called pretty, but it was a sound I recognized and one that I love. Someone in one of the houses along my street, a child perhaps, is trying to master the intricacies of the violin. It is certainly not an easy instrument to subdue, and I'm sure I probably sounded just as horrible when I first began playing. And now it has been so long since I've plied my hand at a bow that I would probably sound just like this unseen player, my violin screeching as my once-trained hands move over the strings with uncertainty. I know just where my violin sets. It is in my bedroom at my parents' house, in the far right corner as I walk through the door. Finding my music could prove more tricky, but I think I'll look for it when I go home in a few weeks. My playing may not start out pretty, but that's ok; I don't expect immediate success. I would like to believe, however, that with a little practice and perhaps with some measure of training, I will be able to make the strings tremble and sing for me once again.

Happy Easter

2006-04-16T13:23:00.000-04:00

Ah, and what a beautiful day for an Easter celebration. The children were dressed in their finest suits and their frilliest dresses complete, of course, with the little white gloves that I remember wearing on Easter Sundays when I was small. Even the birds seemed to be singing with exceptional gusto this morning. All is not perfect, though, for now I've returned to an empty home. This is my first holiday spent apart from my family and even my housemates are out somewhere, leaving me to solitude and a day of writing papers. I won't let this sadden me, though, because yesterday I sneaked out of the house with my camera and photographed some of the so-beautiful flowers around my neighborhood after mostly finishing my longest paper of the semester. My window is open, the birds are still calling back and forth to one another, and perhaps the sun will shine a little more brightly on me this afternoon.

My signifiers do not match my signifieds

2006-04-13T16:26:00.000-04:00

I'm at an odd time in my life, and have been for a few years, where I don't know what to call myself. Technically I'm an adult. I have been for a good five years now. I'm still in school, though, and even though it is graduate school and I'm working toward a master's degree, it doesn't seem as though anything has significantly changed for me. Up until recently I've been easily classified as a girl, and I'm fine with that. In the past few years, however, people, particularly professors, have used the word "woman" when discussing me or other females of my age. This sounds incredibly strange to me. I'm not a woman; I'm a girl . . . I've always been a girl. Somehow things changed when I wasn't paying attention.

It is no better with males, by the way. When I was dating one recently, I couldn't refer to him as a boy for that would have given me only strange looks and hairy eyeballs. Of course, I couldn't call him a man either. Men are something like thirty-five years old, right? So now what? I was reduced to referring to him "this guy I'm seeing." Hmm . . . that's just no good.

There really needs to be words for people in this awkward time of life. Yes, yes, there is always the option of throwing "young" in front of man or woman, but that is not entirely satisfactory either. Ah, what do we do when our language fails us?

There goes the neighborhood . . .

2006-04-11T21:02:00.000-04:00

Today I decided to walk home the short way. I generally walk home by the longer, less steep path, but the beauty of the day enticed me to take a different route this afternoon. The sun warmed my skin, which it hadn't done for far too long, as I started the trek up to the top of my little mountain. Before I made it very far, I spotted little drops of sunshine dotting the grass. I've always loved Dandelions, so I couldn't help but pick one. I carried it most of the way home, and while doing so I took time to look at it, I mean to really look at it. My Dandelion was imperfect. The little petals were ragged and so did not make a nice circle. I thought to pick another, but the more I looked at mine, the more I realized just how lovely it was. Tiny yellow spears stuck out in all directions and its happy color reminded me of Wordsworth, though, of course, he wrote of a much more acceptable flower. It is a shame that the Dandelion should be so underappreciated. I agree very much with the landscaper, who I once heard say that a weed is merely a misplaced flower. I suppose people hate Dandelions so much because they cannot control them; they start bright and cheerful, grow old, and spread their aged hair across the land. Suddenly a well-manicured lawn is faced with the intrusion of nature, and people cannot, will not, have it. We want no nature in our yards. All the same, I'll happily be the downfall of the neighborhood if only to have my beautiful little weeds.

Thus begins a new journey

2006-04-09T17:25:00.000-04:00

So now I have joined the world of the bloggers . . . it's not too scary thus far. I fear that I have nothing brilliant nor even anything terribly witty to share with you here today. But you will forgive me for that, I hope. In time I will find more to discuss with the world, but for now just rest assured in the knowledge that I'm joining the already overwhelming ranks of those who post their most personal thoughts to be read by a few trusted friends and random passers by. Now, at last, I have finished with this brief excursion. Perhaps you will breathe a sigh of relief that I've finally ended this rambling, or perhaps you will linger over my words and wish there were but more. Either way, my dear reader, adieu.