Nearly every copy of Wuthering Heights in a twenty mile radius of Boston was checked out (or lost) last Saturday. There was one left at Chelsea.
A young lady (not the Wuthering Heights type, I might add) came in looking for it, frantically. I was wondering what brought on this need for classic literature. We checked our library, Everett, Medford, Melrose, and finally discovered Chelsea's. But Chelsea closed at five. It was four fifty.
I told her I could put in a reserve, but she told me it was useless after Monday. Someone's flunking a test today, methinks.
When I was in school, up in Northern New Hampshire, they supplied the books we were required to read. I guess that's good, because the local libraries never could have survived the influx of kids looking for A Separate Peace. Then again, we're having trouble accomodating all those kids with Wuthering Heights, aren't we?
My Mac battles continue this afternoon (late shift for me). You know, once I'm off info. They're liking putting me on info and reference at the busiest times. I suppose it's good, but I'm always exhausted when I'm done.
I really hope my reinstall of OS 9.04.08.34.39188.8.131.52 works, as I found a web page yesterday about replacing iMac hard drives that claimed it was perhaps the most difficult iMac repair to do. It looks like we have later models than the iMac they showed, however. And I would hope Apple would fix a major design flaw that you have to remove the freaking motherboard to put in a hard drive.