Here's the thing: I love my job. Really. I do. I love the people I work with, even if I don't always necessarily like the people I work for. Those people being, of course, the 'public.' Generally, I like most of them. I mean, really, how many places do people bring you homemade lemon bars, fudge pie, and brownies for the holidays? Then there are days like today.....I could have reeeeaaaaallllly used a fudge pie today. The whole thing. By myself. See, here's the other thing. I like kids. Really. I do. The day began innocently enough......We had story hour, of which, if you've ever watched National Geographic and witnessed the panicked stampede of the wildebeests in the face of predators, you've got a fairly accurate image. An hour later, I looked up to notice one lone survivor standing in the midst of the no man's land between the desk and the decimated shelves. Staring right at me. "Did you need something?" Nothing....No response. "Were you looking for something?" Still nothing. Then....."Do you know where my mom is?" Oh. Crap. "No. You wouldn't happen to, either, would you?" Shrug. Am I the only one who seems concerned about this? Apparently so, because, according to this kid, if you've reached the 60" height requirement, you've got all the answers. "I'm looking for my mom." "Yeah, I know. Me too, kid." "You can't find your mom either?" "No....what I meant was...never mind. Just.....hang on....." Thankfully "mom" was just looking for books. Still, that brief instant of mistakenly being considered capable rattled my nerves a bit.

Then, on the way back to the desk after leaving a serene junior with an equally irritatingly serene mother hen, I was snapped at. Not figuratively. Literally. *Snap* *Snap* "I need an over-ride!" We have system wide filters on many sites, including "My Space," which, I have to say, is the bane of a librarian's existence. So, we have to manually over-ride the filter for anyone over 17. Sound time-consuming? It is. Trust me. So, I drag over. "How old are you?" "13" "Sorry..." "It's not for My Space." "Then I couldn't over-ride it anyway. I'm only allowed to over-ride for My Space." It is said that nature abhors a vacuum. It also apparently abhors repetition. Plagues and pestilence have already been used on ancient Egypt. Something original was needed. Which is why 13-year-olds were invented. Said 13-year-old accomplished a freakishly good impersonation of a bee stung Angelina Jolie, she stuck her lips out so far. "If you can't over-ride anything, there's not a whole lot I can do on the computer, then." What?! It's the world-freakin'-wide-web! Find something (wholesomely) educational! You're in a library! Find a book! I wanted to say something really sarcastic, but, instead, I smiled as nicely as I could manage. "National Geographic isn't blocked."

For the past....oh....couple of years (it feels like, anyway), I've been spending quite a bit of time concerning myself very closely with wedding/engagement photos. Now, I'm not sure if anyone really quite fathoms the cruel irony of this situation. Have you ever noticed how, in a moderately sized group of people, cats always seem to find the one individual who is allergic and/or hates them, and attach themselves very closely to that individual for the remainder of the visit? Well, I've heard it said that it is because cats know which humans dislike them because that human avoids eye contact. Well, it is about the same, apparently, for weddings and me. It is as if there is some maleficent force in the universe which finds fodder for its sick sense of humor in throwing me into the metaphorical snake pit which is the exchanging of nuptials. Let me be quite honest: I "strongly-dislike" weddings. I generally only go to receptions for the food. The pervasiveness of high-running, blatantly expressed emotion makes me squirm like a six-year old waiting for the nurse to get back with the needle for the Hepatitis B shot. (Isn't that the one that would sting so badly? Anyway...) I'm a bit like that character in that movie with Sarah Jessica Parker, when she says, "I know I'm a girl and all, so I should be better at this emotional stuff, but......" Don't get me wrong, I love girly books like Jane Austen, the Brontes, etc. just as well as the next person. I love movies like "Casablanca" and "Roman Holiday." Seriously. But.....in real life.....? Nah, I'm okay, thanks. Personally, I've never really felt a need to 'get in touch with my inner-most feelings.' They're fine just where they are, being rudely ignored by my immediate consciousness, thank you very much.

Anyway, I believe I've veered a bit from my original intention.....which was.... let me think.....oh, yes, weddings. One reason I think I may dread them is for a reason hordes of others dread them. Someone else getting married brings into irritatingly close focus the fact that you are not. There are three questions I never fail to receive innumerable times in the course of two hours: "So, when are you getting married?" "Why aren't you married yet?" "Why aren't you married yet?" I think the first sense to deteriorate as you get older is your sense of humor. Apparently some individuals in my family think I'm joining a convent. Hmmmmm, yes, as the saying goes, "There's nothing more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm." (Not that there's anything wrong with joining a convent, mind you.) Yet, I've not seen fit to correct this mistake. If all are satisfied, and I get some peace, the means are completely irrelevant. Alas, the arrival of warmer weather seems to be the signal for all of the underground movements of wedding planners and cake decorators to show themselves in full. I think had they been around a couple of hundred years earlier, living as university students in Paris, they would have orchestrated their own "barricade revolt."

Has anyone ever noticed how the lining up of single women to catch the bouquet occasionally appears disturbingly similar to those screaming maniacs on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange? I began wondering, how did the tossing of the bouquet originate? Personally, it makes me want to toss something, but quite emphatically not anything as sweet smelling as roses, peonies, or sweet pea. As far as the 'catching' goes, I think I'd rather catch the swine flu. So, I found it quite amusing, when looking online for the origin of 'throwing bouquet,' the suggested search topics came up.....including 'throwing knives.' The sad thing is, I could see a connection, and not just through the word 'throwing.' However, I felt much better, when scanning through the results for 'throwing the bouquet' on youtube, looking for some wild, 'no-holds-barred' bouquet catch, I came across one which gave me hope. These are my kind of people.

Maybe I will join that convent, after all.......Nah, then again, maybe not.......You can't wear red heels and a nun's habit. (As far as I know.)

I'm not sure how this post is going to proceed, but I felt an obligation to post something today. As I'm sure everyone is well aware, today is the 65th anniversary of D-Day. Discussing the veterans of World War II is something very close to my heart, something that I always tend to get a little emotional over. My grandfather was a paratrooper in the 8nd Airborne, I have made some very dear friends among the older men who come into the library who served during the War, and I have had the opportunity to converse with others who served during those brutal four years which shaped the world I came into. I make it a point never to discuss politics on my blog; to begin with, I don't follow them closely enough to assume enough knowledge to converse intelligently about politics, so I feel my best policy is to simply keep my mouth shut. Better to be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt. However, this post is not political, it is not even historical in content. (Shocking? Well, maybe I will slip up and include some history, I can't help it.) This, my friends, is purely emotional. Despite your political views on anything, I feel that respect is owed to those who were willing to set aside any dreams they harbored, their youth, their security, their lives, the hopes of their loved ones and imperil themselves for the amelioration of a world burning down because of the greed of a few. I tend to fall into a romanticized view of this time period. Young men in uniform, wonderful clothing styles, white picket fences, Bennie Goodman, Glenn Miller, etc. However, I have to catch myself and realize there was nothing romantic about it. I read a statistic the other day which was a reality check. The average age of a G.I was about 21-22. I turned 24 in April. These were children, really, who became the immolation for the preservation of humanity and what it means to be human. Whatever political reasons there were, my feelings remain that, although we were pulled into the War because of the events on December 7, 1941 (although I don't think we feasibly could have avoided involvement), the deepest reason for the need to sacrifice 'the American Dream' of an entire generation was the demand for a generation of champions of humanity. While so many were devolving into an animalistic state of hate and annihilation, there had to be those who were willing to halt the deterioration of the fabric of humanity into feral, bestial chaos. If I am dragging things a bit heavily, and seem to be a bit too serious about all of this, I am truly sorry, but, as I said, this is a discussion which lies very close to my heart. That generation and what they accomplished is one reason I gave 4 years of my life to study history. It is imperative that their accomplishments are remembered; not the accomplishments of the generals and politicians, but the accomplishments of the average father, son, brother, cousin, friend. Because I also love photography, especially black and white, and most especially black and white from the forties, I've included a few of the photographs included in the National Archives and Records Administration. I hope they aren't too much.
I'm continually astounded to see how young they really were.
A copy of a German photograph. The Warsaw Ghetto being destroyed. Stop and consider where these people were being moved.
I love this photograph. I think it's beautiful. I know that sounds crazy, but not 'beautiful' in a 'pretty' way, but it leaves an impression. The contrast of the surroundings and the circumstances is impossible not to be affected by, I think.
This is also an affecting photograph, to me. Those who were intent on preserving life in situations in which death was the goal is a very sobering thought to me.

This is actually from Korea, but I had to include it. This, I think, shows the price paid. It rips my heart out every time, but it is one of my favorites. It tramples on my heart and leaves my nerves raw and throbbing, but it is one of the most profound images I have come across.

So, I know this is a bit heavy, but there it is. It makes me think of a few lines from a letter a soldier during the Civil War who wrote home to his wife, "I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing-perfectly willing- to lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this government and to pay that debt...." I, for one, am indescribably grateful to men like my grandfather.

I know these are just boring pictures of wheat/birch trees, but I had to post them.....mainly for the benefit of my sister, who has my undying respect, and, of the two of us, received the domestic goddess genes...... I am becoming increasingly concerned that my little paper identity bracelet fell off at the hospital, resulting in an embarrassing and unfortunate mix-up which the staff agreed to keep silent about, deciding that, at least my mother and father looked like nice people-I should have a good home, even if I wasn't necessarily their biological offspring. Her children grow healthy and robust on homemade wheat bread and other impressive feats of the culinary while my hypothetical children will be snorting powdered cheese from the Kraft box like Al Pacino in "Scarface." (Just so everyone knows-no, I have not seen that movie, but you don't necessarily have to have seen the movie to make allusions to it, right? Hopefully? Well, I do, even if it is against the movie buff rules.....) Anyway, here's the bounty of eastern N.C. The light this evening was just wonderful, you have to love that rich, full, late summer light....

I know, I know, it's washed out and has 'sun-spots,' but look for the 'effect.' Okay, okay, so maybe that is stretching it a bit, but hey, I laid down in an insect-infested wheat field to get this one.......Actually it was a bit fun, I was clomping around in knee-high wellingtons with a camera.....It felt all "National Geographic".....without the volcanoes......or the sparsely dressed natives......or, you know, the threat of foreign pestilence or anything.
The sun was setting, so the colors were becoming very nice.
Again, 'effect' not 'result'........
This is not wheat, obviously....a birch tree a bit further down. So, there's my Tuesday afternoon's adventure. I was singing "Fields of Gold" in my head the rest of the evening, but that's alright, that will always be a great song (#61 on the playlist).