What do you like about your job? Make up your own list or add on to this one.
I can not fathom why Canadian librarians might view LFL as the competition, but to each their own. Mirable Dictu does a lovely job with words and picture about LFL in her neighborhood. Interesting Read.
To read more about Little Free Libraries, check this out too:
Little Free Library at the Peaks of Otter Lodge, off the Blue Ridge Parkway near Bedford, VA
If you are a child of a certain age and live where you have access to snow, you are probably familiar with a Flexible Flyer sled. Probably the most famous Flexible Flyer was Rosebud, the mysterious sled in Citizen Kane. Flexible Flyers also accompanied Richard Byrd on his 1928 expedition to the South Pole.
Long before sleds were round, made of plastic and became a symbol of public disregard for private property in the mountains of Southern California last winter, sleds were made of wood and had two runners.
Atlas Obscura has written an interesting article on the Flexible Flyer Museum in Mooresetown, NJ. The sled was invented in 1889 by Samuel Leeds Allen (right), a local farm and garden equipment manufacturer. Although Leeds was better known for his potato diggers and grass edgers, his desire to keep his factory workers employed during the winter gave him the idea to manufacture a winter product
His sled was flexible and steerable.
The museum is part of the Moorestown Library.
If you like writing retreats and would like to be a speaker (even if you are not famous), then read on!
We’ve posted before about how much we enjoy the HippoCamp experience. Well folks, they just posted their call for speakers for the upcoming 2018 event. (BTW: When HippoCamp says “Speakers,” they don’t mean famous people. They mean working, sometimes struggling, writers.) See here:
HippoCamp’s programming is mostly for-attendees, by attendees! With the exception of keynotes and a few panels, our conference is built from the proposals YOU submit!
We’re enthusiastically inviting attendees who also are interested in being part of our speaker line-up to submit a session proposal for HippoCamp: A Conference for Creative Nonfiction Writers (Aug. 24-26) in one of our three traditional tracks, our new addition of a special topics track, or our flash sessions:
Breakout Sessions in four tracks:
We’re looking for dynamic speakers and engaging, informative, practical 60-minute sessions that will give our attendees actionable takeaways. Breakout session presenters will receive a special discounted attendee…
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If you like it short and sweet and/or the sound of your own voice, this may be the contest for you.
Rufus P. Turner, developer of the first transistor radio & a professor of literature–Brevity’s kind of guy
We’re trying something new.
The Brevity Podcast is seeking submissions for our One-Minute Memoir episode. We’re looking for ultra-flash nonfiction of 100-150 words (on paper) and up to one minute (recording time). Accepted pieces will be broadcast in our February episode and receive a $25 honorarium.
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Do you belong to a Book Club? If so, where do you meet? Is it in somebody’s home, a library, or some food and/or beverage establishment? Is the purpose of the group to discuss a mutually agreed upon title, to discuss books in general, to meet socially, or is it an excuse to eat and drink?
If your book club is more social than literary, more defined by who you talk about or what you eat and drink than what you read, then you book club is following a fine tradition that goes back to the 18th century..
“Ever since the advent of book clubs in 18th-century England, when books were scarce and expensive, these organizations have been about more than reading. Book clubs were organized to help members gain access to reading material and to provide a forum for discussion of books the club held. But they were also about gossip and drinking. ”
Sometimes book clubs end because they no longer meet the needs of the members: books are not getting read, too much/ not enough socializing, differing objectives for the purpose of the club.
In the mid 1980s, we lived in Navy housing. The back of our townhouse overlooked Monterey Bay, at the top of a steep wooded hillside. My husband was attending the Naval Post Graduate School.
One evening, we noticed a raccoon on our back deck. His muddy paw tracks decorated the door as he tried to force the sliding glass door open. He stared intently into the living room, while eating one of our recently planted tulip bulbs. While he watched us, his left paw knocked an empty flower pot filled water all over the muddy prints on the wooden deck. Seeing what a klutz he was, we named him after one of my husband’s classmates who had been asking asking if any one wanted to do a joint thesis as soon as he met them.
The next night he returned. This time he finished off half a plant as he once again tried to force his way into the den.
After that Kardos became almost a nightly visitor. He would sit outside for about 15-20 minutes watching us and trying to force his way into the house. We learned that Kardos liked dog biscuits and peanut M&Ms but did not care for rice cakes.
We also got a raccoon puppet. When Kardos would make an appearance, we would stage the puppet by the door so that the real and puppet raccoons were at eye level. Kardos seemed fascinated how this raccoon could get inside the house, but he could not. I’m not sure if he realized that the inside raccoon was an imposter.
For over a month, Kardos was a regular visitor. He took very few days off. After one such brief hiatus, he returned with strangely yellow, glowing eyes. He seemed nervous and twitchy, even for him. Later that evening, a second raccoon showed up for the first time. That was when we learned that Kardos was actually a Kardette.
We only saw Kardette, as we now called the raccoon, one more time. She came back for a brief visit. We never did learn if she had babies.
Raccoons are highly intelligent animals and quite dexterous about getting into houses. They can also carry rabies. We were lucky the Kardette never managed to get into the house. In retrospect, we were very stupid to feed her.
Have you ever been fascinated by wildlife outside your door? Did you ever interact with it? Join in the conversatoin and share your wild animal story.
On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, Ann Parham arrived early at the Pentagon, like she always did. As Chief of the Army Library Program, she was responsible for establishing policy for Army Libraries around the world. She had been stationed in Korea, Germany and the United States. At fifty-eight, she was at the apex of her 35-year career. Her beige linen dress, purple silk jacket, and low-heeled beige pumps were professional and practical, well suited to her trim athletic build.
Ann’s office was in a newly renovated wedge of the Pentagon, iconic home of the Department of Defense. The five-sided Pentagon was made up of five concentric, separated rings and five floors. The center courtyard was a park-like setting, providing a short cut from one side of the building to the other. Ten corridors intersected the five rings like spokes on a bicycle wheel. From the air, the Pentagon looked like a target, with the courtyard as its bulls-eye. Ironically, September 11 was the 50th anniversary of the initial groundbreaking ceremony for the Pentagon.
The sky was a bright blue and the air was clear and crisp. Ann was working at her desk in the open bay, that she jokingly referred to as Dilbertville, after the cartoon strip. She heard people talking in the cubicle next to her.
“A plane has hit the World Trade Center Tower!”
Curious, she left her desk and joined four or five of her co-workers who were watching the TV at Marian Serva’s desk. As they watched the news, a camera panned to a second plane flying directly into the second tower.
“We are at ground zero,” said Marian, a member of the Congressional Liaison group. Ann would learn later than Marian was burned during the plane crash and died at her desk.
“This is war,” replied Ann, as she stood with her back to the D-Ring offices and the outer most E-Ring. Being this close to the outer-ring makes me nervous. She decided to return to her desk.
She remained at her desk a few minutes to gather up some papers she needed to fax to Fort Benning, Georgia. Returning down the aisle of cubicles from the fax machine, she had reached the support pillar at the end of the aisle near her desk when she felt the building shake. A plane’s hit the Pentagon. It was 9:37 a.m. when the plane struck the outer ring on Pentagon’s west side.
The force of the impact knocked her to the floor amidst falling pieces of ceiling tile. We are under attack. The concussion blast knocked out the lights and turned on the sprinklers. Ceiling tile hit her on the head—she would find some of it later in her jacket pocket. She smelled burning hair. Her face, eyes and the backs of her hands felt burned, but it was too dark to see them. She put her hand protectively on the top of her head. She realized that her hair, short brown, with red highlights, was singed. Her hair was wet and smelled like kerosene. Some of the drops fell on the front of her beige dress. Wonder what this is? Later, she would discover they were a mixture of jet fuel and sprinkler water. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw flames in the north-east corner of the room along the E ring wall. The heat was intense, burning her right ear. Oxygen was being sucked out of the air. If I don’t move I will be burned or suffocate. My mother will not be happy to get that news so I better get out of here. Thoughts of her mother motivated her to keep moving.
Beige dress with fuel and water marks. Blue jacket with burn marks
Ann felt her way out of the room, running her hand along the cubicle desks and inching through the white haze. This seems like I’m in a fog. She hobbled along wearing one shoe. She had somehow lost her left pump and the little toe on her right foot hurt. Her pantyhose had shredded when she fell. Should I remove my shoe? No! Is this where I will die? Need to keep moving.
Ann’s remaining beige pump
Although there had been people in the open bay before the plane crashed, where is everyone? I feel alone. Patrick was just at his desk.
Patrick was a civilian information specialist whose cubicle was next to Ann’s. He was in his late forties and a former Army officer.
“Patrick,” she called as she stumbled. The silhouette of a military officer beckoned to her. It seems like a light at the end of a tunnel.
Patrick approached, taking her right arm. They continued toward the door together. Patrick’s white dress shirt, dark pants and tie were covered in liquid. His arms were red and burned.
Later Patrick would tell her “Ann, I saw you silhouetted against the flames when you called me and I turned back.”
From the E-ring, they walked the length of the open bay (the equivalent of the D and C rings –about the length of twenty 6-foot wide cubicles.) Making a dogleg turn to the right, they entered the fourth corridor for about twenty feet. As they exited into the corridor, they quickly passed an officer lying face down under a fire hydrant. A few people stood around the officer.
After they passed the downed officer, the two turned left into the second bay that took them to the A-ring, the Pentagon’s shortest way around. I feel more relieved away from that fire.
“Patrick, my face, eyes, and hands are burning so badly that I want to go to the restroom to wash.”
“We need to keep walking. We have to get out of the building.” He made no mention of his own burned arms.
“Let’s not go to the courtyard. I’m afraid there might be a second plane that could hit us.” Patrick agreed.
They started to walk toward the Mall entrance, but it was packed with dozens of people. Nobody was running in panic; people were walking with a purpose. Some people were burnt and tattered like Ann and Patrick. Some of these people look like it’s just a fire drill.
“This crowd of people is making me claustrophobic,” she said. “Let’s try the River Entrance.” The River Entrance was on the north-east side of the Pentagon, which was opposite from where the plane had hit..
“I’m never going back in that building.” By now they had walked almost half way around the Pentagon, about one half mile.
As they walked through the River entrance, Ann did not want to look at people. Seeing them react to the way I look would scare me even more. She could hear people talking, but did not catch anything they actually said. The back of her purple jacket was scorched and torn. Patricks’ white shirt was wet from the sprinklers and torn; his arms were red with burns. They continued across the parade ground on the Potomac River side, down to the road. Cars were parked haphazardly.
Ann did not remember who directed her and Patrick toward the Defense Protective Service, which was the Pentagon police force. One of the police officers tried to find them an ambulance. When he could not find one, he put them into his Defense Protective Service car and drove them to Alexandria Hospital. The Pentagon was about 6 miles north of the hospital, along Interstate 395. Ann used to live near the Hospital and tried to give the officer directions. I am so agitated right now, those directions aren’t right. This is taking too long.
As soon as they got to the hospital, she sprung open the door and ran into the hospital Emergency Room. Patrick followed her at a walk.
“We’re from the Pentagon,” she said. The emergency room personnel took one look at the two of them, smelled the jet fuel, and sent them to the decontamination showers. My DoD identification badge has curled from the fire. My eyesight is almost normal as soot washed out of her eyes. She found out she had second degree burns on her face and hands. Her little toe was broken and she had a gash on the top of her foot. Her ear was badly burned and she had lost a two inch patch of hair on her head.
It was now about 9:45 a.m. and they were the first people from the Pentagon to arrive at the hospital.
I have never established a monthly goal before. This is the start of a new season and the blog’s 6 month anniversary. For September I plan to have 3-4 new posts each week. The goal is to divide them between both categories: library features and word play. If you have any topics or recommendations I would love to hear from you.
I truly appreciate those of you who have followed this blog during its initial 6 months. In August, I had my first post “Too Bee or Not Too Bee” re-posted twice. Thanks to In the World of Thoughts by Namrata D. Prabhakar and Michael B Talbot of Mick B. Talbot’ s Poems.
I would also like to thank my first and most consistent follower, Dr. Rolig Loon.
Which blogs have been your most or least favorite? Do you have any topics to recommend? Please join the conversation and let me know. I would really appreciate hearing from you. Each time I get discouraged about writing what I personally laugh at myself for calling “the best blog that nobody ever reads,” someone has liked or commented on a post. This renews me to want to keep on writing.
Sunset at Cabrillo National Monumet at Pt Loma, San Diego, CA