reading

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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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What’s Your Reality Like?

I’m a librarian. A good one. I’ve worked in libraries now for 28 years, and I wish I could tell you I got into this profession because I wanted to help people.

Nope!

I was on the cusp of getting my BFA in Creative Writing with a concentration in Poetry. I had no job prospects but to help manage the video store I had been working in since high school. What the fuck was I going to do? My job applications to Boston publishing houses went unanswered, and my few published poems were compensated with 2 free copies of each journal they were published in. I really liked food, so the starving artist route was one I was not willing to take.

In college, my work study job was at the library in the Circulation department. My boss had her Masters in Library Science and said I should pursue being a librarian. My first dumb ass thought was, “Sure! I like books and love to read!”

Egads. Whenever I hear this from potential librarians, I can’t help but cringe. Sure, a thirst for knowledge is a necessity, but if you don’t like people then please get the fuck out. (Yes, there are certain library positions that are not people-centric, but a majority are. Choose wisely.)

Anywho! I love what I do, but it’s become increasingly difficult to be positive about my work. Between book banning and budget cuts, it’s hard to keep your head up.

Then, our federal government went to the Dark side. Federal agencies have been decimated, including the Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS). State libraries receive federal funding, which is then doled out for various projects and services that impact all citizens, especially those in rural areas. The public library I work in is also an ARRC–Area Reference & Resource Center. We provide reference services and MANY items to small libraries via interlibrary loan. Their small budgets can not handle the many requests folks ask for. So, as an ARRC, we do receive some of that federal funding to assist us in being an ARRC–not a lot of money, but some. We will only receive half this year and probably nothing after that. We assume IMLS will cease to exist under this new regime/administration.

Why am I telling you this? Bear with me. I’m getting there!

Last week, I started listening to the book The Measure. It’s about a world where every adult over the age of 22 receives a box with a string in it. The string represents how long each person will live. Short stringers go to group therapy, couples break up, the government makes all active military personnel show their strings, and on and on. The story has sucked me in, and it brings up a variety of ethical questions.

So when I went to work yesterday, I had been listening to this story on the way in. Then, I sat in a meeting where we discussed the loss of those federal funds I mentioned earlier.

For just a moment, I had actually forgotten I lived in a world that I’m not fond of. I was still in that world of mystery boxes filled with strings, of knowing how long you had to live, of people making the best of the time they had left. Of course, there’s a nasty politician in the story trying to force people to reveal their string because he’s a power-hungry dick but whatever! It’s fiction!

*sigh*

Yeah.

Reality is kinda terrible.

But friends? Please keep fighting. Please keep speaking out and keep informed. Those protests last weekend warmed my heart! Keep loving and protecting those that need you. You are making my reality worth living. So thank you.

And if you can?  Go read a good book. Something that helps you escape for a bit, perhaps? Don’t worry about what others think about it. Whether it’s a vampire romance or a murder mystery. Read what makes you happy.

Hugs to y’all. 💜

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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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Surviving

Today is my 3-year anniversary as the director of a small public library. I’ve worked at the library for over 16 years, but was given the gift of leading the library for the past three years. It’s no secret that I love what I do, and as much as I don’t believe in “things happen for a reason” or “soul mates” or even “destiny,” I think being a rural public librarian is the absolute perfect profession for me. Do I still dream of becoming a writer and actually making a living from it? Of course! But I know my writing isn’t good enough for that to happen, not without a lot more effort and practice and education. Right now, though, my heart is with librarianship.

As I talked to my husband today about everything that’s happened since I became director, I couldn’t help but choke back a sob. How did I make it through it all? Let me give you the timeline:

February 2019: Become director of the library. This was 2 months after my husband had been laid off. He was unemployed when I got this job. It was 18 1/2 months after my brother died. That may not seem relevant, but his life and death impact me in ways most people cannot understand.

March 2019: My funny, sweet, lovely father dies on St. Patrick’s Day.

May 2019: My husband gets a new job. Yes!

June 2019: I break my arm while walking with my son. I break it so badly that a plate and nine screws had to be implanted in my upper arm.

September 2019: My mother becomes ill and I make the choice to place her in hospice care.

October 2019: My loving, supportive, bad-ass mom dies on October 4th. She left this planet five minutes after I left her bedside.

January 2020: After the difficulties of 2019, we decide to plan a fabulous Florida vacation with a cruise.

February 2020: Husband goes into the hospital with pneumonia and the flu, then ends up on a ventilator and in a coma. Both our son and I have the flu, too, and for two weeks we wait. I answer questions from the doctors because they cannot wake him up from the comatose state they put him into. Questions about kidney failure and brain damage are thrown around. Yet on Valentine’s Day, he finally wakes up. ❤

March 2020: While my husband continues to recover at home, I manage pancreatitis at home. I know if I go to the hospital, there won’t be anyone to take care of my husband or son. So I drink fluids, get blood drawn every other day for my doctor to keep tabs on me, and I go to work to keep us all afloat. Then COVID-19 hits the U.S. and I close the library on the evening of March 16th and we cancel our dream vacation.

April 2020: We celebrate our son becoming a teenager with a family party via Zoom. Not quite what we had planned.

May 2020: While working from home, I go for a lunchtime walk and am bitten by the neighbor’s dog. My husband rushes me to the doctor for stitches and to check out all the puncture wounds on my legs. We re-open the library this month for curbside services.

June 2020: We re-open the library doors.

August 2020: I run a half-marathon because I can.

September 2020: I run another half-marathon on Mom’s birthday in memory of her bad-assery.

January/February 2021: I start training for a marathon. Just weeks later I get a stress fracture in my right leg. We watch our beloved cat, Miso, have a seizure and die in front of our eyes as my husband calls the vet and my son and I cry and try to comfort the sweetest cat that ever lived. We all hold him in our arms afterwards and cry until bedtime.

March/April 2021: I start taking walks and short runs again. My sanity is somewhat restored.

June 2021: Our son “graduates” from 8th grade. My husband has a widow maker of a heart attack on June 15th. He only survives because he was near a university medical center.

August 2021: The boy enters high school.

September 2021: Husband goes back to work.

Late October 2021: Husband told by doctor to stop working until he has another heart surgery.

November 2021: Two stents placed in husband’s heart. His energy improves dramatically!

January 2022: I have a procedure on my pancreas to determine if I have cancerous tumors or the possibility of cancer forming on said tumors. Still waiting for the results.

And there you have it. There were MANY activities and emotions not mentioned, and a lot of those were fabulous. I smiled every day, I think. They weren’t all real, but many of them were. I laughed nearly every day. I, like so many of you, juggled lots of other crap we don’t talk about because it’s life—flat tires, sick pets, stress from work and COVID and paying bills and EVERYTHING.

But…I’ve also read over 800 books since I became director. (Many of them middle-school novels.) I’ve written blog posts and poems and reports and letters. I’ve made new friends, some of them being my library patrons. I’ve created new connections at the library, both personally and professionally. I’m trying to lead the library into being the center of the community, and with the amazing support from the Board, the volunteers, and the residents, I think we can do it.

Yes, WE.

If I’ve learned anything from these past three years, it’s that I can’t do my work by myself. I can’t succeed alone. I have an incredible staff, support system and library users that makes the library a wonderful place to be a part of.

But I also know that I would never have survived these three years without my family and friends. Never. I received gift cards and meals when my husband was in the hospital. People sent me cards when my parents died and gave me hugs when I needed them. They were also there to just listen. I have friends all around the country and so many of them reached out in various ways over the past few years. Sometimes just listening is all I needed. And that’s why you reading this blog has also helped me. Tremendously.

So…thank you. I think that’s really all I’m trying to say tonight. Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for supporting me in however you know how. Thanks for being you.

Now go to your local library. They need your support even more these days. And remember, keep reading. It doesn’t matter what it is. I am not a judgy librarian! Read what you want and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If they do, tell them your librarian said to screw off. ❤

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Another One

I tried to live today like I want my year to be. I wanted to run, read, do a little cleaning, watch a movie, spend time with my son and husband, and eat sushi–all activities I’d like to do for the rest of the year. I actually got to do all of those things, but nothing quite turned out the way I wanted or expected.

My 5k run wasn’t horrible as far as speed or conditions, but I felt absolutely uncomfortable in my body. If you watched me run, you probably thought I had major tics or was having a seizure. I kept moving my shoulders, trying to relax, tucking and untucking my shirt, adjusting my hat, and just flailing about. Nothing felt quite right. I could only focus for a few seconds here and there, but mostly it was just crappy. BUT, the sunshine was wonderful, little wind, and the 27 degrees felt much better than it sounds.

I didn’t read what I should have, but I read the last in a graphic novel series (Fence) that my son and I have been reading and it’s highly enjoyable. I feel no guilt whatsoever for not reading anything for work or my committee.

My son and I took down the outside Christmas lights and decorations. I wish I had a photo of my son taking down Darth Vader and hugging him close. It was damn adorable. My husband made us a lovely ham dinner for lunch and I got a smidge of vacuuming done, but no other cleaning took place. I ended up doing a bit of yoga instead and I think my time was well spent.

For a while everyone did their own thing, so I watched “Blackbird” starring Susan Sarandon. Have you seen it? It’s about a woman who wants to end her life because her ALS is starting to restrict what she can do. She invites her family over for the weekend so they can spend time together and say goodbye. Not really uplifting per se, but I feel very strongly about dying with dignity and wish every state in this country would allow people to die how they choose. Most people don’t even get the chance to die where they want much less dying how they want to.

I didn’t intend to watch this film today, but I borrowed it from the library a few weeks ago and it’s been sitting in front of our television since then. I couldn’t remember what it was about until I put it in and figured, “What the hell.” I’ll be honest, though, I haven’t finished it yet. I just watched a scene where the woman with ALS gives everyone a gift at the table, including her wedding ring which she gives to her husband. I was crying before we got to that part and completely lost it at that moment. I figured it was a good time to stop.

We picked up sushi from our favorite restaurant and brought it home for dinner. We decided we’d have a nice living room picnic and watch “Titans” on HBO Max. Of course, the one thing I really wanted was mistakenly left out of our order–miso soup! It always makes me feel better for anything that ails me. I whined for a few minutes then ate my absolutely fantastic raw fish and rice with my family. At one point my son and I argued and there was slamming of a door and sighing and generally feeling pissed off, and then the moment passed and we finished eating and we were ok. The three of us sat around after watching an episode and just chatted and laughed and enjoyed the moment.

My lovely son being the person he is, stopped and said, “You know this is great. Just hanging out, talking and laughing. This is really great.”

It is. It is really great. THAT is what I want this year and next year and every year I’m on this planet to be. I want it comprised of good conversation, lots of laughing and loving, good food, exercise, reading, time outside–preferably while feeling good inside this body but I’ll work on that. There will always be disappointments and disagreements and grief and stress and more crying than you would think is possible. But I also know there will also be at least a few surprises and encouraging words and acts of kindness and moments of happiness and laughing and many memories. There are so many good memories with those we’ve lost as well as with those that are still here. But there are more good memories to be made.

So let’s go make those good memories, ok? Even a great conversation over the phone or on Zoom can create a great memory. Let’s connect while we can and while we’re still here.

Hugs to you all, my friends.