Dratty cold virus has me back in bed at home (OK, sitting up in bed right now) with a very sore throat. I knew as soon as we left the driveway that I should have stayed home in bed, but I spent the morning profitably finding Arabic booksellers. I've settled on 3: Multicultural Books will buy titles we specify in several languages, provide a transliteration card and an OCLC number; Schoenhof's will do the 1st two items; and Al Kitab (Middle Eastern materials only; can't tell what they will provide, but their website is in English and they list their materials offered, with transliterations, for the U.S. buyer).
OK, now how about sheet music vendors who will provide cataloging as well?
Back to sleep now, really. : (
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
Autumn gratitudes
This week we were at the Michigan Library Association Annual Conference, and the programs were better than I had anticipated (based on experiences of past years). I came away with a few ideas and a better understanding that being a librarian is more about connection and relationship than providing resources. A & I had dinner with friends Ann & Mike and all of us enjoyed it so much that we're looking forward to getting together again. Turns out that they were the mysterious "anonymous" donors to Big Pink! We also dined with several other librarians and Jessamyn West, who gave a very fun and lively talk on Thursday.
Driving home, I felt filled with fall colors, faded past brilliant but still with yellows gathering the light, browns of maroon and chestnut and umber and beech. I came home and saw that we have a row of flame-red bushes that I had forgotten about. Thanks to a friend, we also came home to clean windows around the house. Before we left town, after lunch at an excellent little cafe called Crumpets, A & I stopped at Elderly Instruments and I played a $4300 viola--warm, mellow, resonant. I've heard violas like that but had never played one. I don't play often enough to warrant making such an investment now, but if I were rich, I might consider it.
As the daylight fades, I'm grateful for my wonderful wife, our nest-home, many friends, health, a decent job, and the amazing natural world. Beauty everywhere, if one has eyes to see.
Driving home, I felt filled with fall colors, faded past brilliant but still with yellows gathering the light, browns of maroon and chestnut and umber and beech. I came home and saw that we have a row of flame-red bushes that I had forgotten about. Thanks to a friend, we also came home to clean windows around the house. Before we left town, after lunch at an excellent little cafe called Crumpets, A & I stopped at Elderly Instruments and I played a $4300 viola--warm, mellow, resonant. I've heard violas like that but had never played one. I don't play often enough to warrant making such an investment now, but if I were rich, I might consider it.
As the daylight fades, I'm grateful for my wonderful wife, our nest-home, many friends, health, a decent job, and the amazing natural world. Beauty everywhere, if one has eyes to see.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Grieving
My friend and colleague Pat died 2 mornings ago. I had sat with her a week ago, knowing that her body wouldn't last long and that she was already essentially gone. I sat with my hand on her arm and tried to let her know through that touch that I was there, that I loved her, that I was letting go. I hoped she would go gently, despite Dylan Thomas--she had lived for 15 years with cancers of various types, not raging against the dying of the light but focusing on the here and now. Pat didn't want pity or false sympathy, but she did want to be asked how she was--and for the asker to truly want to know. A few folks made assumptions or gave her insensitive pamphlets about hospice, etc., when she was brimming with verve. Pat really lived by telling it like it was, telling jokes to make the stupidity of others funny and to lighten up our lives, and by constantly reminding her friends that we were bright, amazing people and that we couldn't let others get us down, no matter what. And it seemed to me that she made peace within herself about most of the general human craziness during the past year. She used to tell me to write a book about all of the things people did to her, but she stopped blaming them, about the same time that she stopped saying that her tombstone should say things like, "I was a good girl, I was I was" and "It wasn't all my fault!"
Oh Pat, I hope you're laughing, wherever you are!
Oh Pat, I hope you're laughing, wherever you are!
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