In Praise of Libraries

“Having fun isn’t hard, when you’ve got a library card, “Arthur the Aardvark.

729 Boylston Street, Boston MA 02116. An address I can rattle off in my sleep 15 years after I worked there. On the second floor there was a tailor shop where the three sisters worked, all in their 70’s, none of whom had ever married. They had worked in the same 10’ x 12’ foot shop since after the war, the big one, WWII, after inheriting the business from their father. I employed their services to alter my wedding dress I had picked up for $50 at a resale shop. It cost me more to have it altered and boy, did they have fun at my expense as I would model the dress with straight pins sticking into my skin.

I worked on the 5th floor which also had roof access. This was the place to be on Boston Marathon Day where we could peer over the edge to see the skinny, sinewy runners crossing the finish line as we ate our bagels and drank coffee.

The office building was nestled between the Pizzeria Uno and down from Au Bon Pain where I would buy my salads and eat them at my desk which had a lovely view into a light well where pigeon poop, air conditioning vents, fire escapes, soda lids, cigarettes butts and old plastic bags would greet me. But on a beautiful day in the spring, summer or fall, I would take my salad and go into the secret courtyard of the Boston Public Library.

I would enter on the North Side under the words of the libraries Board of Trustees etched high above, “The Commonwealth requires the education of the people as the safeguard of order and liberty”. But I wasn’t interested in the education, I was interested in a bit of solace, a safe and quiet space, a free place to sit where no one would bother me, the phone wouldn’t ring, and I could read while eatting my salad balanced on my lap.

Having sneaky relationships with libraries is an indulgence I have had since I was little and I would go to the Linden Hills Library in Minneapolis. Upstairs was the adult section where I learned the meaning of the word “Quiet”. Downstairs was the children’s section where I would sit for hours lost in another world, then wake up my legs, put on five layers of clothes and walk home with my new treasures. All for free! As someone once said, “Knowledge is free at the library – just bring your own container.” Unfortunately, while I have no problem finding the bottom of the container, I have trouble finding a lid that fits properly and the knowledge keeps sloshing out. So I keep going back for another fill up.

At St. Olaf College my student job was working at the Rolvaag Memorial Library, checking out books, shelving books and one ridiculously magical night tap dancing on the tables once we were closed. At Graduate School at Tufts University I would study down in the basement in the deathly quite, rarely used, study carols until the notorious flasher found me and from then on I would study in the well lit and highly populated reading room.

Once I had kids I realized libraries weren’t just about sneaky spaces and free books but hubs for the community and opportunities to find friends and outlets for stay at home moms who were going nuts with their babies stuck at home. Story time. Sing Along Time. Arts and crafts time. A place to go. Again, all for free.

In London the stinky Golders Green Library with their dirty toys and limited selection of sticky children’s board books had a redeeming grace: it netted me an introduction to Wallace and Grommit, and my dear fried Mei Chen. We had been in London for just a few weeks and the library was a destination for 1 ½ year old Simon, 6 year old Josh and me. We could walk there, do our shopping along the way, check out books and stop for a snack as headed home. On a fateful October 16, 2003, Mei and Justin, her almost 2 year old, were there as well. We chatted, we laughed, we chatted some more, the boys played. By the end of the quick encounter we had exchanged numbers and Simon and I were invited to Justin’s birthday party the next day. We have been great friends ever since. Score another win for the library!

Since we have been back in the US we have been using the public libraries as classrooms to home school our boys, warm places to retreat to on cold rainy days, plug in our computers, use their free wifi, and explore the books on the shelves in a safe inviting atmosphere.

From The Mark Skinner Library in Manchester, Vermont to the Lincoln Library in Springfield, IL, to the Minneapolis Public Libraries, Great Forks, North Dakota, Thompson Manitoba, Ketchum, Idaho Community Library, and now Hood River, Oregon we have been checking out material and seeing what is going on in the local communities.

To paraphrase Lady Bird Johnson, there is no other institution that is more democratic than a town library. The only entrance requirement is interest.

The Present

I will not obsess that we have not had a home for five months.

I will not dwell on the fact that neither Evan nor I have jobs.

I will not worry that Simon is not doing second grade work, has yet to lose a tooth at close to 8 years old, and refuses to get his hair cut.

I will not fret that we have no real doctors.

I will not give a rat’s ass that I dress like a woman who has no fashion sense, showers every other day, and hasn’t had a proper hair cut in 6 months.

I will trust that all this will pass and that when we decide to, we will be back amongst society, find jobs, a house, a garden, matching clothes, doctor’s, and start bathing regularly.

What I will do now is be aware and wallow in life’s goofiness, its teaching moments, and being together with my family knowing that all will be well. This trip isn’t about having enough courage it is about trust.

Small moments are what make up a life. This is it. Life is short and it can change quickly.

Here are some of my moments over the past few days:

The word ennui. Isn’t is weird how a word you don’t really use comes up, you discuss it and next thing you know it starts popping up all over the place. The word first came up in a book Julia shared with us in Minnesota, where a child dies of a horrible case of ennui. It came up again while listening to the Cole Porter song “Anything Goes”, and then in the book Goonie Bird Greene by Lois Lowry. Goonie Bird is an eccentric seven year old girl and what she does to ward off a dreaded case of ennui is to always wear mismatching socks. We embrace this whole heartedly.

Shopping at Trader Joe’s in Bend, Oregon in anticipation of camping the next four nights and trying their samples. A couple of times.

Eating pie at the Starlight Café in Vale, Oregon.

An early morning walk with Josh through the ghetto of sad trailers in Vale and discussing the importance of respecting all people – including poor people. The conversation changes to include gangster rap music, hoodies, sunglasses, and how while we are just passing through the RV/trailer part of our lives, some other people don’t have the luxury of choices.

Two nights ago we drove through a snowstorm south of Bend in the dark. I was behind the wheel. Josh was nervous and leaned over to me and commented that he feels more confident when I drive and, “how ironic it is Mom. Dad is the more calm, matter of fact one and you are the wild and crazy one, but when you drive, you reverse roles.” He noticed.

Last night at the Big Pine RV Park in Crescent, Oregon we were very pleasantly surprised to find a lovely warm large and clean bath house. A cozy recreation room separated the men’s from the women’s showers. Josh and I packed up our shower kits and clean pajamas and headed over in the dark, through the snow, under a clear sky full of incredible stars. Simon came with us as our entertainment. He promised jokes. It turned into a joke contest. Since Josh and I couldn’t hear each other, Simon was the translator running back and forth between the showers telling us each others latest entry in the competition. The winner? Q: Why did the monkey fall out of the tree? A: Because it was dead.

This morning I woke up to Simon (who had crawled into our bed at some point in the wee hours of the night) asking me, “Mom, do you want to know what my favorite things are?” “Why no, why don’t you tell me,” I replied in a gravely voice. “Eating and sleeping,” he said. “Oh I bet there are some more,” I prodded. “Oh ya, rock climbing, bike riding, my birthday and cuddling!”, he yelled, as he gave me a full body cuddle.

Today we drove to Crater Lake National Park in Oregon. Only the south entrance is open after October. They have already received close to 5 feet of snow. They have over 15,000 visitors a year. Today we were it. We took a 2 mile gorgeous hike out to Destination Point on snow shoes. On the way back we stopped midway to break off huge icicles and decided they needed a bit of sugar. We stopped again to listen to the quiet. I don’t ever remember hearing nothing for so long.

Right now we are tucked in for the night at Jo’s Motel, RV Park and Organic Grocery Store in Fort Klamath, Oregon. We are listening to Ella Fitzgerald while I write this at the table in the RV. Simon is sitting in the back having some alone time with his container of stuffed animals. Evan is editing the photos from today. Josh is sitting across from me working on a homework assignment and is quietly singing along to Ella.

To quote some sappy Holly Hobbie-esque poem that is, however, true…

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery
Today is a gift, that is why it is called the present.

Semi Affluent Homeless Person?

I was cruising websites the other day and stumbled on an article about an Airstream Rally. Airstreams are high end RV’s. And rallies, as we all know, are when a bunch of people who are wild about something get together to go wild about it en masse so they won’t feel so weird about doing it on their own. It’s a validation thing. It’s a sharing of information thing. It is a geek out festival.

I have been to rallies before; I have organized rallies before - albeit for political candidates or causes. But I really hope I never find myself at a rally for an RV’s.

However, Airstreams really are beautiful retro silver bullets that remind me of the Jetson’s cartoon because they look like what we use to think the future would look like. Only the future is here and we still don’t have individual hover crafts which really bums me out. Nor do we have those really cool conveyor belts that you can roll onto from bed in the morning in your pajamas and robots automatically wash, polish, and feed you and then zip you into your clothes for the day.

At the Airstream Rally someone was selling pins that said, “Semi Affluent Homeless Person”. According to a number of RV websites and blogs that is how my family would be designated if the US Census Bureau came knocking. But there is no validation of that term on neither the US Census Bureau website, nor the IRS website for that matter. I think people who are living in their RV’s made it up and it has turned into an urban myth…or would that be an RV Park Myth?

Full time RV’ers like the term because it makes them feel like they are part of a movement. They (we?) are so numerous we have our own designated box to tick on a form from the government. You know you are powerful when you get a box to tick that says what you are and you don’t have to settle for one that just says “Other”.

Full Time RV’er. We have our own rallies. We have our own pins. We have our own T shirts. We are organized and we vote. We are a movement.

But most importantly - we have our cheer:

Hey RV’ers. Hey RV’ers.
Introduce yourselves right on!
Introduce yourselves right on!
We are RV’ers…and we are proud.
That’s why we honk… so very loud.
Alright!

Who needs validation from the Federal Government so long as you have a cheer.

Hemingway's Grave

When I was ten years old I went to Marcy Open School in SE Minneapolis and we studied graveyards. Open schools are designed with no set curriculum so that students can have the freedom to follow their own passions. At ten my passions were Laura Ingall’s Wilder, pioneer life, and math.

Some kids were passionate about pottery and spent the year in the Pottery Shed making ashtrays and mugs. Some kids were passionate about machinery and spent weeks, or months, with Stan the carpenter in Hammer Hall. I remember one boy was passionate about a square skateboard that he rode unceasingly throughout the entire school, inside, everyday. Ruthie and Lisa were passionate about Marlboro’s and talking about boys. I was passionately scared of Ruthie and Lisa, but I wasn’t scared of graveyards.

We studied why people died and which epidemics went through Minnesota from the 1860’s – 1920’s and then we went out in search of those people whose lives were taken so abruptly. One wild weekend we camped in southern Minnesota in the oldest graveyard in the state looking for diphtheria victims. We found entire families taken out by disease and did rubbings of their gravestones. I didn’t think of it as weird – rather we were collecting stories of people that I wish I could know more about. I often thought, and still think, “Wouldn’t it be cool to have a little screen on the gravestone, push a button and see a video of that person’s life?”

My love of cemeteries traveled with me when I moved to Boston and I found myself spending many hours at Mt Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, MA. Evan and I had a date or two wondering around through the tombs, past the lake looking for birds, and up the tower to look out at the views of Boston across the Charles River. I remember visiting Mount Auburn Cemetery when I was 8 months pregnant scouring the grounds with my aunt and uncle, devoted botanists, in search of the prize winning beech trees.

Needless to say, here in Ketchum, Idaho we had to check out Hemingway’s grave and pay homage. First we stopped by The Community Library to see if we could get some background material on the man. The Community Library is a privately funded library and anyone can get a card. For those of us with no fixed address it is perfect. It also has provided us with a wonderful space for teaching school, has wifi throughout, and helpful librarians. Librarians. What wonderful people.

Side note: I was so proud of Josh when he mentioned his favorite store in Ketchum is The Gold Mine – a thrift store whose proceeds benefit The Community Library. Josh shares my view that the best thrift stores are in rich towns and if you need to buy something – why not buy it at a place that benefits a cause you believe in. Plus, we found a $10 waffle maker there!

In the library we found Sandra, the research librarian who gave an impromptu child friendly lecture on Hemingway in Ketchum. Next thing you know we are hearing about Hemingway’s son Jack who at the age of 8 ran up a $600 tab at the Sun Valley Lodge eating his way through the menu. We discussed famous writers and how just a mere speck of writers can actually make a living off of their passion. We discussed how writers in the 1930’s were as famous as rock stars are today and how Sun Valley, as a marketing ploy, enticed Hemingway to come to Sun Valley Lodge to write in exchange for them taking pictures of him enjoying himself. Room 206 is where he finished For Whom the Bell Tolls.

With books in hand we made our way 1 ½ miles down the road from the library to the graveyard. His grave is very plain. We stumbled on it because it was strewn with empty wine bottles, cigarettes, pens and pennies. We sat on the grave. We read from The Old Man and the Sea and speculated on relationships between old and young people, Cuba and the fishing trade. We added our own coins and wondered about who the people were who made pilgrimages to his grave.

Too bad we didn’t have a flask of whiskey to pour on his grave.

Two Timing My Loyalty Cards

I am a person you can rely on. I am a good friend. I am the gal who will pick up your kids after school if you are running late, bring them home, feed them home baked cookies, make up goofy songs on the guitar with them, and make you feel guilty that you aren’t as much fun of a mom as I am.

I am the neighbor who plants perennials, sweeps her walk and talks to everybody who walks by. I am the one who plans the block parties for the street. I am the one who connects people and has the good information. I am the Go to Gal and I am proud of it!

I don’t think of myself as one of those people who move all the time. Shiftless. Rootless. Not willing to commit. Just passing through.

But now I am facing the ugly reality. My wallet betrays me for what I am. A poser. A shiftless hussy. An opportunist willing to pass herself off to save a buck.

It started off innocently enough back in July in Vermont. Shaw’s Grocery store in Manchester is really the only game in town. About a thirty minute drive from the holiday house I am there once a week during the 4 or 5 weeks we are in Vermont every summer and I had no qualms about signing up for their loyalty program. Especially now that I have a permanent address in Vermont, our car has Vermont plates, and I carry a Vermont driver’s license.

But them I was enticed by Price Chopper. Was it their 2 for 1 special’s on all boxes of cereal? Their proximity to the one movie theater in town? Did I feel I could connect more with the less polished ambiance and the more true Vermonters who chopped there as opposed to the Summer Residents at Shaw’s?

Whatever the reason, I did it. I signed up for their Loyalty Card program as well. I justified the brief affair by noting that as we were passing through western New York – a number Price Choppers greeted our arrival in small towns along the way where I could use the card as well.

And then there was Schnuck’s Grocery. We were first introduced in St. Louis and kept up our relationship into Illinois. With an in-house Starbucks, ease in finding parking for the Big Pig, and lovely produce aisles, I was seduced, Writing down my aunt and uncles address I held my breath and took the plunge and signed on the dotted line.

Alright, I am coming clean. The next was a brief affair. Simon was sick. We were in Boulder, Colorado and I needed Children’s Sudafed to keep his ears clear as we would be driving an additional 2000 feet up to the Colorado Rockies National Park. I ran in to the Safeway while Evan circled the parking lot. I could save $2 on the Sudafed if I was a Club Member. I am a joiner! I want to be part of the Club! I wanted to make our CFO proud of me that I was looking for ways to save. I took the form, filled it out in line, they swiped my pristine card, I saved the $2. True confession: I never turned the form in. I think it is in a recycling bin in South Dakota.

And now we have landed in Sun Valley, Idaho for a few weeks of much needed hang out time at a friends beautiful condo. But my assorted past is catching up to me. After three months on the road and 5 months of travel I have become calloused, brazen, and rarely flinch when I go to the Courtesy Window at the local grocery store and request an application. It is always when you get too confident that you get caught.

In Ketchum, Idaho (population 3,244) the grocery store is Atkinson’s. In Hailey, the next big town, there is an Albertson’s. Atkinson’s vs. Albertson’s …you can see where this is going, yes?

I have all my tricks down for hiding my various Loyalty Cards. I have a little pouch in my wallet where I keep them all and pull out the one I need as I approach the cashier. Why do I keep them all? Reminders of past purchases? Past campgrounds? Meals cooked? Forgotten youth?

So there I was at the Atkinson’s check out holding my Albertson’s card up proudly to the cashier. She looked at me and said, “I will have to charge you double with that card.”

The shame.
The remorse.
The loss of trust.
The need for forgiveness.
I’m not even Catholic and I am having fantasies about going into a confessional.

Until the next grocery store…