Ups and Downs in My Life

Wow!  A lot has happened since I last posted.  I'll try to paraphrase.

We really enjoyed our time with little Maliyah over the holiday season. She was staying with Becky and Rusty, going to daycare at Little Eagles Daycare with Karla Danielson. She was happy, and learning some good habits and keeping a regular sleep routine. She had made friends at the daycare and was coming to Story Time at the Library.   Regan was struggling with some issues in Colorado and needed some stress relief.

Regan called and wanted Maliyah to come and stay with her for a "couple of weeks" so we met her in Colby, KS to hand deliver our precious cargo over to her.  I had my suspicions then, but was afraid to voice them.  A couple of weeks later, we learned that she had called Becky and said she was keeping Maliyah out there.  Ordinarily this would be good news, but we were concerned that Maliyah would be unhappy.  We didn't hear much from Regan or Maliyah for a couple of months.

Then on February 11, Dennis lost his dad to Alzheimers and depression.  When I notified Regan, she said she wanted to come and attend the funeral.  And she needed to get the rest of Maliyah's things which we hadn't taken with us to Colby, thinking it was for a two week stay.  An argument between Regan and Becky caused some tense moments over the phone, but thank God they got that pretty much worked out before Regan arrived.  It was killing me to have that strife in my family.

Regan and Maliyah and Regan's friend MJ left to return to Colorado this morning. They should be getting home about now.   We've been texting back and forth now and then.  I asked her to send videos and pics of them and she said she was missing us already. I told her there was a fix for that.  She said "you'll be moving to Colorado then?"  I said "I wouldn't hold your breath on that one.  Grandpa in a liberal state?  He'd stroke out."  Then I asked her when she could return for another visit.

I'm hoping that the weather isn't too nasty on Teresa's Angelversary, so I can take out some new fake flowers.  I wish I could use living ones, but the icy cold we've been having would only kill them, and the wind would blow them all over the cemetery. I want to write more about Teresa and her life this week.

I gave up my job at the library at the end of January.  The demands of the Board at the insistence of the consortium at Great Bend was more than I knew I could physically handle. I'm having neuropathies in my feet and sometimes they lose feeling and I almost fall, usually after standing for several minutes.  Some of the work there requires standing or walking for longer periods of time. Jobs that required standing and walking were being neglected.  I did the best I could do, but it just wasn't good enough.  So I turned in my notice.  I miss the job. I enjoyed the work, and most of the people I dealt with there.  Mostly I miss the paycheck, meager as it was.

Now I'm looking at other ways to make some spending cash and help pay some of the bills, so Dennis isn't carrying the entire load.  My Social Security doesn't go very far.

But that is life. Just when you think things are going pretty well, someone pulls the rug out from under you.  Sometimes I do it to myself.  But I look at it like God is closing a door so he can open another one for me.  So I put it all in His hands.  I'm ready Lord.  Where is it?

Journaling Saves Sanity

Raising 4 small children in the 70s and 80s was very stressful at times.  Dennis was gone all week and sometimes more than that in the truck.  I lived 45 miles from my mom, and although Dennis' mom helped as much as she could, I still had a lot of responsibility on my shoulders.

I would have probably gone insane if it hadn't been for bingo with Georgia, Dennis' mom, and my journaling.  I kept a spiral wire bound notebook for several years, in which I confided all my fears, sorrows, resentments, as well as appointments, important events and how I reacted to them, and the happy times as well. I kept my journal hidden, because of the nature of my entries. I didn't want Dennis to know how unhappy I was during that time, and, to tell the truth, after I wrote my bitching down, it just didn't seem all that bad after all.

So I'd write and put it away until the next post, and then write some more.  I wrote after supper, while the kids were napping, while they did their homework, and often late at night while everyone was asleep.  It was my own space, timewise and physically, when I could have a quiet moment alone.  I treasured those moments.  I could cry quietly when I felt the need.  My journal never questioned my judgment, it never told me to "get over it."  It never made any faces at me, or made jokes about my sensitivities.  It was almost the perfect shoulder to cry on.

It just wasn't a soft shoulder.  It didn't dry my tears. It never solved any problems for me.  I still had to do all those things.  But it was very important to me, and I'm glad I did it.  I do wish I'd kept those journals.  I threw them away because I was afraid my growing kids or husband might find them and learn how much I shouldered while taking care of them.

Now, I've started doing more journaling again. I have a paper journal, and this, my blog, to confide in. Of course, I'm careful what I put in them, just in case, but I still find them a comfort to me when I'm feeling down.

In this age, with all the craziness going on around me, I need some way to express my concerns and fears, my sorrows, and my happiness as well.

Thank you Journal for keeping me sane.  I really should name you.  Journal just sounds so lame. I know, I'm going to name you Teresa, after my daughter.  I hereby christen my journal Teresa Marie.

I feel better now.

More jobs than I can count

Last week I found a new job.  Well, it actually found me. After trying unsuccessfully to bow out of my tour of duty for the Church's Parish Council, (I was feeling overwhelmed with my library duties and other life events), I went to the latest meeting hoping to just skate along without any additional duties.  No such luck.  I was sitting there, half listening, and half daydreaming, and I heard my name mentioned. 

"Dixie, you'll do it, won't you? You work at the library, so  you could just type up your notes there while you're working." 

Do what?  What do they think I do at the library, anyway? 

"I'm sorry?  What did you want me to do?"

"Serve as Parish Council Secretary.  Since the last one left the Council, we're without a secretary.  Can you do this for us?"

"Oh, I don't know..."

"We'll help you if you can't attend a meeting or two.  All you need to do is write up the minutes and submit them within a week of each meeting."

My thoughts were suddenly racing and I know my blood pressure was flying high.  Another demand on my time. Now how will I ever get back to my novel?  Or paint?  On the other hand, how do you say "NO"  to God?

"Well, I suppose I could try.  But I might need some help some months. Especially in the summer..."

"Great!  Let the record state that Dixie Barnes will be the new Parish Council Secretary, and all the other officers will remain as is.."

I'm suddenly scrambling to write down who the officers are and trying to take notes of what is going on.  The first part of the meeting is a blur.  I'm jotting down notes on all the papers handed to me at the beginning of the meeting, as well as the papers I had received prior to the meeting.

I didn't even tell Dennis when I got home. I knew he'd chide me about taking on another responsibility.  I was so exhausted after working all day and then spending four hours in the meeting that I just went to bed.

About four days later, I finally got  a chance to sit down and try to write the minutes up from that meeting. I sent the Parish Secretary an email, asking her to help fill in a few blanks I had left, like the attendance names.  I hadn't counted or itemized all the people present, and there had been three women there that I wasn't sure of their identity.  Well, two of them I knew, but the other one..nope.

So, that was my initiation into the next job on my resume.  I'm looking for a notebook to start putting all the papers in, so I can back reference if needed at the next meeting.  And I'll have to make sure I am always off work at the library before the meetings start from now on. I was late coming to this meeting, and look where it got me?

Til next time...don't take any wooden nickels!

A Door in Time still under construction.

Since 2007, I've been working on a young adult novel titled "A Door In Time."  It's a science fiction story about three teenagers from Wichita, Ks, who accidentally pass through a time portal in an old abandoned building.  They land in a cornfield and are taken in by a farm family, the Richmonds.  However, they are separated and one gets into trouble with the law, although innocent. 

The story is about their reactions to being in 1887 Kansas.  There are no electronics, no cars, no phones, nothing is the same as they are used to.  They struggle to find each other, and the time portal to come back to the "present" they were living in prior to their little journey. 

The culture shock is not limited to them, either. Everyone they meet in 1887 is shocked by the teens' stories about microwave ovens, movies, space travel, cell phones, computers, cars and everything else that we take for granted in our time.

The families of the teens are also going through a lot of stress, worried sick about their kids and worried that they may never see them again.  Unable to believe initially that time travel really exists, they are sceptical at first, but when one of the sheriff's deputies follows the kids into the past voluntarily, they start to believe.

The book has gone through many changes and revisions already, and it's far from being completed.  The rough draft is not that far from done, but then I will have editing, and finding a publisher. 

This is all being done during my time off from my library job.  I get excited about it all over again with each chapter I finish.  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, finally, and I'm praying it's not a train coming from the other end. 

So if  I disappear from this blog for a while, I can probably be found either at home or at the library, working on my manuscript.  Any and all prayers for a successful story are welcome.

 

Cindy Was A Nag

I got my first horse, Cindy, when I was about ten or eleven years old.  We did NOT name her after my brother's wife, Cindy.  We hadn't even met his wife yet.  I remember we liked a song in school and we were always singing it while we did chores.  How the name became transferred from the song to the horse, I have no clue. 

She was a knot-head nag, always trying to scrape me and my siblings off on a fence, under a tree, under the top half of the barn door, or, if that didn't do the trick, she'd just lie down and roll over, while we were on her back.  Sometimes she would just stop walking suddenly and we'd fly over her neck to the ground, if we weren't hanging on tight. 

One summer, I got the bird-brained idea to have a horseback-riding party with some of my friends.  They all came riding on their own horses, and we rode around the farm for a while, then took a break to chat for a spell, had a cool drink, and the horses got a few sips in before we were off riding again.  Cindy was being a real nag, trying to turn the party into a rodeo, nipping at the other horses, and trying to kick and buck.  We finally called it a day, and my friends left.  I never tried that type of party again. 

Before we got Cindy, I stayed one summer with my cousin, Rita, over by Esbon, KS.  We rode her horses every day, and I fell in love with horses then.  I cried when I had to come back home, where there were no horses yet.

After I married my husband, I gave up on riding for a long time. There were four little children to care for, and no horses available to ride.  Then in the late seventies, a family moved to town with several horses.  They were always active in horse shows, parades, trail rides, and just riding as a family.  After they discovered that I had an interest in riding, I was often invited to ride along with them.  I was even taken along when they rode for business, helping other farmers and ranchers herd cattle.  Once I rode all over a pasture looking for a  lost wallet. 

Riding horseback was a hobby that I really loved. I felt on top of the world sitting on the back of a horse. I loved their smell, the feel of their hides, the sound of their hooves clomping as they walked, and the wind flying by me while we cantered and galloped.  Even the occasional bucking was a little fun.  Who knows, I might have been a rodeo contestant if I'd had the opportunity earlier in life.

I guess I'll never know.  But I still love watching a horse running free, watching rodeos, and parades with the clip-clopping of the mounts, the camaradarie of the riders.  

I can't ride anymore, due to my back issues, but I'll always love horses.
 

Cindy and Cinder

From the time I was a toddler,  I loved horses. Big ones, little ones, I loved them all.  I remember as a child about 5 or 6 years old, visiting a neighbor who had shetland ponies, and clamoring to ride.  One of the teenage boys who owned the ponies, put me up on that pony and I was in Horsey Heaven!  He led me around the yard for quite a while. I think I might have cried when I had to get off.

I also collected horse figurines and toy horses. My favorites were kept in a shadow box on my bedroom wall. I was devastated when some rowdy cousins visited and knocked my horses to the floor, breaking them in tiny pieces.  

I especially loved palomino horses back then, with the golden bodies and white or cream manes and tails. Roy Rogers rode one of them, and although he was my hero, Trigger was the celebrity I especially wanted to see. My parents took me to the state fair in Topeka when I was about 8 and we stood in line for hours to get in. I was disappointed that we couldn't get any closer to the Rogers family or their beautiful horses, but it was still a treasured memory for many  years. 

When I was 10, we got our first horse. We named her Cindy. I really don't remember why we picked that name, but I can remember singing the song "Cindy" while I rode her around the pasture. But the first time I got on her was rather embarrassing to me. 

I was too short to jump up on her back, so my dad cupped his hand, I stepped on it and he boosted me up and over.  Unfortunately, he boosted too far, and I flew over Cindy's back and landed in a pile of manure on the ground on the other side.  Daddy thought it was hilarious, and so did my siblings, but I was not impressed.  Daddy insisted I get back on, and didn't boost me quite so far this time.  

We rode that horse around for a long time. She was half quarter-horse, a eighth Arabian, an eighth appaloosa, and a quarter Shetland.  She was white with a brown cap on her head, a brown spot on her chest, and a long brown saddle on her back.  

My dad talked about having a colt from Cindy when she got older.  Someone Daddy called over brought in an Appaloosa stallion and the horses had a romantic interlude. The result was a dark brown colt with black mane and tail.  We named him Cinder.  He was always tagging along when we rode Cindy.

Cindy was an ornery nag.  She knew we girls weren't strong enough to make her mind, so she'd do things like lie down and roll over to make us have to jump off or get smashed.  If there were trees or a barn door, she'd try to brush us off under them.  Fences were another way to rid her of our annoyance.

When Cinder had grown to a yearling, he had a terrible accident that almost killed hun. He was always running around, chasing butterflies and kicking and bucking up a storm.  Well after one particular wet storm, he slammed on his brakes and slid, right into a barbed wire fence.  The gash he received on his chest was about 8 inches long, to the bone. His chest was gaping open and bleeding. It became badly infected.  The veterinarian gave us medication to give him  and we had to give him epsom salt baths to the wound twice  a day.  It was quite painful for him because he'd quiver and shake while we did his treatments.  But he did heal, although with a large scar.  

He never did get broke to ride while we had him.  When I left for college, my dad sold the horses, and I never saw them again.  I had a few pictures of them at one time, but I don't any longer.  I never outgrew my love of horses though.

Next time, I'll write about riding with my friends.

Work on the Farm: Nasty or Delicious!

Although there were a lot of good times on the farm, there were also plenty of times that weren't as nice.  Sometimes, I felt like the day would never come when I could leave for good. 

For instance, cleaning out the grain dryer after the grain had spoiled and there were maggots crawling around in the moldy, smelly grain.  There was a hole in the dryer, about 3 feet by 4 feet that we had to crawl through to get inside the dryer.  It was hot muggy work.  We carried a sturdy stick.  Not too big, but it had to be sturdy enought to not break when we shoved it down inside the bottom of the dryer, shoving the maggoty grain down through the holes at the bottom.  

It was awkward in there. There was a small area inside where we could lean against the outer wall, but had to twist to one side or another to get down close enough to the holes to poke at them.  The inner walls of the dryer ran horizontal to the outer walls, leaving a space about two and a half feet for our bodies to maneuver around in.  It was always hot, humid and smelly in there.  Once we got all the grain poked through the holes in the bottom, we could finally crawl around and get back out the same hole we entered through.  That was always a huge relief.  That was one of the nastiest chores we had to do.  We were very relieved when we grew big enough that we could no longer fit through the holes.

Another chore we hated was leveling the grain in the grain bin. This was back before they realized the danger of entering a full grain bin.   They had no clue that there might be air holes in the bottom of the piles of grain, that might collapse and suck us down into the bottom of the bin, smothering us, or even worse, pulling us down into the twisting, grinding auger that was running outside.  Luckily, we were never injured that way.  However, I had horrific allergies that made me have respiratory difficulties. I still have them today. The dust coming up from that grain was so stifling, it was hard to breathe or see.  Just entering the bins from the top of the roof of the bin was dangerous enough.  Another chore we happily outgrew.  That hole in the bin door was tiny, too.

Another of our nasty chores, mucking the pigpen, was pretty horrendous too. We'd be standing in the sloppy, slick, and sticky mud and manure of the pigpen. Our dad was running the tractor with the front end loader.  He'd lower the loader into the bottom of the pen, and we'd shovel the manure/mud into the loader.  Often we would lose our boots and/or socks in the muck and end up with frosty feet.  Eventually, we'd lose feeling in our feet and fall down. We'd get to crawl out of the manure/mud for a while to get warmed back up.  But eventually, we'd have to return to finish the job.  The shovels were heavy when filled with manure/mud.  And my balance has never been the best. But falling down in that mess was never very pleasant.

We learned at an early age that it didn't pay to argue with each other, or with our parents.  Their favorite punishment for our childhood mistakes was to send us out with a corn knife or a shovel to chop weeds, or clean out a shed or something.  

We also did a lot of irrigation chores in the summer.  We helped carry the pipe to the field, putting it into place. Always wearing heavy gloves to protect us from the hot metal and scratches and blisters.  The reward was getting to turn the water on finally and cooling off in the icy cold water.  After a few days, we were allowed to drink out of the pipes and tubes, after they had run for a while.  I'm sure it's a miracle that none of us became seriously ill from drinking out of that water.  It tasted so good though.

Herding cattle was challenging. The dumb animals never wanted to go the direction we were trying to push them.  So we'd have to run around in circles, trying to herd them in the right direction.  It was good exercise, I guess. 

Mama was pretty much in charge of the garden. Daddy would plow and plant the sweet corn with the big tractor, and he'd prepare the ground for the rest of the garden too.  But Mama was the one who planted the green beans, peas, carrots, lettuce, strawberries, and other produce.  Then we'd weed around them after they grew up enough to be identifiable.  They tasted so good after all the irrigation, weeding, harvesting, and preparation.  Mama canned a lot of veggies, but she froze the sweet corn, strawberries, and any peaches she was able to find.  We also had watermelon and canteloupe some years.  Nothing like farm produce when it's fresh. But it is a lot of work!

Earliest Memories and Farm Life

What are your earliest memories?  In my last post, I talked about the clothing I wore, and I mentioned standing on the front seat of our car while Daddy drove us to Concordia.  That is just a "flashback" memory. I remember the car, and sitting between my parents while they talked together, and what I wore.  I knew where we were going, but little else.

Another flashback is Mama taking me out to the outhouse behind the house, to go potty. I was probably about three or four, I only remember using that outhouse a couple of times, and then suddenly it seemed we had indoor plumbing, or at least a toilet and a bathtub. I think Mama must have put her foot down about it. It was pretty scary out there at night. There were no lights and we had to feel our way around with our hands. In the summertime, sometimes there were snakes in there, and there were always lots of nasty flies.

I remember Lassie. I watched Lassie on tv when I was little.  I loved how that beautiful collie was always saving someone or some animal from danger.  I remember noticing how she would lead her "project" to safety by walking ahead, then stopping and looking around and barking.

Our dog was also a collie, and her name was Lassie too. And when I was about four or five, she began acting that way one day.  I just knew she was trying to lead me somewhere. So I followed her. She led me through the yard, through the neighbor's pasture, around the pond, and over the hill to the neighbor's house.

I knocked on the door, and Mrs. Jacobsen, our neighbor, let me in while she called my mom. In a very short time, my mom was at Mrs. Jacobsen's door, and she was very angry with me, but she hugged me tight and I saw tears in her eyes as she begged me to never do that again.  I didn't. But it was a fond memory for me, anyway.

Our farm was once a dairy farm. We had quite a few Holstein cows, big black and white cows. They were pretty, most of the time, but they often wore their own feces and urine, because they walked around and lay down in it.  I always wondered why they lay in it when there was higher ground with grass.  Stupid cows.

Anyway, my dad had machines to hook up to the cows' teats to get the milk.  But he had more cows than machines, so there were always a few he milked by hand.  He'd squeeze and pull and milk would come streaming out into the bucket he held under the cow.  The cats like to hang around during milking time, because occasionally he would aim the milk stream into their open mouths.  They loved that fresh milk. 

After collecting the milk, he fed the cattle and released them back outside the barn, then carried the milk to the house where the milk separator was located.  I grew up with the sound of that noisy machine separating the milk from the cream, and seeing the big milk trucks coming to pick up the milk.   Some people had milk delivered to their houses in bottles, we sent the milk to the pasteurizer to be bottled and sent to others.  Of course, we kept some.  We never lacked for fresh milk or cream, and the ice cream...it was out of this world!  I still have my mom's ice cream recipe and love it!

Mama's garden was always a lot of work, but we had fresh sweet corn, green beans, peas, carrots, lettuce, and  much more to eat. We spent most of our summers canning and freezing the rewards from her garden.  Even after I grew up, she'd share her produce with us.  We ate really well.

Life on the farm was often good.

Wearing a smile or a frown with our old clothing?

I'm standing on the front seat of my parents' sedan, I believe it's a 1951 Chevrolet, dark gray in color. I'm about three or four years old, and I'm wearing a blue/red/green plaid dress and my favorite black patent pumps with ruffled white socks. I'm feeling very pretty.  At least Mama tells me so.

My mom and dad are talking together, while my dad is driving us to Concordia.  Daddy works for an electrical appliance business in Concordia.  Mama is a housewife.  She takes care of the house and helps with the farm chores.  It's not common for wives to work outside the home.  

Mama wears dresses or skirts and blouses most of the time, except when she is taking care of the livestock or working in the garden, then she wears blue jeans or old slacks.  In the winter, she wears layered clothing, with several layers of clothing under the coveralls, followed by at least one layer of heavy coats, gloves, boots, scarves. It gets  very cold doing farm chores in the winter. 

Now I'm about  eight or nine years old.  Mama stays in the house with Linda and Tom, my younger sister and brother.  I'm starting to help outside with the farm chores every day.  At first it seems like fun, but sometimes it's hard, especially in the winter.  In the summer, I can always spray water from the garden hose to cool off.

In the summer, clothing worn is much lighter in weight.  No more heavy clothing. The temperatures are often over 100 degrees in the summer. There is no air conditioning, and only one or two fans for the entire house, so they are strategically placed for maximum advantage.  My siblings and I often put a bowl of cold water behind a fan and lie down in front of it, so the air that hits our bodies is hopefully at least a degree or two cooler than what is normal. 

The  clothing we wear is almost all hand-me-downs, or handmade by our loving mom.  She tries so hard to make clothes we'll like. She buys  patterns and fabric all the time to make new clothes, and when we go to visit our cousins' house, we get new hand-me-downs from them that they have outgrown.  Buying new store-bought clothes is something that rarely happens.  

When I look at a Sears or J.C. Penney catalog, it's to look for clothing for my paper dolls.  My sister, Linda, and I  play with paper dolls all the time. The magazine, McCall's, has a monthly feature with Betsy McCall, as a paper doll with a collection of clothing designed just for her.  I love that feature.  I'm always watching for McCall's Magazine at the laundromat where we wash our clothes every week.  I pray that the page is still there, and if it is, I nab it before anyone else can get to it.  Stealing? I suppose it might be.  But the temptation is so great, and we can't afford store-bought dolls. 

One of my wishes is for a pair of saddle shoes. They are black and white, and all the girls are wearing them.  I'm very picky about my skirts.  They have to flare in just the right way.  I'm a real pain in the butt to my mom, who struggles to sew them the way I like them.  I'll regret that later, I'm sure. 

Clothing must be fashionable, you know, as well as comfortable. Even if you can't afford new clothes from the store.

Vignettes Of My Life Introduction

It's been quite a while since my last post.  I'm getting the urge to write once more.  Feeling reminiscent, I'm wanting to write some early childhood memories, to go along with my blog title, Living Fossil Images.  

These will be little vignettes of my early childhood leading up to and including my life today. They may not always be in chronological order. I'm sorry about that. My life hasn't always been neat and organized. 

I hope you will enjoy them.  I'm writing these mostly for my grandchildren, as part of my legacy to them. 

Carpet is in, Computers are Out.

The carpet is almost done at the library.  Except for a small part of the children's seating section, (they ran out of carpet and have to order more then come back to install it), it is all installed, and looks great.  It's a little darker than I imagined it would be, but it looks very nice, and we got rid of the strip behind the librarian's desk that has been a thorn in my side for the past two years.  lol.

Unfortunately, they unhooked all the computers and moved them around, which was understandable. They needed to be able to move the furniture around so they could lay the carpet.  But now, I'm struggling to get the computers hooked back up the way they were before, and we have no internet.  None. Zilch, Nada, Zero.  I did get all the computers to at least power on, except for one that I need to rig an extension cord to, but after working on it for hours today, I finally called the Board President, and told her I needed help getting the internet back on.

I'm sure it's just a simple matter of hooking the cords up correctly, resetting the router, and making sure the settings are correct.  But I have never been good at any of that, and my blood pressure rises every time I have to hook a computer up for internet.   Then my brain refuses to function, and I'd just as well give up.

Hopefully, we can get someone up from Great Bend to get it all figured out very soon.  Tomorrow I will reopen the library, but without the computer internet.  I will have to check out books and movies on paper, scan the bar codes into the computer and print them out offline.  Then enter them into the Pathfinder program once we are back up and running online.   A pain in the royal patoot, but it is what it is.

I also have to get all those nonfiction books that are piled high on the children's craft tables back on their proper shelves.  Some of them will be weeded out and put on the Weedy Shelf for a while.  If they don't disappear from there, they will be offered on eBay.

I used to have a book store on eBay and made some pretty good money doing it.  I'm thinking about opening an eBay store again soon.

On a side note, today was combination of Valentine's Day and Ash Wednesday.  Dennis, Becky, Karsyn, Whitley, and little Maliyah brought me chocolates and flowers.  I'll take a picture of the flowers tomorrow to post.  It was a great way to finish a frustrating day at work.  Then Dennis and I went to Ash Wednesday services at church.  Our priest was fighting a bug and was pretty weak and pale.  I hope it isn't the influenza virus going around.  He has a heart condition and needs to stay in good condition.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Library Taking Over

The library has taken over my life. Even on my day off, I am planning library events, posting about the library on Facebook, writing newspaper articles about library events, and brainstorming about new activities to try.

I'm not complaining. Not really.  It does give me a break from housework and watching Hubby's choices of tv shows, and it give me a social outlet.

This week has been especially hectic. I'm in the middle of a big restructuring project with our DVD collection.  We have almost 700 DVDs that we loan to patrons.  So any changes to the collection take time. Lots of time.  

Then I got a call on Tuesday that the new carpet for the library is in stock and the carpet installers will start laying it down on Monday morning. Can I please  move all of the nonfiction books off the shelves and take them to the back room so the workmen can move the shelves easier?  Sure. No problem.   Nothing else to do. ;)

I have an event to plan called Take Your Child To the Library Day that was originally scheduled for February 3.  I postponed it to March 3, in hopes of missing the flu and nasty weather that has been prevalent this past month.  I'm still trying to find games, contests, and activities for that. 

And it's almost time to start planning our Summer Reading Program for the kids.  That is a huge project involving 4 different days of activities, speakers, music, and encouraging the kids to read, read, read.  There is a contest to see who can read the most in the time between the first session and the last session, about six weeks apart.

On top of all that, I have my regular library chores to do.  But I love it. Busy time goes much faster than slow times.  I love books.  

This weekend, I will have a day to myself, that's something rare now that Hubby has retired. I hope to spend it doing some art, and some writing in my novel.  I'll probably do that in the library too.

Yeah, the library has taken over my life. And I wouldn't have it any other way.