Are you OK (with deference to Gertrude Stein, no question mark is necessary)
I am back at the library. I’ll probably end up with a series of short “library posts” I can bundle up in their own volume. Wouldn’t that be exciting and interesting? I can feel the publishers getting ready to pounce.
It didn’t take long today. The Yelping Man (now in caps) is having a bad episode. He is yelling in rhythm at a rapid and loud cadence. Obviously, intervention on behalf of the staff was called for. One of the O.G. librarians walked up to him to quiet him down. I am sure that is all she attempted; she certainly wasn’t offering substantive help.
I see many things from my table at the library. There is a notary who provides her services free of charge and a young man who helps older folks navigate their smartphones. Perhaps most important, I often see social workers interacting with the many homeless people who populate the library during the day. I have overheard many of the conversations. These social workers are concerned with the people they are interviewing, which is easy to see. I wonder if they can offer any of them any real help. I doubt it; they are most likely limited to asking that one penetrating question.
I have been trying to figure out precisely what the problem is. Are we, as a society, unable to fix the issue of the homeless and those mentally unwell? Is it just a matter of money? Is it simply systemic, meaning there is nothing to be done? Maybe it just goes along with skyscrapers, taxes, and insurance? Perhaps that is it. Caveman brains trying to adjust to the modern world. Our brains were not made with this contemporary world in mind (literally).
As usual, my concentration has been broken. If you are getting older, you know exactly what I mean. I was trying to watch a mathematics lecture yesterday. I bailed after about 5 minutes because I couldn’t ride along on the “deep think” the instructor had planned for the audience. That is not the first time that has happened.
Today, the problem (though not a problem) is the group of kids trying to sit still while a librarian reads them a story. Every few minutes, one of them escapes, heading for parts unknown. Yes, I root for them even though I know they aren’t going to make it. An adult always scoops them up before they can create any real mischief.
The women of classical music are playing through my headphones today. I still am not subtle enough to figure out if the music is any different because of the gender of the performer. I will just keep listening, hoping for that spark of elusive inspiration.
To my left, I am overhearing a story about a happy cow who is up to some kind of shenanigans. Straight ahead, near the front doors, The Yelping Man is having another very loud fit. Once again, the library staff intervened. They are asking him the same stupid question they asked him earlier. I must admit, it is hard to watch a man who lives through Groundhog Day every day. It would be different if I felt there was any hope in sight for him.
Two more staff members have just approached a man sleeping in one of the soft chairs. Apparently, he is exhibiting bad form. You can’t sleep in the library for reasons unknown to me. This is all very confusing. And here I was, sitting in my chair, minding my own business as I experienced another day in paradise.
I came up here today because I needed a little break. I have to buy some concrete nails (don’t ask), and I want to wait until it warms up a little. There is a big difference between 34 and 50 degrees, especially for an old guy standing outside.
More intrigue is in the offing. A social worker just approached the sleeping man. He is not impressed with her or her with him. The interaction was short. Once again, no sleeping in the library.
I can’t stay here much longer. The temperature is rising, and I have lots to get done today. Living the dream here in Hillbilly Land.
I was about to put my computer away when I noticed something. A support column usually blocks my view of a large computer screen that cycles through upcoming events. Today, I sat at a different table near where I typically sit. I was trying to avoid the group having a homeless conference near the back. I looked up and noticed that the Hillbilly Land Writers’ Group is having its monthly meeting soon. All I have to do is send in some of my stuff, and the other members will workshop it for me. As part of the deal, I get to criticize the work of others. I don’t think I will be participating. I have a few reasons.
I am not going to criticize the work of anyone else. If someone takes the time and energy to write, I will not say anything negative about it. I leave that to others who fancy themselves teachers of writing. I am no such thing. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Perhaps I could recommend Grammarly and a few books. Other than that, I am out.
The other reason I will not be joining the workshop is subtle. It is not that I don’t doubt that some of the members would have helpful comments; I just don’t care what they think. Before you skewer me, know that I felt the same about the Harvard professors I had. I always took their comments under advisement, but I went ahead and did what I thought was best. Is that just a personality quirk? I don’t know, but I have never seriously considered the opinions of others trying to test or grade me. I have never felt it was that important. I was always much more concerned with my learning, insights, and any epiphanies that might crop up.
Author’s Note: I know a mechanic that has a shop a few blocks from the library. Today he told me someone had broken into one of the cars in his lot. He caught the man sleeping in the back seat when he arrived to work. I asked him to describe the man and, as you might have guessed, it was The Yelping Man. Now I know where he goes after the library closes. At least, that is where he used to go. I am sure he will find an abandoned car, building, or a hole in the ground somewhere near the library. No worries, the library staff, social workers, and I can all sleep with a clear conscious. No need for concern, The Yelping Man is doing all right.
