Happy New Year!

Thief in the City

One of our regular guys came up to the circ desk last night to let us know his bike had been stolen.  From our bike rack.  Which is right across from the entrance to the police station.  Guy who clipped the bike rode up on a bike of his own, parked it, circled the rack a couple times then, smooth as butter, whipped out a pair of bolt cutters, used them on his bike of choice and rode away like he owned the world.  Never mind owning a brand new bike.  Ok, so not only did he steal a bike, thief showed back up a couple hours later to retrieve the bike he had ridden over in order to, you know, steal another bike.  Confused?  Yeah, me too.  We deal with a lot of sketchy characters over here at Library Land but this guy gets a prize.  And the poor guy who locked his bike up with the expectation of having it be there when he left the library is, of course, SOL.  And so it goes...the circle of bikes.  (On camera the bicycle thief looks to be at least 50-the tip off was the white sneakers he was wearing.  You know the kind...over 50 sneakers.  One of my co-workers nailed that little detail.  She said, "White sneakers!?! Is that my DAD?)

Sharing is Caring

Overheard yesterday:
"Aw, Babe...you smoked that last cigarette, didn't you?"
"No!  I only smoked half.  I saved the other half for you."

Grace

Just read the obituary of a patron I always really enjoyed seeing.  She was 93 and had been housebound the past two years so it certainly wasn't a tragic death but I felt a twinge of sadness nonetheless.  When I worked at our small branch library she was a weekly visitor and a more pleasant woman would be hard to find. 
What stuck in my mind most about her were the stories she told me about her childhood.  She grew up in a family with 8 siblings and their father was an Irish immigrant who worked as caretaker on a large and fancy property which had, once upon a time, stood across the road from the little library.  The family who owned the property was well off and only inhabited the house in summertime.  There was a little playhouse on the grounds, a semi replica of the "big house".  It sounded amazing...almost a to-scale little building with a porch and curtained windows which went up and down and a shingled roof.  Now, the thing about that little house is that the caretaker's children were not allowed to play in it.  So even when the homeowners weren't around, there was no admittance for the "help's" children.  What blows me away though is how fondly the woman remembered her childhood, including the forbidden playhouse.  She and her sisters would play outside the little house, peering in to see the child sized furnishings and they would PRETEND they could play in it but CHOSE to stay outside.  They had whole scenarios of "living" in that house, what everyone's role was and just how lovely life was in it. 
I can't quite shake the picture of those little girls, close to 90 years ago, knowing they could never step foot in the playhouse yet creating beautiful scenes and memories of it anyway. Tiny sisters, holding hands and truly making their own happiness.

Sweet dreams, Grace...and may heaven be full of only open doors for you.