Where is my watch?

My father lived a long life and I hope it was happy.  He died when he was 84 years old; since he smoked 3 packs a day of unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes from the age of 15, I think he had a good run.  At his viewing, my mother, sister, and I enjoyed sharing stories about him with all the people who showed up to honor him.  Two of my good friends, Alan and Ken, came in their best suits, looking like real gentlemen!  It made me happy.  One of our neighbors, who had always been just a bit "off", asked them who they were and what they were doing there.  God bless them, they told her that they were professional mourners.  How lucky am I?! After the viewing we went back to our family home and invited everyone to join us.  I don't remember who showed up, but I know we drank more gin martinis than we should have.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.   The next day we got in the big black car that would accompany the hearse to Mount Erin Cemetery in Havre de Grace, Marylan

Years ago I started getting strange headaches in the mid-morning.  I couldn't understand why; I wasn't sick or under any unusual stress.  I mentioned it to my husband, and asked him if he noticed that I had been doing anything different that might be causing the headaches.  He thought about it for a while, and then told me that he had decided that I need less caffeine, so he had been making my morning coffee with half decaf.  I remember my response, " WHAT?!?!?!?"  Yes, it was lovely that he was concerned about my caffeine intake, but, well, there are no words.  From that day forward, my husband has never touched my coffee or anything in the vicinity of my coffee.  Geesh. My daughter told me that I was an addict.  I think that's a bit harsh.  I prefer coffee aficionado.  I blame my childhood (so what else is new?  I blame my childhood for just about everything...unless it's my husband's fault).  We drank instant coffee when I was growing up.  My grandmot

It's been a few days since I posted.  I've been recovering from cataract surgery; I want to share some thoughts about the experience.  On the day of my surgery, I expected there would be a crowd of folks waiting for their procedures, but, wow!  What a busy place that surgery center was.  People my age and older were all waiting for the same procedure with the same doctor.   I don't do well with needles (that's a story for another time), but the nurse who started my IV was wonderful.  As I was being prepped, more patients kept coming in, going through the same process and questions as I.  "Have you had anything to eat or drink, are you able to walk on your own, which eye are we doing today, etc."  While all this was going on, there was a group of staff who were discussing food!  FOOD!  I know that I and the other patients hadn't had anything to eat or drink since midnight, so the last thing we wanted to hear about was steak, bread, butter, half and half v

I am torn!  I want to continue to support my local newspaper.  I've had the newspaper delivered to my home for as long as I can remember.  When I was young, we had two newspapers, one in the morning, and one in the afternoon.  That was way back when we had only three television stations, almost the stone age!  There was no "all news, all the time" television station.  For local news especially, the newspaper was our best source.  We relied on it. My local newspaper is struggling financially; the proof is in each daily delivery.  The paper is no longer printed locally, so the most current news has to wait until the next day.  Also, there are more full page advertisements than there are full page stories.  The "Life" section has been absorbed into whatever other section has space for it.  I've written letters to the editor that go unanswered; that makes me sad.  When I travel, I give the paper plenty of notice to halt delivery during the days I will be away.

While the estimates vary, about 10 percent of the population is left-handed.  I am one of that minority.  The first time I realized that this was going to be problematic was in Catholic elementary school.  The nuns taught us the Palmer method of handwriting, and they really meant business with this stuff!  I vividly remember struggling mightily to craft the lower-case f; I kept getting it backwards.  While the right-handed students easily managed to handle their fountain pens (yes, we were required to use fountain pens) I held my pen in an upside down, claw-like death grip.  Every once in a while, a nun would smack my hand with her ruler because I just could not master this stuff.   There must have been more than one left-handed student in my class, but I can't recall anyone but me suffering through the Palmer method.  My ink would smear as I dragged my helpless claw across the page.  Eventually, the nuns succeeded and I have beautiful penmanship to this day.  I wonder how much l

In hindsight, I realize that my recent post about libraries and librarians was all about me feeling good about how funny I think I am.  As I told my friend, it was nothing short of therapeutic.  I felt good about it, and then I started thinking, really thinking, about what I had written. Here's the most important thing I will say all day:  libraries and librarians are awesome and unappreciated.  Because public libraries are open and welcoming to everyone, they may serve as temporary resting places for the homeless, the mentally ill, and others who have no place else to go.  While it's easy for me to write about my personal challenges in that environment, I realize that my post did a disservice to all the librarians and library staff who serve a population that most people would rather ignore.   I appreciate all the good work, the kindness, the care that librarians offer every single day.  My need to be funny should never take a back seat to acknowledging the goodness in our

I am so proud to be a librarian!  I mentioned in an earlier post that, with  my degree in English Literature,  I  was having trouble finding a job that didn't involve calling the men in my office "Sir" while they referred to me as "their girl."  Granted, this was in the eighties when such behavior was rampant and somewhat acceptable.  Anyway, Drexel University offered a Master of Science degree in Information Studies; I heard it calling to me. In a few years of part-time attendance, I was a full-fledged librarian on the hunt for gainful employment.  Now here is the important part:  there is a huge difference between academic libraries and public libraries.  My time in the public library did not begin well.  Again, this was a while back, so  probably   everything has changed.  My first day on the job, I was given a desk in a row of desks in the "back room."  There was one computer that we all shared.  It had a big switch to turn it on and off, and the

Really!  Goose Masters!  Who knew?   I worked at a lovely college campus that had a beautiful lake and lots of birds: ducks, geese, chickens (neighbors raised them, and they sometimes visited), etc.  The ducks, chickens and assorted small birds were not a problem.  The geese were.  They left their mark, so to speak, all over the campus.  It was hell on the maintenance crew, especially when we were expecting important visitors.  There was endless poop patrol; I don't think it was anyone's favorite job. As an administrator at the campus, I attended monthly Leadership Team meetings.  These were painless, unlike many other meetings, mostly because the Director of Administrative Services (DAS - we had to have an acronym for everything) ran them.  He is brilliant, organized, and doesn't enjoy long meetings.  His best feature is his sense of humor.  Thank God for a sense of humor in meetings!   At one of our Leadership Team meetings, the DAS announced that our goose poop pr

When I was young, less than 15 years old young, I had a monster metabolism.  I could eat like mad and never gain any weight.  At one point my mother considered having me tested to see if I was harboring a tape worm.  It was that crazy.  One day, everything changed and I started packing on the pounds with no effort at all.  These new pounds were particularly attracted to my thighs, a trend that has continued. Even when I was a tiny, skinny little thing, I was always worried about how I looked.  When all the other girls started growing in all the appropriate places, I remained horrifyingly flat chested. At that age when I thought everyone was checking me daily to see if I had sprouted the necessary equipment, every day was another disappointment.  Adolescence; has anyone lived through it unscathed?  What was wrong with me and my stupid body? I survived the savagery of adolescence, but I never lost the feeling that the world would be a better place if this body could be kept hidden.