Happy Birthday Dad

The other day, on my way to work, Pandora played "Leader of the Band" by Dan Fogelberg.  The song always reminds me of my father even though he was not a band leader.  There is a line "he gave to me a gift I know I never can repay"  I started crying (I'm crying now as well).  I can never make it through that song without crying.  The last line before the chorus "Papa I don't think I said 'I love you' near enough" has me sobbing. It's funny how certain songs will do that to you.

Today would have been my father Robert Myers' 96th birthday.  He was born in Chester PA and always loved the place. I read now that Chester is one of the most dangerous cities in America, but for my father it was a kind of heaven; a farming community filled with cousins , aunts and Uncles and his grandfather  who taught him to swear in Gaelic. His parents split up when he was young and he lived with his father until he was killed in a household accident ( well not really a household accident.  It was Prohibition and the pot of tar they had on the stove to seal the barrels to store the hooch exploded on him.  Nasty horrible way to die in my opinion).   He moved around between Aunts and Uncles, staying with his favorite Uncle Jim until his mother came to claim him and his brother. He didn't want to go but she took him anyway and he lived with his mother and stepfather in New York.  He had three other siblings and he loved them all.  He never quite got over the death at 17 of his brother Junie, whose heart had been damaged by , I think, rheumatic fever.  He had quite a few adventures and told great stories that made you laugh.   I kind of get that from him .  I think I tell some funny stories myself.  I got his "cooking gene"  He was a professional cook and supported us by working in a variety of "houses" or "stores"  He met my mother at the pool at the St George Hotel in Brooklyn, where his first encounter with her was to push her into the pool.  She couldn't swim.  He went in after her.  The rest as they say , is history ( well MY history anyway!)

I miss him every freaking day and wish I could talk with him just one more time.  I "talk" to him in the kitchen when I leave a knife in the sink for more than a few seconds ( a HUGE mistake in his book and I try NEVER to do that)  I hope he is still proud of me.  When I was getting an award in City Council a few years before he died, the Councilman asked if he were proud of me.   He held his hands out to indicate a size and said "I've been proud of her since she was this big"  I think he's pleased as punch at his great-grandson Bobby, who seems to have inherited his charm.  He could charm the birds out of the trees. Bob ( I call him little Bob) looks like my father when he laughs.  He also has his ears, but that's another story.

So Happy Birthday, Dad.  I miss you.  We will share a beer in Heaven one of these days.

Dreams

Big surprise that I haven't been sleeping well.  Don't know why, but my rhythms seem off.  I fall into a heavy sleep then wake up WIDE awake two hours later.  I have to try to empty my mind and sleep.  I long for soothing relaxing dreams but lately they are just a chaotic extension of  my day.

Last night, or more accurately this morning, I dreamed I was working.  I was doing library stuff in the lobby of a weird hotel  I was having trouble with their phone system and I kept trying to find the paperwork to order paperback racks- we needed  something like a thousand of them, and I kept just finding more and more stacks of paper.  My boss- not any of my real bosses but someone I knew was my boss- kept handing me more stacks of paper that were just in a mixed up clump, not a neat stack.  In frustration, I tossed them on the sofa until the sofa was covered with paper- it was lined looseleaf paper by the way.  The boss sat on the sofa and I tried not to let her know I was frustrated.  IN the pile of things I found a book I was trying to read called Mrs Ysiguire's' eyeglasses ( there is no such book, I checked).  In the dream I knew it was about a Japanese woman who had been in the camps as a young girl and now was trying to get a new pair of glasses and to tell her story.  I REALLY wanted to read the book but it kept getting trapped in the papers and I kept losing it.  Someone kept yelling at me that I had transferred some complaining person to the speaker system in the hotel and now everyone could hear his complaints.  I woke up tired.

If I think about it, I know the dream means I am feeling overwhelmed at work- well DUH.   I wonder if somewhere in the dream is the solution.  Am I supposed to write the book?  That might be interesting as I know nothing about that era and I wonder if I could actually develop a character like her.  Her story was real in my mind.

I have been told that dreams are your subconscious, trying to tell you something.  Today, or this evening, when I am not so busy, I might give it some thought.  I just hope for a nice flying dream!

Music

I have often thought that musicians are our current poets and philosophers.  I often find something that helps me find my direction when I am questioning my mind , in a song. Last night on the way home, I heard a Phil Collins song from the 80's I had not heard in a long time. I liked Phil then, before he became sort of a public arrogant bastard.  The lyrics resonated:

Now everybody keeps telling me how to be
and everybody tells me do what they say
Oh, I'll help myself it's up to me and no one else
but till I'm ready just keep out of my way


I wonder sometimes if music comes into our lives at the moment we need it.  I know that hearing "Solsbury Hill" years ago helped me to decide that it was time to change jobs.  I was incredibly unhappy and did not know what I wanted to do- much more unhappy than I am now.  For THAT job I had to talk myself into going to every day and I would flee the minute my time was up.  It was a bit like serving time, I suppose, but not really.  It was horrible in every aspect.  My current situation is not like that.  I am overworked, well I FEEL overworked, and I hope for relief and change. The job I applied for is all writing and research, but it IS with he Police Department and I have had my doubts about working for another law enforcement agency ( my former Job From Hell was with Parking Enforcement).  I am still unsure.  I will follow some advice and take the interview if it is offered.  I think I will know when I go if it is right for me.  What stops me is that I have two to three years left and I am feeling conflicted.  Really conflicted.  Do I want to leave people I love- and I do love the people out there in my branches- to do something else?  My focus has always been to try to serve the greater good.  Libraries do that.  I suppose I need to look within, see what it is I want in my "career"  although at this stage of the game can I really call my working life a career?  I am struggling, and oversharing here in the blog I suppose.  But this blog IS titled "Inside Robyn's Brain" and I warned you from the outset that it would be a trip inside my mind from time to time.  Welcome to the chaos of thought that is my mind right now!

I will seek out soothing music and the philosophy of singers whose work may unexpectedly help me unlock the puzzle.  I can only ask myself what next, as there is really no one else who really knows what I  want,and I'm not sure I even know.

Ren Faire

I love the Renaissance Faire.  Every time  I go, I think "I should have worn my costume" But I never do. I decided that next year, I will.  If we go.

The Ren Faire is part street fair, part bad Shakespeare, part theater.  I love looking at the booths and the items for sale, but frankly things are WAY overpriced. I admired a lovely shawl, but they wanted 65 bucks for it.  Uh, just no.  I paid too much to have my palm read.  The woman WAS spot on however, so I need to take stock of her advice.  This year, the faire seemed a bit more free-wheeling than t had in the past; there was no parade  and I'm not quite sure I saw the Queen. There WAS a woman at the "Sonnet Slam"  who looked like she could have been the Queen, but I didn't ask.  As for the Sonnet slam?  Meh.  It seemed like a bunch of people who knew each other  and were in on each other's jokes who read too quickly. The Faire crowd noise was so loud I could barely hear them anyway.  That coupled with the attempts at fake Shakespeare, including BAD British accents made me long for a GOOD dose of the real thing  ( Lisa Wolpe, when are you coming back to Los Angeles???)

I did have fun interacting with some of the roving street performers and people watching.  The costumes, some of them anyway, were amazing, if not QUITE period.  Some were really period and I wondered how many people from the Society for Creative Anachronism were there. There was a larger group of Steam-punk devotees next to us at the joust.  Wrong Era, but the Faire hosted a Steam-punk weekend about two weeks ago, so maybe they had season passes.  I was REALLY glad we had purchased our tickets online before we went.   The box office line stretched WAY into the parking lot.

I love the joust.  We stayed rather late to see it and our Champion won. I am not sure how choreographed the event is, at least the running-with-lances part.  They did a very hokey sword fight in which almost everyone dies.  Well, it was called the "Joust to the Death"   so I suppose I should have expected it.  It was just bad.  It could have been campy but it failed at that.  It was sort of reminiscent of watching elementary school kids have a mock sword fight ( oh wait they can't DO that anymore , schools have a zero tolerance for acting out historical fights)  A let-down to a really nice horse-and -rider show.

I had a very nice cider when we arrived and after walking a while, although he said he wasn't hungry, I insisted Chris and I share something.  The line for the fish and chips wasn't long so I went there. They were PERFECT.  Piping hot and not greasy.  Chris doesn't really eat fish but he enjoyed this, not in the least bit "fishy" tasting and just enough to keep us going.  It was beautiful weather-wise and even with our pains, it was a fun day.

The trip HOME was a bit of a nightmare.  We were pretty tired and decided to go home rather than try to find someplace for dinner.  Traffic going through Pasadena was a nightmare.  Beyonce.   There were three people ON THE FREEWAY  walking in traffic SELLING T-SHIRTS!!!!!  ON THE FREEWAY.  IN TRAFFIC.  Making it worse as you tried to get in the lane that was not going to the Rose Bowl, they were blocking traffic hawking  their probably counterfeit concert shirts.  UGH.  I came home and fell fast asleep on the couch,

Decisions

I cried at work yesterday.  Someone I truly love and respect went off on a rant at me, and although it was not really my fault, it sort of was and I just started to cry.  I'd like to be able to say that I love my job, but I no longer do.  I love certain aspects of it, but this week I have been waking up feeling like Martin Sheen at the beginning of Apocalypse Now.  "Tuesday. it's only Tuesday"  It was a long week and I am feeling overwhelmed.  Here in a nutshell is what my job entails.

 I am the facilities manager for 72 aging libraries.  This is a never ending battle to keep the facilities in a condition where we can keep the doors open.  I have three people I report to who give me assignments. This is on top of my already frantic pace of trying to handle building repair requests and emergency calls. I monitor the condition of the burglary alarms. I handle problems with custodial.  I have been working with GSD on a variety of repair projects.  This week we closed two branches due to emergency maintenance issues.  I don't mean to complain but our department has always been woefully understaffed. The police department, for instance, at one time had  five people taking care of their buildings and they have a lot less of them. I've been frantically jumping all week- working a little late each day to complete something so it won't be waiting to pounce on me in the morning.   I need to step back an evaluate what I am doing.  Chris says the job is killing me.  He may be a wee bit dramatic but I see his point.  Part of my problem is that by my nature, I care about things and people to a degree I should not.  I have always brought love to whatever I do.  Work doesn't give love back, does it? I love my library colleagues; my peeps, as one of my co workers calls them.   I WANT to make life better for them by doing what I do.  Yesterday's rant made me feel as if I had failed them somehow.

I put in for a transfer.

A friend who retired told me the job she was leaving would be perfect for me and I talked to the person in the department who explained the job. He tried to tell me it was a high stress job, but I don't know if it really is.  He was stressing deadlines and media. I don't know if I really want to take on a new assignment at this point in my life.  Realistically I have two to three years left, unless I win the lottery or the Publishers Clearinghouse sweepstakes in which case ALL bets are off.  I will take the interview if it is offered and see where it leads. I will trust my instincts, open my senses, and decide.  I had always envisioned finishing my career at the Library, now I am not so sure.  Over the next few days, I will meditate on this, pray on this and try to get an answer for myself.  People will give me advice which I will take into account, but in the end, the person who makes the decision for me is ME. I have to trust that ultimately I know what is best for me.  I'm the one who has to live the decision 24/7.  At this point, I just don't know and won't until if and when I interview.   I haven't interviewed in twenty-nine years. That ought to be interesting. I was never very good at it.   I have changed in that time since my last interview.  I am much better at speaking my mind in pressure situations than I once was.

I need to figure out where I want to be and how I am going to get there. The path seems to have forked and I don't know which one to take.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; 

Though as for that the passing there 

Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay 

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.

Maybe Frost has a point.  I am wondering which road to take.  I need to choose the one that is right for me.  I am still struggling to figure that out.  I may be putting the cart before the horse and they won't want to interview me.  Time will tell.

Magic and Music

In the wake of Prince's death, I thought I would try to listen to his music with a more open mind.  I have a friend who loves Prince, well several friends, and I thought I might see if my feelings about the music changed  I found one or two songs to be ok, but still Prince did not speak to me.  I admit he was a musical wonder.  I admit that his music moved the masses; it just does not do much for me.  Call me uncool.  Wonder where my musical tastes lie, but I am not a Prince fan.  It's been a very long time, if ever, that I pretended to like something just to be considered cool.  I like what I like.  I love Guitar driven rock and roll and frankly something with a good lyric and a vocal line I can sing.  Close harmonies thrill me.  I love really OLD blues- not the stuff that the kids call R&B   but stuff like Charles Brown, who I saw with Bonnie Raitt and thought I'd died and gone to heaven it was so good.   I was pondering musical taste on my way to work the other day. I have all but given up listening to the radio anymore. The guffaws and what passes for humor that I hear during drive-time reminds me of Jr High- and NOT in a good way.  I don't like bathroom humor. I would MUCH rather have music in the morning and I either listen to my book on tape or Pandora radio.  I was thinking, as I booted up my "Jim Croce radio  station" that the music I listen to reminds me of a simpler time in my life. I wonder if the music of my childhood and my teen years makes me happy because it was good or because it evokes a memory.  It's probably a little of both.  Today, what passes for popular music is so technologically repaired I am not  sure I am listening to a musician and not a machine. All the stuff my kids listen to sounds the same to me, as if they take the basic track and just lay stuff over it to make a new song.   Maybe I need to see if there really IS good new music out there, although at my age going to a concert with kids who are not my kids,might be a little weird.

I am feeling my age these days. The pain in my knees is no joke and I am trying hard to get to the point where I can walk unassisted.  I realize that until I can have the surgery, which won't be for a few more years according to my doctor, I will be in this pain.  Exercise helps somewhat  but I need to find a pool so I can swim.  There isn't anything close by and driving to Pasadena each day is just right out.  I am depressed by the pain and looking for magic and wonder in my life.  My doctor told me to try to find things that make me happy and to step away from things that do not.  I am in the process of finding that again.  I am looking at taking classes on line from the Library to see what might interest me and I am taking a new class in a new type of meditation which might help me feel better. I am trying to be hopeful.  Writing helps a bit.  I am hoping it will help me focus on what I want and what I don't.  I am thinking of changes and where I want to be in two years.  It's a modest goal.  Baby steps.  When I am walking, I just remind myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other and soon enough I will get there.

"Four Dead in Ohio" and May the Fourth be with you.

I remember the Kent State Massacre.  I was in Junior High.  I was very much against the war in Viet Nam.  My parents didn't care much for Richard Nixon, calling him "Tricky Dick" but they didn't understand the protest movement.  When four students were shot and killed and 9 others wounded  I got into a dinner table debate with my father.  We often debated, sometimes rather heatedly, about current events. I was anti-war.  I argued that some of the "protesters" were just students trying to get to class. I remember arguing about it with my father, that we have the right to peaceful assembly. and pointed out that some of the slain weren't even protesting, just trying to get across the campus I asked him what he would think if I had been one of the students killed. He said they must have deserved it. I think it scared him a bit and he was trying to rationalize it. He was from "the greatest generation" and could not understand how we, their children" could be protesting government policy. He understood later. It was a turning point of sorts in the anti war movement. The fact that we still remember it says something.

Yesterday was " StarWars Day" which started out as a pun "May the Fourth be with you" Did Han Solo develop a lisp... Ah Well. In my opinion, the first one was the best. Mind you I haven't seen the recent one yet. When Netflix has it, I will. The first three were done by George Lucas, whose vision and story this was. I think - and I amay be wrong- that there were other people influencing the next three. I really HATED them, miscast and with that stupid CGI character that just had an over the top annoyance factor. The first film had the wide eyed innocence and the daring- do of old classic adventure films ( think Errol Flynn in Robin Hood) It had all that cool stuff from Industrial Light and Magic. We had never seen the like! Now it's more like , oh yeah.. that was cool.. yawn... It's funny, when I saw it then, I rooted for Luke. Now I root for Han.

Anyone up for watching the first three with me? I'll bring the snacks!

Retirements

I went to not one but TWO retirement celebrations this weekend.  Both were rather quiet affairs, even though one had a program and a presentation and was quite formal.  It has me thinking about my own retirement.  That day seems long off,as I really want to get out from under Kate's college fees before I retire.  Sometimes I think my body is ready and sometimes it just freaks me out.  I have been working so long I don't know anyway else to live.  What does one DO in retirement ( I know I will hear from at least ONE retiree who is quite vocal on the subject)   I asked the Retirement folks to work up my numbers a while ago but have never heard back from them.  There are a few things holding me back from retiring and once I work those out I am gone.  I DO want the biggest party- or maybe I don't.  I think the manner of my exit will be clearer once it becomes real.

One retiree is a friend about my age who is boldly moving herself across the country to where part of her family  and I think her heart, is.  I will miss her but plan on descending on her after she is well settled.  I have never seen New England.  With her it would be a lot of fun.
The other retiree was a woman I worked with for 30 years.  She has had a few life changing events this year and she just got tired.  I wish her well. Her staff were crying as they spoke at the party. Her tutelage will be felt in our department for a very long time, not a bad legacy to have if you think about it.   I wonder sometimes if the work we do DOES make a difference.  The quote at the bottom of my office email reminds me that I should "Act as if what you do makes a difference.  It does."    I will try to remember that as I go through a day of seemingly never-ending problems, that and "some days are better than others."