Going Inkless

On some level, most of us feel a resonance with growing things. You may not see yourself as a gardener. You may not consider your thumbs green, but chances are, you feel plants are a positive thing. In general, people enjoy having potted plants in their home or office. Hotels, restaurants, and shopping malls decorate with foliage because people like it. Greenery softens the hard edges and improves the general atmosphere of a place. We put fruit or flowers on the table or present a bouquet to a friend because they make people happy. Just the idea of plants is symbolic of abundance, growth and good things. In springtime, we are thrilled by the first pale green sprouts that poke out of the frosty earth. We anticipate sunny days spent communing with the life we see emerging all around us. That recognition of life and its potential to nourish us lies at the heart of our affinity for the plant kingdom. It's what turns so many of us into gardeners and groomers of our own littl...

The old tree never talked to the human things, never once in the endless cycles of dark and light or the greater turns of buds and ice. They were disinclined to listen, so he had never considered it. Oh, he had watched them scurrying through their lives, passing his place on their way to some other. He had watched them coming and going, building and unbuilding , rearranging the world and moving on. Little by little, they cleared the grove around him, taking the timbers of his fallen friends for ceaseless projects in the far away. His wood was too knotty and twisted for that purpose; so, in time, he stood alone with the smaller lives. On quiet evenings when the breezes tickled his leaves, he listened to the rustle of the long grass and answered in his way. He shared his world with the soft moss and a tangle of weeds that sprouted up each spring. He knew their generations, untouched as he because they were equally insignificant to the men who remade the forest. In the fresh day...

This week has been a harrowing whirlpool of worries and obligations. My first week back at work after a few days vacation is always high stress. I steel myself for the pressure and pace of trying to catch up and untangle the knots that inevitably occur in my absence. Nothing attracts a complicated problem or a string of phone messages and e-mails like stepping away from your desk for a while. At the start of this first week back, I experienced a car accident that left me without a vehicle, scrambling to arrange transportation, to report the accident to the state and make the insurance claim. There have been calls to and from several insurance offices and the body shop, appointments rescheduled, and all of the other accident fallout. Concurrently, there were worries over my mother-in-law's heart surgery, my husband's health problems that required two doctor visits in one week, and impending computer "upgrades" at work that promised to be increasingly complicated...

On the way to choosing her goal of a library science degree, my daughter explored the fields of philosophy, psychology and social work. Despite this obvious interest in how people see the world and her desire to help those who are suffering or seeking, she has a profound dislike of the self-help industry. Not too long ago, we discussed her strong feelings on the popular books and methods, their gurus and followers. She didn't disagree with their advice on all counts, even noting that many of the "new" ideas were recycled from the philosophy and religion of other cultures or historical periods. Her primary objection seemed to be the marketing of that advice. Authors of self-help books and leaders of self-help programs may begin with the best intentions, but often end up using classic sales techniques to push the notion of a quick fix on a public that is all too willing to buy that impossible concept. Mankind is always seeking, feels the need to figure it all out and...

In the midst of a funding crisis in our library system, a local newspaper was doing a story, and our director was contacted (among others) to provide a few anecdotes about things we’ ve done for our patrons. Although he was late in opening the last minute e-mail request and missed the deadline, he asked me to think about the assignment anyway. Library funding is a hot topic right now, and he wanted to be prepared if we are asked for such information again. I’m not entirely comfortable with his request. While I do my best for all our patrons and often go beyond our normal routine to help them get what they need, I don’t think what I do makes a good story. Often, though it may mean very much to the patron, what I dig up for them is of little interest to the world at large. On top of that, it’s all part of my job. To brag would be unsuitable and inappropriate. When I go out of my way for a patron, it’s not really special because librar...

Think back to when you started learning to drive a car. You haven't learned that skill? Or maybe you're looking forward to that day, but are too young to start? It's no matter. I, myself, didn't learn to drive until my late 20s, much later than usual for those in my area. I only picked this metaphor because it's a common experience for most Americans. And, yes, of course it's a metaphor. Did you think this would be any different? There's a lot to learn about life by looking at how we approach other skills. What I say here can apply to nearly any skill; so if you can't relate to learning to drive, you can think of the early days of a skill you practice and read on. As eager as you may be at first, you are also nervous. You find there's so much more to driving than you previously thought, and you worry over every little thing. You struggle to remember all the steps. Discouragement follows every mistake, and there is a dark cloud of possib...

For details of my attempt at camping in arctic temperatures, see the previous post. If you want the quick version, with pictures, this is the place. Arriving at White Pines Forest State Park. The fords on the regular road are dangerous this time of year, so the ranger directed me to this alternate entry. I had my pick of campsites, but had to carry my gear a bit from where the car was parked. After struggling with setting up in the bitter cold, my tent was finally ready! Only a few pictures of the scenery before my camera battery froze to death... At night, the temperature dropped too low to sleep safely, so I gave up and went to a motel. Even with the heater on high and my husband's special Bears blanket, the motel room was as chilly as a tent in autumn. Day two found me suited up and back at the campsite doing camp stuff. Don't be fooled by the sunshine, it didn't really go past about 15 degrees in the warmest part of the day. This is...