Sitting here in the children's department manning the circ desk whilst 375 staff members are on vacation. It's a quiet Friday morning... kiddies are all back in school, books are shelved, weeded through the 600's, events are planned. I am innocently chatting with a friend from Israel on gmail when clomp, clomp, clomp. We have a rounded staircase that leads from upstairs with molded oak banisters and one of my superpowers here is being able to determine who is coming down the stairs by the sound of their feet, providing it is a staff member or one of our 'regulars' (read: crazies). I'd like to think that my years in graduate school prepared me for this unique talent as it attaches meaning to the checks I write each month to the folks at the student loan offices.

I usually don't look up to see who is coming down. The public restroom is located down here, so generally we have a rule not to make eye contact with the adults who visit our little world since more than likely they are using la toilette. We try not to pay attention to them unless we suddenly recall that they went into the bathroom at around 10:15 and it is now 10:40 and there is a line of people heckling and thumping on the door in which case it is now necessary to hit the panic button and wait for the police to rouse them.

So when this individual descended, I didn't even look up until something flashed off of the right corner of my glasses, a quick twinkle. Startled I glanced up and in an instant knew how the statement 'my jaw dropped' came about because I am pretty sure it did. Tellingly, my eyebrows also shot up and I mumbled a garbled 'hello' before swiveling around to fiddle with the date-due cards my eye still twitching a bit.

He swaggers. The clomping comes from the snakeskin cowboy boots and the glint came from the spurs. Spurs. In Chelsea, Massachusetts where the only thing you ride is the bus or the subway. There is a faint swish from the brown leather chaps. There is a bullet studded belt. There is a Hawaiian shirt peppered liberally with apples and worms. Yes, apples and worms. There is the requisite brown leather vest with what appears to be side holsters bulging with godonlyknows. I had skipped over his face because my eyes were quickly drawn to the snakeskin cowboy hat but as he stands in front of my computer expectantly I know that I have to look up. Rheumy blue eyes stare at me as he asks for restroom key and I vaguely point to where it rests as I stare at his beard which is braided into two skinny rattails that wiggled as he spoke. I am absurdly reminded of the guy from Anthrax because they were also dyed a brilliant red. This guy is no freakin joke.

He was a part of my life only briefly. He used the bathroom and then wandered into the non-fiction room with a sense of bravado coupled with disorientation. He eventually realized that this is the children's department and meandered back upstairs, still with a swagger, still with the spurs.

It was going to be a splendid morning; I awoke early, read, caught up on the Guardian UK and the BBC as well as Livejournal, played a few decent Scrabble moves, drank a few cups of coffee and remembered to send off my Netflix and to grab my lunch. Birds chirping? Check. 65 degrees and sunny with an ocean breeze? Check. I managed to catch almost every green light for the first ten minutes or so of my fifteen minute commute until I got to the madness that is the intersection at the Beachmont subway station. Boston, in its infinite wisdom, zoned this baby while someone was hitting the absinthe. Train station, two bus stops, 5 way intersection, commuter lot, taxi stand and (admittedly more recent) a Dunkin Donuts with a parking lot the size of a Brooklyn backyard. These factors coupled with the fact that the lights at this intersection work on a Fuck-You basis meaning that the green arrows seem to actually last negative time. So I’m sitting back, mellowed out to Panda Bear and actually looking forward to getting to work, watching as the car in front of me performs Edge (wherein said vehicle keeps edging out into the intersection waiting for the green light) when the light changes and WHAMMO, a horn blasts screamingly loud and repeatedly from the car behind me. And the Edger-Outer? Caught unawares, his car lurches forward and promptly stalls. The Beeper? Oh, this has really set him off and the horn blasts again. The Edger-Outer gets his car in gear and careens through the intersection just as the green arrow turns red. I can feel the Honkers steaming hatred piercing through my hatchback. I step on it as soon as I can and come to the next light, only to find the Edger-Outer idling next to me. I glance at him quickly, wanting to share a conspiratorial eye-roll but he is rolling down his window and flicking out a cigarette. Just then the light turns green and as he surges ahead he slowly flips his hand upwards, giving me The Finger. Not only was it The Finger it was the Everlasting Finger, the kind that travels far up the road and is the equivalent of him screaming obscenities for blocks. It was intense and smacked of a burning hatred.

I drove on in horror. I had totally been falsely accused of annoyingness. Now I will be the first to admit that I apply liberal use of my horn when it is warranted but this was both undeserved and truly unjust. I knew that I would be the subject of his first conversation this morning peppered with a variety of swears and animal names. Sometimes I revel in that thought but only when I know I am in the right. Mood sufficiently shattered I drove on only to then face the Great Dunlin-Donuts Debacle. I won’t go into that now, suffice to say I am at the point where I am wondering if it is too early for a beer.

This summer has, cliche for the lack of original thought this morning, quite simply flown by. Especially July. Where did you go, oh month of warmth and summer fun? You started off with great promise and ended up drifting off with fleeting abandon.

Visiting the girls and the dad and the fiancee and family in Florida was wonderful; a 5 day mini-break wherein drinks were had, games were played and a comfortable coexistence was enjoyed. How much do I love my nephews in both their differences and similarities? The same can be said for my sisters, every one of us tied together with a complex knot yet I feel close to them than to most anyone. Here we are heading to dinner, a shot when examined closely reveals that I am standing on my tiptoes in an obvious attempt to match Amanda's height and remind Heather that I am, in fact, an inch and a half taller:



The traveler returned home and worked for a paltry four days before leaving once again, this time bound for Cape Cod. The week was a sleepy mix of coffee, crosswords, beach, mounds of books, lots of food, portuguese fried dough, sam adams, nighttime beach debates and fresh food. Also making an appearance was: an eye patch, a ceramic frog and a grocery bag containing: tuna, black olives and cheese for one. Never a dull time in the Cape, have we.

Vacation ended with a sobering welcome back into the real world with the untimely and shocking death of a coworker and mentor. One of the most caring and unfailingly cheerful people I have ever had the pleasure of working with, our Children's librarian passed away after a heroically long bout with cancer. He had worked for the library for over thirty years and there is a palpable void in his place. He will be missed by not only the staff and his family, but by generations of kids that have found fantasy, inspiration and laughter in his stead. Sometimes the world is just not fair.