So last night I dreamt about local history. Our local history department is located in the old building, and is ruled with an iron fist, and rightly so. There is some old stuff there, not the least of which is the refinished furniture.
No one is allowed to touch the refinished furniture. It's all placed around the gigantic old fireplace and old librarian office, to make a corner of the library look as it did 120 years ago or so. It's gorgeous. Check out Henry Hobson Richardson and the Small Public Library in America : A Study in Typology
by Kenneth A. Breisch. We're in there. I believe that's us on the cover; it certainly looks like us. I've never seen Richardson's other libraries in person, so I wonder how similar they all are.
Anyway, I had this dream that a class full of fifth graders came in and were climbing all over the furniture, and I was under the watchful eye of the director to get them under control.
When they left, I discovered they all wrote evil things about me in the poll books.
People can be so rude. There was a guy on a cell phone the other day at our public access terminals, just gabbing away and surfing the web. He wasn't even talking in a hushed voice. I directed him outside. On his way out I heard him say, "Yeah, the librarian kicked me out." The librarian. Cool.
Today is my first fundraiser (take a picture, mom, and put it in my baby book). It's a trivia thing. I have a lot to do at the library, but of course, this is a good opportunity to actually meet all the people that are involved in the library, so I guess I'll forgo the traditional library tasks today.
I can't wait for my new reference books to come!