Ok, everybody…
17 Dec 2010 Leave a Comment
Meet me at www.pendleton.plinkit.org/blog. I just wrote up a new entry, it’s Christmas-flavor, and I’m not using this site anymore. Quick! Read it before it’s all used up!
Attention!
02 Dec 2010 Leave a Comment
Another move is coming! I will have my blog directly on the Pendleton Public Library website from now on! Tha address is www.pendleton.plinkit.org. Please meet me there by next week. That is all.
Places I remember
26 Oct 2010 Leave a Comment
When I was very small, I often stayed with my grandparents after school. One set lived on the north end of Water Street, and I would walk there at the end of day. The most dangerous part of the walk was going past Sleepy Glen’s 76 Station, where Sleepy Glen’s son Dennis would rush out to tease, tickle, and roughhouse with his nephew Todd, my friend. I came in for some roughhousing, too, and I’m sure it was gentle and good-natured roughhousing, but at 7 years old, it terrified me. I tried taking an alternate route, but got in trouble. For some reason, my Grandma wanted me to walk only on Main Street and Water Street. Franklin was out of the question. Also, I was not to stop and visit at any little friends’ houses on the way home. I could actually understand that, as my Grandpa was waiting for me to eat a peanut butter sandwich and watch Mr. Rogers with him. Also, to help him clean and pack his pipe. Pipe smoke, though very rare now, always brings back those Autumn afternoons.
My other set of grandparents lived south of town, about a mile away. When I went there, I either rode the bus and got off at their house, or I walked down to Swede’s to meet Grandpa. Swede’s was a tiny shack-type restaurant, that always smelled of freshly fried onions and potatoes (possibly liver as well, fresh and rare). They had card games in the back, I understand, but I never saw them. Just about every little restaurant in every little town in the place at that time had card games in the back. I’ve heard that the playing was not cheap, either, and that some of the players were chauffered there. But when I went there, only Grandpa was waiting, and it beat walking past Sleepy Glen’s son.
Bleeding marvellous.
08 Oct 2010 Leave a Comment
I’ve been watching Sweeney Todd : the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. I’ve seen it before, of course, but it’s on BBC America for their month of British horror movies, and i’ve become enthralled. Every time I see it’s on, I watch it again. It ran back-to-back on Sunday–I watched it both times. I watched it last night when I got home from work. I liked it before, as I enjoy Johnny Depp in all his manifestations. But something new has been added. I’m listening to the music.
I thought the songs were clever before, especially everyone’s favorite comic cannibal chorus “A Little Priest”, and “Pirelli’s Mirace Elixir”, but this time I’ve been listening to the tunes. I’ve been whistling “Johanna 3″ all day, but on Monday I couldn’t get enough of “Pretty Women” (blowing out their candles, combing out their hair). Those are the catchiest darn songs I’ve heard in a while. Showtunes, I guess, but I’m not ashamed.
Anyway, I don’t know good singing from bad, because I thought Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter sounded great. Experts assure me that they are just not good enough to sing in public, but I think if it sounds pleasant and doesn’t hurt my ears, it’s great. And aren’t some of those Steven Sondheim songs hard to wrap your voice around? Anybody who cane do that is a trouper, in my book.
Ghost images.
14 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
My friend sent me a link on facebook, which was so good I added as a favorite on my own page and on the Library’s page. It has old photos of tribes and their members from all over the North American continent, from Inupiaq and Yupik to Seminole and Sauk & Fox. Some of the photos are old old old, of people looking tired out and shocked. Some are newer, in color, of people looking like they enjoy their electric range and pink davenporte. Yet others are of famous people, like Maria Tallchief dancing on outrageously long ballerina legs, and Ira Hayes looking like a stalwart World War II hero.
The very oldest pictures are what I liked best. There are sets of photographs of Pacific Northwest coastal people, sepia toned and faint, which look like they may be pictures of ancient magicians (and I guess they are). They look exactly like photos of the soul, of which people who have never been photographed are said to be afraid. Well, I think they might be right. It’s nothing to be afraid of, of course, as the soul moves too quickly to catch, but it is a capturing of a fleeting image and freezing it in place. The recording of singing, dancing, and other ritual activity is strictly forbidden by some tribes, and severely mistrusted by others, because of the possibility of killing the ritual. If it’s recorded, it can’t ever evolve, it’s just stuck that way. I doubt, however that any of these people thought it was stealing their soul. They look like they feel it’s important to preserve their images.
Some pictures have comments about the subjects, how they look sad or something. Mostly, I don’t think they look sad, just old. It’s hard to grin when you’re over 100 years old–your friends and family are gone now, and you’re probably bone tired. There are plenty of happy folks, too, as they are often photos taken at home or trying out the new motor car or picnicking on the beach after the seal hunt. Hard to look gloomy lined up next to huge Olympic Peninsula seals. Also, the twin Cayuse babies Tox-e-Lox and Alom-pom are listed under their Jones names, Emma and Edna. I like it best when both of their photos are shown, the normal one and the crying one. I guess those two are sad because they’re so young.
Poetry speaks– who i am
10 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
We have a new collection of poetry, aimed at the young adult audience, with accompanying cd. The cd contains tracks of each poem being read aloud, which I always think is the only way to go. I don’t really enjoy much poetry (except haiku and limericks, but I think that’s the sign of a purile brain), and reading it to one’s self is utterly dreary. But if it’s read aloud, especially by the author, I actually like it! Yes! Like it!
I did enjoy one I read today. It was about a first outing for bra shopping. The poor narrator doesn’t have a good time. I really can sympathize, as I have had bad experience in the lingerie department too. Not as a young girl in unfamilliar surroundings, but as a grown woman with many years’ experience–it was a terrible shock to have a bra lady act like I knew not my own size, nor what I wanted and where to find it. Actually, my first bra shopping should have been horrendous, but was just fine. My grandma took me (a lady who likes noise, drama, embarrassment of others, standing up to overbearing clerks for embarrassing others, and so on), and we went to Hatfields, in the Eastgate Mall in Walla Walla. The saleslady took one look at me, chose the right size and style, I tried it on, she complimented the fit, we bought it and were done. Easy! Unpoetical, too. That’s the sad part of being pretty easy-going. You just can’t get a hurtful situation going to write about.
Round-Up begins!
19 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
We have the decorations up, we have the western books out, we’ve started wearing our cowboy clothes. This morning, we took a picture of 4 library employees in western clothes (you can see by our outfits that we are cowboys), and it’s up on the library website front page. We’re excited! 100 years is a thing to celebrate, and we’ve started as early as we can. Once the Summer Reading Program was over, we put out painted skulls and saddles and boots. If we only had a big plastic horse, we could display our saddle and bridle effectively.
Sadly, it’s so hot that jeans and boots are torture. I haven’t worn socks in months, and I sweltering. I’m so glad I have an indoor job for which I wear costumes, instead of an outdoor job for which I would wear work clothes.
Vampire romance.
09 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
As I have often said, I don’t care for vampire books. When I was in college, vampires were all the rage, and I enjoyed the many novels and stories and movies and tv shows featuring their little doings. The story I remember best is the one about the man driving away from the rest stop, but that’s not his wife in the back seat.
I have been so bored by all the new vampire love stories coming out on the book shelves. I just can’t drum up enough interest in the basic concept to get past the shoddy workmanship of the books. I don’t want a novel written in the kind of pompous language usually reserved for legal documents (though that kind of language is funny in its own way), but I can’t take trite language at all. If an author overuses her favorite words, I tune out. Vampire books seem to be especially troubled by this defect. I tried those darn Twilight books on several different occasions, and I just couldn’t read them. I don’t care about any of the characters, and I don’t like the author’s style. I realize this is because I’m not a kid anymore, but still. It gets on my nerves.
But I have read two vampire books in the past week that I enjoyed. I was as surprised as anyone, but it’s true. First, I read Sunshine by Robin McKinley. Sure, it had its own moments of tiresomeness, mostly about the dumb main character who I didn’t feel for or care about, nor about her unlikely relationship with the vampire. But every one else was richly imagined and fascinating to discover. The landlady, the stepdad, the boyfriend, the coworkers. All great folks. The world it was set in was superbly imagined. It’s a post-destruction modern America, where magic is real, and the people you meet are not only possibly vampires and werewolves, but also demons and sprites and mixtures of humans with others, and so on. That was enjoyable. I would like to read more.
Also, I read Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris. These are southern vampires, starting to live peacefully among human beings. You might recognize it as the series True Blood on HBO. I was sceptical, as long series about vampires like this are often terribly hard to take. I will freely admit that I was wrong, and look forward to reading all the others, too. In fact, I got home from work on Saturday night, and read the whole thing in one sitting. I like the heroine, whose southern speech patterns are entertaining to me. I like that her brother is a selfish womanizer, what one expects from the vampires, but he’s human. I like the Louisiana setting, in the towns outside New Orleans. I like the vampire Bill, a Civil War veteran returning to his family’s homesite after more than 200 years. And it’s not trite.
If you like vampire stories, I’m so pleased for you. You are holding the comet’s tail, and have your pick of reading. In fact, you should try writing one for yourself, as I think you could be published! I feel about vampires the same way I feel about ABBA–I only like them because my friend likes them (not the same friend, either). But these two books are a treat! Try them if you’re feeling a little tired of vampires also.
In reference
28 Jul 2010 Leave a Comment
I’m minding the reference desk today, as I have many times before. I find it one of the most satisfying jobs in the business, because I can actually stretch out and find answers to questions. In another of my library incarnations, I can only answer directional questions (i.e., Where’s the restroom? How do you get to Safeway from here? How do I get there from the Red Lion Motor Inn?). In my favorite library incarnation, I answer questions about where books are, or go, or belong. That is also satisfying, as it relies on my memory most of all. But in reference, I must remember how to find the answers to all the questions I am asked.
Usually, I confess, I am only looking up phone numbers and adresses online, but even that can be interesting. Sometimes, I am looking up books for people, then helping them find the section where they are shelved. That’s fun because you can chat a little with the questioner. In fact, you have to, as sometimes what they are asking for is not really what they want information about. Chatting helps them open up.
If I had my choice of library jobs, and maybe I will someday, I would be a reference librarian. I like to sequester myself in my cubicle and catalog, especially when it’s challenging, and especially because I like to look at the books first. But reference is always different and always interesting and you get to give people what they want: information.
The frothiest reading in a frothy medium.
10 Jul 2010 Leave a Comment
In my opinion, the best article in any magazine is the comical one at the end. I get awfully fed up with the technical instruction and warnings for unwary consumers. Many magazines understand this, and run articles by the funniest authors in the business.
Outdoor standbys, like Field and Stream and Outdoor Life, ran Patrick McManus articles, which are still some of my favorite reading. The best ones are collected in the book The Grasshopper Trap, the book that made a man reading it aloud on the radio laugh until the program was disrupted. After long and tedious articles about how and when to buy fishing rods, a funny little bit on jumping a fence on the shoulders of a friend running from a dead rattlesnake is refreshing. I have read just about every story written by Patrick McManus, even up to his mystery stories about an Idaho sheriff. Try them, they start with The Blight Way, then Avalanche, then The Double Jack Murders. A lengthy list of the books containing his collections of magazine articles is available at the front desk. In these articles, you will read about his sister The Troll (she can work primitive troll magic to make wolves appear where before there was only roadside brush), his dog Strange (uncooperative, sneaking, venal), and his great friend Rancid Crabtree (the last of the mountain men). They’re stories I wish I hadn’t read in order to read them for the first time again.
Smithsonian magazine has some greats on its last page, too, though the last one I read was about the distasteful and dangerous things one finds in children’s books. It was supposed to be pert and tongue-in-cheek, but it came off as officious, also ridiculous. She especially turned up her nose at the works of Robert McCloskey. Her weak grasp of science is to blame here, I suspect. She humorously decries the unfatherly actions of the drake in Make Way for Ducklings, who abandons his family (they’re lucky he did, as I have seen what drakes act like in person). Also, Blueberries for Sal gets a licking. The mother in that one should be aware of the amount of pesticides on the berries her child eats (in 1948, when I’m pretty sure wild blueberry patches were not sprayed for any reason, if they ever have been). Also, she should have been more afraid of bears. I guess they either shouldn’t have gone out into the patch at all, or they should have panicked and gotten mauled. Again, I know the author was trying to be funny, but she wasn’t. The real humor in both of those stories is already picked out for the reader by Robert McCloskey himself. Ducklings look cute following their mother in a line. It’s funny to see big policemen holding up 1941 Packards for a cute line of ducklings. Little bears and little girls look cute gobbling blueberries. It’s funny to see a little girl follow a bear’s mother, and a little bear follow a girl’s mother.
