books

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Show some compassion, Asshole

When someone says “libraries,” what’s the first thing you think of?

Books? Women wearing glasses with their hair in a bun? Computers? If you’ve visited one lately, you might think about children’s story times or author talks or programs on cooking or even writing your obituary.

What about bottled water for people experiencing homelessness? Maybe even a snack? Resources for local shelters and food banks?

Yup. A lot of libraries have all of the above now. We serve everyone in ways we never thought we would or needed to. But if there aren’t enough government resources for people in our community, then what do we do?

We do what we can.

However, this will take a toll on library workers. Rather, it IS taking a toll on us.

Here’s the thing. This is rough not just because of the budget cuts or lack of funding everywhere. It’s not hard just because there are some people who think folks that are unhoused “should not be allowed into the library.” Working in libraries right now can be difficult, and not just because we were NEVER trained to be social workers or to cater to everyone’s needs. You know what makes working in public libraries not so great?

For me, it’s because each and every day I see people that are mentally ill or addicted to substances or people who are living in shelters or their cars or on the streets–and they have nowhere to go. Sometimes the tiny bit of kindness each of us shows them is the absolute highlight of their day. I can’t begin to tell you how many times a day I hear, “I appreciate you.” And yet there are days when I’m not sure I can stand to watch these folks experience such hardships and pain anymore.

I am trained to recommend book titles and resources to library users. I am trained to assign call numbers and subjects to those same titles and resources. I am trained in multiple library computer systems, budgeting, supervising, customer service and creating library programs and events. But in more recent years, I also became trained in how to use fire extinguishers, an AED (Automated External Defibrillator) and how to administer Narcan. More and more librarians are taking social work classes, and if library science Master’s programs are not offering them, they shouldn’t bother teaching at all.

Because you know what? This is how libraries will be from now on. Do you see how the landscape of this country is changing? Do you really think there will be more funding to help people with housing or substance use disorder? No. Libraries are open to all and we’re proud of that fact. But we are not nurses, doctors, EMTs or therapists. We can provide a place for folks to be and some libraries are working with local organizations to provide resource fairs and snacks and even a time to see a medical professional.

But we are librarians.

Sure, people view us as superheroes (no capes!), but we are just humans and again, we are not trained to help those we are now tasked to help.

I have witnessed several overdoses in the past few years, thankfully no deaths, but that’s because of the heroic measures my colleagues took administrating Narcan. I have listened to young men cry on the phone because they didn’t have a place to stay the night and they were desperately calling shelters and people they knew. I’ve dug through my purse to try and find a granola bar for someone whom I knew really needed the calories, but to find nothing (which has not happened since because I won’t let it). Like probably any other librarian or public facing worker, I’ve been yelled at and called some horrific names. I’ve listened to some folks tell me stories that I hoped were not true, and others I just couldn’t understand because their words didn’t make sense but might have made sense to them. And I’ve stood at the front desk while someone used the phone, and I could feel whatever horrible trauma she faced coming off of her in waves. I wanted to run from her, even though she wasn’t doing anything wrong. I forced myself to stay still, treat her with kindness, although if I could have bolted I would have.

Like most people working in these situation, I try to shed everything I encounter before I get home at night. I take walks every day, I read and listen to audio books for a few hours daily, I try to eat well and lift weights a few days a week. I go to therapy every other week. But…I go home to a husband who is slowly dying from congestive heart failure. I go home sometimes to find he’s barely moved all day. I go home and wonder if this will be the day he doesn’t wake up, but hope that if it is that day, that I’M the one that finds him and not our son.

Is it any wonder, then, that I finally broke down? That I finally snapped at a colleague and stopped talking all together? That I found I could not physically smile for an entire day? That I’m so angry at the government, voters, my husband, or the asshole that said people that are unhoused shouldn’t be outside the library on a sunny day or inside the library on a cold day? Is it any fucking wonder that I want to burn down the world?

You know what though? Tonight, while taking one of those walks I mentioned, I saw a white-tailed deer hopping and frolicking in a field, on its way to the woods. It made me gasp, stop in my tracks, and smile big and wide.

So…I might not want to burn everything down quite yet.

(Below you’ll see my friend and running partner, Bam-Bam. These photos were from 2021. RIP, my friend.)

Now get out there, get a library card and visit your local library. And no, you probably won’t see someone use drugs or freak out, so don’t get your panties in a bunch, Aunt Eileen. Christ! You might see a person without a home and that sucks—for them. Stop being a dickhead and show some compassion and kindness, alright?

Hugs, y’all.

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I Want to Live Well

I’ve been thinking about my career lately, and what do I want to do with it for my last decade of work. (Or what I hope is the last decade of work. I really, REALLY do not want to work full time until I’m 70.) I’ve been a librarian for over 27 years. I’ve worked in an academic library as a cataloger in a tenure track position, a circulation librarian at a public library, helped form an all volunteer library in my town, was an Assistant Director and Director of public libraries (both positions included cataloging, teen services, programming, collection development and more), and now head of a department in a large (for Maine) library. I’ve been on the executive board of my state professional library organization in different capacities over the years, am on the New England professional organization board, have been on committees throughout my state where I’ve had the great fortune of working with school librarians, public librarians of all sorts, teachers and academic librarians. I’ve worked with community members and town government officials and have had the immense privilege to receive the Maine Library Advocate of the Year award a few years ago.

As my term on my state’s professional library organization board comes to an end next month, I had decided to throw my hat in the ring for a different position on the New England board. But after rolling it around in my brain for a few days, I withdrew my nomination with the caveat that at least two people were already running. (It’s good to have choices, no?) My work life has been so stressful these past few months. My library is part of a new consortium and we’ve been migrating to a new automated library system. Not only are we all learning something new, but there are bugs and weirdness and training the patrons to use the new catalog. Oh, and the bugs. Did I mention those? Weekly meetings to try and fix some of the weird things happening in the system and agreeing with other libraries on rules and procedures and language. It’s…fun, honestly. But also headache-inducing. So besides the meetings for the system, there are internal meetings to make sure we know what we’re doing and supervising staff and dealing with patrons and the many, many difficulties some of our patrons are facing in their daily lives. And of course, now that Trump has frozen federal funding, the stress and tension is even worse. That’s my daily work load, but add the professional organization meetings on top of it, and the state committee I’m on, then you start to feel like it’s…a lot.

When I won the Library Advocate of the Year Award, I remember sitting with my friend, Jon, and saying, “Shit. Is this the end?” He is incredibly kind and said I would definitely be up at the podium again one day, but I’m not so sure and I think I’m ok with that. Obviously, librarians do not become librarians to gain attention or kudos. Usually attention is the last thing we want, but gratitude is always appreciated and often we get it on a daily basis from grateful library users. I mean, we need that since typically our paychecks do not reflect how important we seem to be to so many people.

I digress!

I think for my last decade of librarianship, I’d like to stay connected to these professional organizations, maybe be on a committee or two. I’d love to go to a few conferences I’ve never been to, meet new people in my field, learn something new. But I also want to see that next generation of librarian warriors come into the field. I’d love to mentor them if they need me, but also be able to watch them grow and open any doors for them if I’m able. It’s not easy for me to step back. I do love being in the throng of things, knowing so many people in my field, constantly being in awe of them. But I can still admire folks from afar and cheer from the sidelines, right?

Now that my son is going off to college soon, I want to think about my own future that is apart from my career. Hopefully I can take a death doula course this fall. I’d love to take a few workshops on memoir writing. My letters and phone calls to both my local representatives in the Maine House and Senate and my Senators and Rep to the Congress will also continue with the occasional protest of our current administration’s policies. My volunteer work with hospice will most definitely continue. I just started training to walk/jog a marathon. I’m also leaning into what my husband needs and wants for the last years of his life. If I have a decent work/life balance, caregiving might not seem so difficult. Maybe.

And my friends. Oh, man, my friends. Look, I have a very small family now. The family I created along with my sister, niece, great nephews, great niece, stepmom and the few cousins I like, are people whom I love and love having in my life. But my friends? Those people inject so much happiness into me by just being with them! I’d love to have more time with many of them, but our lives are busy and I know that’s not always possible. I hope to carve out a little more time for my lovely, wide variety of friends, too. Although we could go to protests together and that would combine a few of my passions into one delicious day. 🙂 Or travel together! Hell, I want travel to a larger protest with a caravan of my friends!

Everything I mentioned is how I want my life to be. Having some kind of balance between my work and passions and friends and family is a good life, it’s a way to “live well.” (I just read “The Art of Dying Well” by Katy Butler and part of dying well is really living well, too.)

So tell me, what are your plans for the future? Are you in a place in your career where you’re ready to dive deeper or step back? If you’re no longer working, what do you want to do with the rest of your life? What does living well mean to you?

I’d love to hear more about what you want from your life, friends. It’s a tremendously crazy world we are currently in, and our future may not be what we intend (no matter who is President). But I still want to hear what you hope for. I really do.

I’m here to listen.

Hugs to you. ❤

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The Men Are Dead

I am a reader of many types of literature—mysteries, romance, literary fiction, narrative non-fiction, poetry. For the past year, however, I have found myself reading less of the “serious” or “dark” fiction, and more of what seems to be light but not cozy mysteries. (I define a cozy mystery with a murder to solve, but very little violence is depicted. It can feature a knitting circle, a librarian or a bakery. And a cat, of course.) But the mysteries I’m recently drawn to typically include a murder of a man—often a sexual predator, a sleezy yet powerful man that has physically abused a younger woman. A man that has promised a relationship then dump the woman, ruin them socially or economically, then move on to another woman and repeat. And very often, the man was killed by a woman.

If you look at the book covers pictured here, you’ll see why I was drawn to them. They look “harmless” and promise humor. They each had a good dose of humor throughout, but that’s not what kept me reading or listening. It was the hope, that the women who killed the men, sometimes unintentionally, would get away with murder.

This is why we read fiction sometimes, isn’t it? We can root for the murderers and not be seen as monsters ourselves. We can exact revenge on all of the rapists, killers and wife beaters through the words of novelists. It gives us hope that if the justice system fails us once again, a different kind of justice will win in the end.

Misogyny is thriving in this current bizarro world we live in, so is it any wonder when a scene from “A Handmaid’s Tale” of women literally tearing a man apart with their bare hands is shown, it makes us jump up and cheer?

I remember watching “The Burning Bed” on television when I was 11 years old. I was in awe of Francine Hughes’ (played by Farrah Fawcett) bravery as she poured gasoline over her sleeping husband and set him and the house on fire. She had been abused by him for nearly a decade and she was finally getting away. At 11, I had already witnessed plenty of physical abuse in my home, but the abuse had ended by then. I remember feeling a little spooked by the movie, that could have happened in my family yet we were fortunate that it ended on a better note. But I couldn’t help but feel HAPPY that Francine got out. No matter what it took. Even at a young age I was happy that man was dead. He couldn’t hurt Francine ever again. (If you’re not aware, “The Burning Bed” was based on the real Francine Hughes. She won the court case against her with a plea of temporary insanity.)

After Luigi Mangione supposedly killed the CEO of United Healthcare, many people took to social media to praise Luigi’s actions. They too were sick of being fucked over by the insurance companies, of not having medical tests done because the insurance companies wouldn’t allow it (not the doctors, mind you, the insurance companies). People were dying because they were denied the medical care they needed. These people wanted to do exactly what Luigi had supposedly done. They wanted the CEO and his family to hurt as much as they had. But those that cheered Luigi on were also called “horrible” people because “there is never an excuse for murder.”

Is there?

After our family friend, Virginia Cookson, age 39, was murdered by her ex-boyfriend in September of 2024, I know there isn’t an excuse for her murder. None.

I can’t say the same for others.

Since the day Virginia was killed, I see victims of domestic abuse everywhere. Women in particular are being abused and killed by men that supposedly love them.

I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen to me. Being constantly watched and monitored is not love. Being strangled* is not being loved. Being hit, kicked or pushed is not being loved. Being humiliated or constantly made to feel guilt is also not being loved.

*Let’s get this straight–”choked” is when something that occurs internally, something is lodged in your throat. “Strangled” is caused externally, when someone is putting pressure on your throat that stops your breathing. THE MEDIA NEEDS TO CORRECT THEIR LANGUAGE.

Is it any wonder that I’m reading books with dead men in them and cheering on those that killed them? Is it any wonder I’m filled with rage when abusers of women are allowed to govern the country I live in, that the representatives we vote for allow more and more abusers and misogynists to help him take more of our rights away, and our children’s rights away?

Is it any wonder that sometimes I wish all the men were dead?

Friends, if anything I listed here is happening to you, there IS help. 1-800-799-7233 is the National Domestic Violence Hotline, or text BEGIN to 88788.

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It begins again…

Like every year, 2024 was filled with many losses.

My husband stopped working in February. We’ve suffered many bouts of unemployment over the years, but this one will never be overcome. Even, someday, when he gets the disability he both deserves and has a right to, that money will never cover our losses, But it will give us another start and we’ll at least be able to keep moving forward. One day.

With Walter’s sickness, comes the loss of the life we used to have. Taking walks or short hikes is something we used to do together–well…when I made him. 🙂 But it was still possible. Now any hiking is completely out of the picture. Short walks might add up to 1/4 of a mile, but those are extremely rare. Even shopping trips are usually unreachable. Of course, with the loss of that particular life, a new one has emerged. It’s not one that makes me happy, but we do what we have to, right? Caregiving tasks are now part of my life and fortunately they’re not daily right now. I’m sure some folks would be much more grateful than I am, to be able to help care for my spouse when needed. I’m glad he’s not worse than he is, but sometimes gratitude is tough to come by.

And of course, along with those losses, comes the losing of our friends and family.

Beverly, Marcia, Lois, Adam, Virginia, Kim, Alden, Judy, Sal.

Each person meant something to me, some more than others. A few people were library patrons that became friends. Some were family and some were chosen family. They all had three things in common: they were all loved my me, they were all loved by others, and they all felt loved.

I think the one thing we seem to want more than anything is to be loved and feel loved. Don’t you agree?

Just so you know that 2024 was not completely horrendous, it was also filled with fun, adventures and beauty. Here a list in no particular order:

Trip to Belize with 4 of my favorite women (ok that one is first for a reason!), Washington DC visit with son and spent time with dear friends in Maryland, Watching my son play football for the first time, Visiting the Auschwitz Exhibit in Boston with my sister and son, Joined a gym, Having the author Katherine Center like my review of her novel, Meeting authors Chris Van Dusen, Amanda Peters and Steven Rowley, Hearing my son’s excitement about the colleges he’s applied to, Listening to and watching Louise Penny (in person) discuss her work, Taking walks and having meals with friends and family, Reading some extraordinary novels, Voted onto the Funeral Consumers Alliance of Maine board, Continuing to be a hospice volunteer and hang out with my favorite older couple each Sunday, Being able to live in a heated and cooled home each day.

And writing this blog. It fulfills something in me that I’m not always aware I need. But I do. Especially now.

Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. I always have hope that the next year will be better. I’m not having a lot of that hope right now for 2025, but I *am* excited to see what adventures my child will embark on. I think I just need to concentrate on him and not worry about the rest.

Love to you all. Happy New Year.

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Your Success

Dear Phil,

Happy birthday, big brother. I miss you.

I continue to have conversations with you, but Phil? I’m scared. I’m not sure how you’d reply anymore. There are times when I think I’m forgetting you, forgetting what foods you liked or what you thought was funny and what was just ridiculous. But…it’s been 7 years so maybe your tastes and thoughts would have changed anyway. We all evolve, or hope to, right?

I’ve been watching the latest season of Bridgerton, and often wonder what you’d think about the show. You’d probably watch it since you got me into Downton Abbey, but this is much steamier and more diverse and just plain delicious! There’s gossip and sex and beautiful gowns and manipulation of pop tunes into classical dancing music. One of the latest storylines has a slightly larger than average sized woman as the romantic interest. You know how I love romance stories with larger women! I just watched the sex scene with the woman and her love interest, and yes, she’s rounder than your average actress, but for fuck’s sake! She’s gorgeous, flawless skin, beautiful breasts. Where are the women with back fat?!? I want to see a middle-aged or older actress, with rolls for a stomach, fat thighs and a cottage cheese ass. AND I want to see the man (or another woman, I don’t care) tell her how fucking beautiful she is. THAT is what the world needs to see.

*current rant over*

I can hear you laughing now. Agreeing with me, but laughing. “Calm down, Chuckles.”

Hey, the Bangor Pride Parade is this Saturday. The family is going–the kid and I, Bon, Am & Ky, too. Remember the last one we went to? It’s bigger now. The only thing I remember about that one in 2017 was that we needed a seat for you. You were gonna be there, one way or another, so I got out my lawn chair and my friend, Trish, helped get us settled or helped us leave. I don’t remember which now. I just remember being there with you, then getting grocery store sushi afterwards and eating at my house. Looking back, that was the day you tried to tell me you didn’t have a lot of time left. But I refused to believe it.

Anywho, did I tell you I’ve been going to Planet Fitness recently? I signed up with the boy in early May and I’ve been going faithfully 2-3 times a week. I’m not losing any weight, but I’ve gotten stronger and damn, I’m getting muscles! And talk about muscles?!? The eye candy at this gym is bananas. Plus the wide range of ages and shapes and sizes makes me happy. I don’t feel like a completely weak, old fat ass when I go there.

For my birthday I went out and bought clothes that I couldn’t afford but fit better. I’m sick of trying to fit into clothes that fit me a few years ago. Fuck it. I’m healthy and fit, so I might as well be comfortable and stop squeezing into things that make me feel fatter and more like a sausage than like the woman I am. Don’t you love that it’s taken me 51 years to finally get to the “fuck it” stage? But we both know it’s hard for me to hang onto that. Our self-esteem was always so wrapped up in our weight, both as kids and adults. I’m trying to shed that shit, but it’s not easy. I’ll keep trying though.

I was talking to one of my colleagues about you recently. I was telling her how sometimes I look at your Goodreads account to see what books you read that I haven’t. I want to read more of what you did, yet lately I’m reading mostly romances–straight, gay, lesbian, doesn’t matter. As long as it has good sex scenes and a happy for now (or forever after) ending, then I’m on it. There aren’t enough romances with middle-aged people, though. So many of them are people in their late 20s or early-mid 30s. We need more novels about people in their 50s who want to get laid or have their own happy for now ending. Most books with characters this age are dramatic or depressing. I don’t want a love story. That shit can mean a dead partner at some point. Too much reality. I want a friggin’ romcom with a woman who has the battle scars of a typical middle-aged woman–stretch marks, a possible c-section scar, tattoos, and all the mental and emotional baggage that comes with age. That has all the markings of a good romcom, doesn’t it?

So…I hate ending these letters, you know that, right? But I wanted to tell you something. I’ve told you about the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote that says, “…to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. That is to have succeeded!” Much of the rest of the quote is about appreciating beauty and to laugh a lot and all of those other things that we try to do. But I wanted to make sure you know, and I hope, hope, hope you knew, that you were tremendously successful. You made so many of us laugh and feel loved and breathe easier. Honestly? I feel like I haven’t been able to take a breath since you left.

I love you, my favorite brother.

Hugs & sloppy kisses,

Holly