Daily Amusing #13:  People Who Act Like They Have the Best Job in the World, Even if You Don't Think So


You know that middle-aged waitress at the diner out on Route Whatever that always remembers your name, what you usually like and calls you Darlin'?  Yeah, her.  She's one of those people.  You know she's probably tired and that various customers throughout the day have treated her like crap, acted like she's nobody important or been unnecessarily rude to her because they have some hair across their arses about random issues of their own that have nothing to do with her.  


But, none of that matters.  You walk in, she smiles and hollers out your name and immediately brings you a big steaming cup of your favorite flavor of coffee with just enough 2% milk and two Splendas, cuz she knows that's what you like.  


Out on Route 108, going toward Rumford, there's a construction guy that I adore.  He's an older gentleman as is evidenced by the grizzled gray of his facial hair and the slightly expanded middle.  The crew has been working out there for a couple of months now on gods-know-what while he stands around in his bright orange gear in the open air in 30, 20, teen-degree weather on a piece of road where cars tend to go very fast.  He's the guy who hold the STOP/SLOW sign on the way toward Rumford.  


The first time I drove out that way, I got the STOP side of the sign.  He consulted his radio, turned the sign around to the SLOW side, flashed a subtly chivalrous smile and mimed tipping his hat to me as I passed.  I smiled and bowed me head in return as I drove by.  I thought it might just have been a fluke because people frequently respond in unique ways to the sight of my car (I drive a lime-green VW NewBeetle).  However, on my way back, I had to stop and wait for the cars heading toward Rumford.  I watched SignGuy gallantly salute every single vehicle that passed by him as if he were some sort of priest of the highway blessing the travelers along their journeys.


When I catch myself being cranky, I think of him and smile. You can do that too, now, if you want.  

Daily A~Musing #9:  Libraries

I learned how to read when I was 5.  By today’s standards, that probably doesn’t sound very impressive.  But, back in the early 1970’s, I was one of the only two kids in my kindergarten class that possessed this skill.  


My grandmother taught me how to read Felix the Cat at her tiny kitchen table in Calais.  I remember the feel of the vinyl tablecloth under my sweaty little fingers and how my grandmother leaned over my shoulder and patiently pored over each and every word repeatedly until I could recognize them on sight.  I remember how hard it was and how I really was just memorizing the symbols on the page to prompt the sound of my grandmother’s voice in my head. 

My kindergarten teacher, Miss Terrine (I don’t know if I spelled that correctly…I WAS only 5, you know) allowed me to read Felix the Cat to the class all by myself.  Miss “Tangerine” (as I called her) gave me and the other reader special projects to encourage our reading.  I remember being allowed to make peanut butter cookies because I could read the directions.  Miss Tangerine also seemed pretty tolerant of the fact that I was a kind of weird kid.  (I used to have a pet pine tree that I named Polkadots.  I used to fingerpaint pictures of it.  Yup, folks, I’m not making this up.) 

Being one of the first readers in my class and having special privileges instilled an insatiable gluttony for the pleasures of books.

I lived most of my early childhood in rural areas where sometimes there was no library or, at least, not much of any nearby.  My mom used to subscribe me to Highlights Magazine and let me buy those cheap club books we could order at school every month or so and have delivered to our classes.  Teachers also frequently gave me books to read, sometimes from their own private collections toted in from home.  The sight of the Bookmobile sent shivers down my spine because a whole library came to us instead of us having to go to it and they switched their books each visit so we had a variety to choose from.

When I was 6, my mom took me to the Calais Free Library and I was thrilled.  As you can see, it’s a very romantic-looking structure.  I explored the place as thoroughly as possible and selected Black Beauty by Anna Sewell.  I was so excited until the librarian told me I couldn’t take it out.  I don’t remember the whole exchange verbatim, but it went something sorta like this:

My mom:  “What do you mean she can’t take it out?”

Evil Library Lady:  “This book is not from the children’s section.  She can only take out books from the children’s section.”

My mom:  “But I’m her mother and I’m okay with her reading this book, so let her take it out.”

Evil Library Lady (with a slightly condescending look down at me):  “She wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

My mom:  "What do you care about what she would or wouldn’t understand?  My daughter can read, she wants to take this book out, let her take it out.”

Pictured at the right here 
is this controversial piece of literature-->

Unfortunately, Evil Library Lady was correct and I didn’t understand most of it, but that didn’t stop me from trying my darnedest.  And it didn’t stop me from thinking my mom was the baddest beotch on the block for taking on Evil Library Lady on my behalf and knocking her DOOOOOWN!

A couple years later, my nana gave me my own copy of Black Beauty for xmas.

It’s still on my bookshelf today.

At some point I came to understood that libraries were SUPPOSED to give you their books (I sometimes struggled with the giving back part…haven’t we all?) and that there were literally thousands to choose from.  From this point I declared libraries sacred vessels filled with holy relics and worshipped regularly.  

I went back to the Calais Library many times and borrowed many books.  I practically LIVED at the Bangor Library and the Fogler Library at UMO but I still frequently visit the Glickman Library at USM       when I’m feeling homesick.                

           

Every time I’ve moved to a

new place, part of orienting myself has always been finding the closest library. 

                       Glickman at University of Southern Maine

Just so you know, I’ve moved over 30 times, so this has been a well-rehearsed ritual.  In fact, it’s so deeply ingrained in me, I didn’t even realize that I did that until three seconds ago when I finished typing it here.  Wow.  The things one discovers about oneself when blogging.  J