I know I've been a poor excuse for a blogger. I keep waiting for something upbeat to report. I am finally returning to work half-time next Monday, after being out on disability since February. I know it is commonplace in our culture for people to wish they didn't have to work. I think that goes against the librarianly grain. We like our jobs, in the main. It is so not me.
I have felt a keen sense of injustice. I was finally working in a beautiful (if small) facility, with a wonderful staff, and terrific administration. I had some great programs planned. So what happens? Somebody else gets to enjoy it. But I am over my pouting.
I am a little nervous about whether or not I will be of any use. I've been studying the bestseller lists. I've been doing crossword puzzles to sharpen the so-called wits. Do I still know Dewey? What if I have to do a lot of weeding? Can I lift a ton twenty pounds at a time? Then there's the handwriting! I have a left side tremor, and of course, I am left-handed. I can just write clearly enough to make out stuff for myself. The branch calendar will take two people. Will I ean the salary? My boss tells me she will be happy if I just sit and answer the telephone. But I won't. I LIKE to flit about. But I've been resting and napping to the nth degree. We shall see.
I have to put in a squibble about another death. I worry this blog could become my own version of celebrity death watch. But Bo Diddley was a man. I remember seeing him open for the Clash. I also saw him in a weird senior citizens show in Florida with Chuck Berry. He was a giant. When my apartment in NYC was burglarized in the early 80s, I tried to explain to the cops the importance of the LP on the turntable when it was stolen. It was a Chess label of Bo. I've looked for it for years, and never found it. I have most of the songs in Itunes, but I still have the album cover waiting for its mate.
