I have had an affinity for libraries ever since I can remember. There's something special, an almost reverance, about them, in a happy, chaotic way.
My first memories of libraries were from elemenary school in New York (state, not city). Every week, we had certain days for different activities: art, music, and the library. On library day, we had 30 to 45 minutes to look through the books and choose one or two to bring home for the next week. Just think: being a child who has an adult telling us when to get up, what to eat, when to go to bed, but being able to pick our own book to enjoy for the next week or two. Is that great? You bet it is!
I'm sure that there was a public library in Yorktown, where I lived during my elementary school years, but I really don't remember it. But I do remember the school library fondly, devouring book after book.
The summer after fraduating elementary school, we moved to a small town in Connecticut, tucked in the northeast corner. It was an older two story house on two acres of land, and with a library within walking distance. The old library building now houses a local historical museum, with a larger library in another part of town, no longer within walking distance of our old house, at least judging from what I've found online.
When we lived in Thompson, my sister and I would head for the library, sometimes with our younger brother in tow.
During the school year, there was plenty of time spent in the research room, doing homework, looking up stuff for reports, and more.
Summertime, though, the library held events for kids, making reading fun, with parties and prizes, depending on how many books we had read over the summer. It was not uncommon for groups of kids comparing notes on which books were worth a read.
The only down side of the library, at the time (mid- to late-1960s) was that the library closed at noon on Saturdays, and didn't reopen until Monday morning. Dad and I would run errands Saturday mornings. Usually, around 11:15, I'd start asking the time, and Dad knew what I wanted, and would try to hurry. I'm not sure how often we'd get home by 11:45, and I'd run as fast as my legs would carry me to get to the library, find a book or two, and check them out before the noon closing.
After three years, we moved to the next town over, and discovered the Woodstock library. The only bad thing was that it wasn't in walking distance.
Fast forward to Florida. The city I now live in (with part of my family) has upgraded their public library at least four or five times since I moved here.
During one upgrade, when my kids were young, our lives were undergoing some upheavals. The one constant that we looked forward to was our weekly trips to the library. Every Wednesday, we'd head out after dinner, and hang out there until its 8:30 closing, then swing through McDonald's for ice cream cones.
It was during this upgrade that I discovered Gloria Naylor's The Women of Brewster Place, along with several other goodies, while the kids made their own reading memories.
During another renovation, this one from the late 1990s to the beginning of 2001, the library building underwent a total overhaul. But, of course, the city leaders knew that they didn't want to deprive the citizens of a library; books, staff, everything and everyone were temporarily moved to the lower level of a nearby mall. During this shift, with stacks of fiction, non-fiction, children's books, and research areas all jumbled around, everyone searching for their favorite books, it was impossible not to stumble across new books and authors we might have otherwise overlooked.
It was during one of these mall-library trips that I discovered Anne Lamott's amazing and wonderful book Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith. Until then, I'd never heard of Anne Lamott; now, I've got the better part of a shelf full of her books.
Note: Traveling Mercies is followed by Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith and Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith. These are filled with essays by a left-wing Christian writer; her writings are totally relatable.
One of my sons and I still try to get to the library at least once a week, where we pick up a couple of books, movies on DVD and blue-ray, CDS, and more. We both have great memories of libraries, and are making more great library memories.
But why, exactly, are libraries so important? Sure, you can borrow books, and in many libraries now, movies, audio books, music CDs, and more, thus saving you money. I've heard that some libraries even have a line at the end of the reciept for when the books are due back that reads, "You saved (this much money) borrowing materials this year."
But there's so much more...so many reasons libraries are important. In her book Grace (Eventually), Anne Lamott has a piece titled "Steinbeck Country." In this piece, she mentions that California's governor at the time had planned to close several public libraries in Salinas. This, of course, did not set well with the reading (and writing) public; the protests helped pursuade the higher-ups to keep the libraries open.
Many libraries have after-school programs for kids so that they have a safe place to hang out, and even get help with homework. This is especially important for kids whose parents work and who worry about kids heading home to an empty house.
There are computers with internet; this is useful for those who can't afford a computer (including those who can't afford to get a computer fixed), and who need to go online for job searches, online classes, or to simply keep in touch via email.
Another plus is a variety of informal classes to enrich the community. The local library where I live - the Barbara S. Ponce Public Library, in Pinellas Park, Florida - offers American Sign Language classes, as well as an upcoming financial wellness class, reading time for kids, afternoon movies, computer classes, and more.
During tax season, AARP has tax preparers helping people file their taxes free of charge at several of the libraries in Pinellas County, Florida; I imagine they offer this service at other libraries, too.
There are plenty of homeless people in the area; the library offers a safe, air conditioned place to hang out during the day, where they have access to computers (job searches, housing searches, etc).
Sure, there are books one can borrow at the library. But it is so much more. A town without a library is not a place I would want to live.
Monday, August 29, 2022
Wednesday, July 13, 2022
Karma Kitty - Rest in Peace
It's been a rough couple of months. First, I managed to fall, fracturing a vertebrae. While that has pretty much healed, we ended up losing Karma Kitty.
But first, let me back up just a little.
"Hey, I've found the perfect cat for you." My friend Kevin told me this while I was in his cab. I'd met him back when we both drove cab, years ago.
"I already have a cat," I reminded him.
But our old black cat, E.B. White, was fading fast. She had been sick for a while, and was in the middle of quite a few family members who died over a two-year period.
E.B. White
"But you need the kitten," Kevin insisted. He'd even named the kitten Karma.
(To cut this part of the story short, you can read about Karma, Drexie, Osha and E.B. here. The entire part of when Kevin delivered Karma is especially good for a laugh.)
Kevin
Anyway, fast forward to the present. Karma Kitty and Drexie Calabash were a month apart in age, and had both recently turned 15 years old. According to a chart I'd seen, that qualifies them as geriatric cats, as in "forget the numbers, they're very, very old." They were both showing their age, Karma more so than Drexie.
Up until the last year or so, Karma had been twice Drexie's size, starting when they were kittens. When we adopted Drexie, a month after Kevin brought us Karma, he spent the day whooping up on her. This was his house, he'd been here first, how dare she invade his territory. I kept them separated as much as possible.
The next day, I called our vets' office in tears, sure I was going to have to bring Drexie back. Fortunately, the vet tech who answered the phone had quite a menagerie of pets.
"Not to worry," she said over the phone. "I go through this every time I bring a new cat into the house."
She added that it might take up to two weeks for them to work it out, but that it would all be okay.
That afternoon, it did get worked out. Karma went to beat up Drexie again, only this time, she was tired of him being a bully. She reared up on her back legs, as only a tiny kitten can, wrapped her front legs around his head, and rolled onto her side. Of course, Karma had no choice but to roll over, too, at which point, Drexie started kicking his face and head hard with her back paws while biting his ears.
It took Karma a minute to work his way loose, and he backed up, eyeing the smaller cat. Then, on for a second attack, and Drexie did the same thing! By the third round of "I'll-whoop-your-butt-oh-no-you-won't," Karma backed up, eyed Drexie, and decided she could stay.
It took another few days for them to decide to be friends, but after that, they were basically inseparable.
At his heaviest, Karm weighed 12-pounds and change, while Drexie hovered just above six pounds. After a bout of cystitis, when he had to go on a special (read: expensive) diet, he did lose a couple of pounds, but not much. He was still muscular, and was still twice Drexie's size.
Karma Kitty
"I can haz tuna?!" - photo by J. Goff
Drexie
Someone's in the kitchen with Drexie...
I've written about these two time and time again over the years. They've kept life interesting, to put it mildly.
But several months ago, maybe a little longer, Karma really started going down hill. I'd taken Drexie in, as she had some minor aging problems going on. The meds seemed to help, but it did make her gain a little weight. I'd also noticed, during this time, that Karma was losing weight, so I brought him in to see Dr. E. While all the vets who share the office are fantastic (trust me, if you're in Pinellas County, FL and need a vet, leave a comment, and I'll let you know the animal hospital), Dr. E. and Dr. G. got the least amount of static from Karm. At this point, though, I did have to give Karma something to keep his anxiety down a little (i.e. got him zonked out).
Yes, he had lost weight; it turns out, he was having kidney issues, and had to go onto another (more expensive) food, as well as meds.
His weight held (sort-of) for a while, but soon, the weight dropped more and more. When he was seen on June 14, he was below six pounds.
We figured the end was coming sooner or later...
Then, on Thursday, June 23, he really got worse. He didn't want to eat, went to drink some water, then had trouble walking. His front end seemed to be functioning, but his back legs were wobbling like a drunk who'd had way too much to drink. He also threw up the water.
I called the vets' office. Dr. G. could see Karma around noon...
I made sure Karma got tons of snuggles over the next hour or so before bringing him in. Turns out, he'd lost another half-a-pound in just nine days. He was also a little dehydrated, and had developed a heart murmer, which made giving him fluids at the vets' office a little dicey.
After talking with the vet, we decided it would be best for Karma to be put to sleep. Left alone to die on his own, it was probably not more than a couple of days, at most, during which time, he'd be in pain.
I stayed with Karma while he was given a sedative, then cuddled him and told him how much we all loved him, including Drexie. After a few minutes, he recieved another shot, and drifted off.
I must have gone through most of a box of tissues during this time. This was our mini-panther, our Karma.
We had him cremated by himself, so that we now have his ashes in a box in our living room. We also have a paw print, along with some of his fur in a clear bag. (We used to call him our velvet panther.)
The next day, the vets' office sent a small floral arrangement, with a card, something very appreciated. Karma was family.
Drexie obviously misses her big brother, as does everyone else in the house.
Rest in peace, Karma. You were a sweet-heart.
But first, let me back up just a little.
"Hey, I've found the perfect cat for you." My friend Kevin told me this while I was in his cab. I'd met him back when we both drove cab, years ago.
"I already have a cat," I reminded him.
But our old black cat, E.B. White, was fading fast. She had been sick for a while, and was in the middle of quite a few family members who died over a two-year period.
E.B. White
"But you need the kitten," Kevin insisted. He'd even named the kitten Karma.
(To cut this part of the story short, you can read about Karma, Drexie, Osha and E.B. here. The entire part of when Kevin delivered Karma is especially good for a laugh.)
Kevin
Anyway, fast forward to the present. Karma Kitty and Drexie Calabash were a month apart in age, and had both recently turned 15 years old. According to a chart I'd seen, that qualifies them as geriatric cats, as in "forget the numbers, they're very, very old." They were both showing their age, Karma more so than Drexie.
Up until the last year or so, Karma had been twice Drexie's size, starting when they were kittens. When we adopted Drexie, a month after Kevin brought us Karma, he spent the day whooping up on her. This was his house, he'd been here first, how dare she invade his territory. I kept them separated as much as possible.
The next day, I called our vets' office in tears, sure I was going to have to bring Drexie back. Fortunately, the vet tech who answered the phone had quite a menagerie of pets.
"Not to worry," she said over the phone. "I go through this every time I bring a new cat into the house."
She added that it might take up to two weeks for them to work it out, but that it would all be okay.
That afternoon, it did get worked out. Karma went to beat up Drexie again, only this time, she was tired of him being a bully. She reared up on her back legs, as only a tiny kitten can, wrapped her front legs around his head, and rolled onto her side. Of course, Karma had no choice but to roll over, too, at which point, Drexie started kicking his face and head hard with her back paws while biting his ears.
It took Karma a minute to work his way loose, and he backed up, eyeing the smaller cat. Then, on for a second attack, and Drexie did the same thing! By the third round of "I'll-whoop-your-butt-oh-no-you-won't," Karma backed up, eyed Drexie, and decided she could stay.
It took another few days for them to decide to be friends, but after that, they were basically inseparable.
At his heaviest, Karm weighed 12-pounds and change, while Drexie hovered just above six pounds. After a bout of cystitis, when he had to go on a special (read: expensive) diet, he did lose a couple of pounds, but not much. He was still muscular, and was still twice Drexie's size.
Karma Kitty
"I can haz tuna?!" - photo by J. Goff
Drexie
Someone's in the kitchen with Drexie...
I've written about these two time and time again over the years. They've kept life interesting, to put it mildly.
But several months ago, maybe a little longer, Karma really started going down hill. I'd taken Drexie in, as she had some minor aging problems going on. The meds seemed to help, but it did make her gain a little weight. I'd also noticed, during this time, that Karma was losing weight, so I brought him in to see Dr. E. While all the vets who share the office are fantastic (trust me, if you're in Pinellas County, FL and need a vet, leave a comment, and I'll let you know the animal hospital), Dr. E. and Dr. G. got the least amount of static from Karm. At this point, though, I did have to give Karma something to keep his anxiety down a little (i.e. got him zonked out).
Yes, he had lost weight; it turns out, he was having kidney issues, and had to go onto another (more expensive) food, as well as meds.
His weight held (sort-of) for a while, but soon, the weight dropped more and more. When he was seen on June 14, he was below six pounds.
We figured the end was coming sooner or later...
Then, on Thursday, June 23, he really got worse. He didn't want to eat, went to drink some water, then had trouble walking. His front end seemed to be functioning, but his back legs were wobbling like a drunk who'd had way too much to drink. He also threw up the water.
I called the vets' office. Dr. G. could see Karma around noon...
I made sure Karma got tons of snuggles over the next hour or so before bringing him in. Turns out, he'd lost another half-a-pound in just nine days. He was also a little dehydrated, and had developed a heart murmer, which made giving him fluids at the vets' office a little dicey.
After talking with the vet, we decided it would be best for Karma to be put to sleep. Left alone to die on his own, it was probably not more than a couple of days, at most, during which time, he'd be in pain.
I stayed with Karma while he was given a sedative, then cuddled him and told him how much we all loved him, including Drexie. After a few minutes, he recieved another shot, and drifted off.
I must have gone through most of a box of tissues during this time. This was our mini-panther, our Karma.
We had him cremated by himself, so that we now have his ashes in a box in our living room. We also have a paw print, along with some of his fur in a clear bag. (We used to call him our velvet panther.)
The next day, the vets' office sent a small floral arrangement, with a card, something very appreciated. Karma was family.
Drexie obviously misses her big brother, as does everyone else in the house.
Rest in peace, Karma. You were a sweet-heart.
Wednesday, June 15, 2022
Life Goes On, Somewhat Crazily
I realize I've been M.I.A. since last August. Even then, I didn't post much last year; from the looks of things, there were four (!) posts all of last year.
Of course, getting started here again has been interesting, to say the least. Anyone who's a writer (or artist of any sort) can related that too much time off makes it a little difficult to get motivated to head off in a forward direction.
But what the heck, I'm back.
Several weeks ago, I came so close to cutting my hair short (at least, short for me). The last time I had a major hair cut was for a job I'd landed, back in 1980. I can already hear at least one or two people thinking, Yikes! No need to tell me that was a long dang time ago.
The job I'd landed was working for a local fire department. The department had hired eight of us (if I remember correctly), including two women. (This is where your's truly fits in.) There was only one other department in our county, here on the west coast of Florida, that had a female firefighter; she'd been on the job less than a year.
I had already started off, near the end of 1979, as a volunteer with Pinellas Park Fire Department, shortly after the department had hired a new chief, so I had a somewhat vague idea of what to look forward to.
The department Jane and I were hired on at seemed okay with the length of my hair. I'd start off my shift with my hair in a braid. If we had a fire, and needed to wear our bunker gear, it was no big deal to grab the end of the braid, put said braid on top of my head, put my helmet on, and immediately, no hair showed.
However, when we started at the local fire academy, the then-head of the academy made it clear that I had to have my hair cut above my shirt collar. After all, that was how short the men had to have their hair. While our chief went to bat for me, I still had to get it cut short. Problem was, having it that short, I couldn't braid it and keep all the hair from sticking out from under the helmet.
At that point, I vowed never to cut my hair again, until I was good and ready.
So why was I thinking of cutting it recently? Well...Six weeks ago, I slipped and fell, landing hard on my back. Instant excruciating pain.
Silly me. Once I was able to move, and actually talk (I'd spent several minutes babbling, leaving my sons thinking I'd had a stroke), I got up and decided to take a shower. I was sure I'd simply pulled a few muscles in my back.
An hour or two later, though, when the pain showed no sign of subsiding, I agreed to go to a local free-standing ER to get it checked out. As it turned out, I'd fractured one of my vertibrae! No wonder it hurt!
Several hours later, after a room opened up in the main hospital (several miles away, with an in-house ER), I was transferred by ambulance and taken straight up to the assigned room, where I spent the weekend. While there, I ended up with an MRI lasting about half-an-hour (never a fun thing for someone who's claustrophobic). Fortunately, it turned out okay, still a fracture, but without further complications.
Two days later, I got to come home. But for six weeks, I've been stuck wearing a dang back brace. The first coupld of days, my hair kept getting caught in the brace; it was then that I seriously thought about cutting my hair shoulder-length. I didn't, though, and I'm now glad I didn't.
It's only a few more days until I get another X-ray to see if the back has healed enough to do without the back brace. Siiiiigh...
Also, to throw in some more fun, our two cats are now 15 years old, and starting to really show their age. Karma is showing it a little harder than is sister, Drexie, is. But either way, Karma and Drexie are getting up there.
At one time, Karma had topped off at 12-pounds and change; he's now down to 5.8 pounds, and has the beginnings of kidney issues, while Drexi, who used to be 6-pounds, is a little closer to 7 pounds now. They both seem to sleep more these days. Karma is also showing some signs of slowing down, and not able to jump as well as he used to.
Anyone who has had cats (or dogs, or any other pets) and who've gotten seriously attached to the pets knows how bitter-sweet it can be, watching the decline, knowing it's simply a matter of time when the pets are no longer around. That's what we're looking at with Karma and Drexie. I know we'll all be basket-cases when their time comes. But in the meantime, they'll get all the love, cuddles, and treats we can give them.
One last word: love your family, even the pets.
Karma Kitty
Drexie Calabash
Of course, getting started here again has been interesting, to say the least. Anyone who's a writer (or artist of any sort) can related that too much time off makes it a little difficult to get motivated to head off in a forward direction.
But what the heck, I'm back.
Several weeks ago, I came so close to cutting my hair short (at least, short for me). The last time I had a major hair cut was for a job I'd landed, back in 1980. I can already hear at least one or two people thinking, Yikes! No need to tell me that was a long dang time ago.
The job I'd landed was working for a local fire department. The department had hired eight of us (if I remember correctly), including two women. (This is where your's truly fits in.) There was only one other department in our county, here on the west coast of Florida, that had a female firefighter; she'd been on the job less than a year.
I had already started off, near the end of 1979, as a volunteer with Pinellas Park Fire Department, shortly after the department had hired a new chief, so I had a somewhat vague idea of what to look forward to.
The department Jane and I were hired on at seemed okay with the length of my hair. I'd start off my shift with my hair in a braid. If we had a fire, and needed to wear our bunker gear, it was no big deal to grab the end of the braid, put said braid on top of my head, put my helmet on, and immediately, no hair showed.
However, when we started at the local fire academy, the then-head of the academy made it clear that I had to have my hair cut above my shirt collar. After all, that was how short the men had to have their hair. While our chief went to bat for me, I still had to get it cut short. Problem was, having it that short, I couldn't braid it and keep all the hair from sticking out from under the helmet.
At that point, I vowed never to cut my hair again, until I was good and ready.
So why was I thinking of cutting it recently? Well...Six weeks ago, I slipped and fell, landing hard on my back. Instant excruciating pain.
Silly me. Once I was able to move, and actually talk (I'd spent several minutes babbling, leaving my sons thinking I'd had a stroke), I got up and decided to take a shower. I was sure I'd simply pulled a few muscles in my back.
An hour or two later, though, when the pain showed no sign of subsiding, I agreed to go to a local free-standing ER to get it checked out. As it turned out, I'd fractured one of my vertibrae! No wonder it hurt!
Several hours later, after a room opened up in the main hospital (several miles away, with an in-house ER), I was transferred by ambulance and taken straight up to the assigned room, where I spent the weekend. While there, I ended up with an MRI lasting about half-an-hour (never a fun thing for someone who's claustrophobic). Fortunately, it turned out okay, still a fracture, but without further complications.
Two days later, I got to come home. But for six weeks, I've been stuck wearing a dang back brace. The first coupld of days, my hair kept getting caught in the brace; it was then that I seriously thought about cutting my hair shoulder-length. I didn't, though, and I'm now glad I didn't.
It's only a few more days until I get another X-ray to see if the back has healed enough to do without the back brace. Siiiiigh...
Also, to throw in some more fun, our two cats are now 15 years old, and starting to really show their age. Karma is showing it a little harder than is sister, Drexie, is. But either way, Karma and Drexie are getting up there.
At one time, Karma had topped off at 12-pounds and change; he's now down to 5.8 pounds, and has the beginnings of kidney issues, while Drexi, who used to be 6-pounds, is a little closer to 7 pounds now. They both seem to sleep more these days. Karma is also showing some signs of slowing down, and not able to jump as well as he used to.
Anyone who has had cats (or dogs, or any other pets) and who've gotten seriously attached to the pets knows how bitter-sweet it can be, watching the decline, knowing it's simply a matter of time when the pets are no longer around. That's what we're looking at with Karma and Drexie. I know we'll all be basket-cases when their time comes. But in the meantime, they'll get all the love, cuddles, and treats we can give them.
One last word: love your family, even the pets.
Karma Kitty
Drexie Calabash
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