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February 9, 2022: Thinking Outside the Box

Woke up to a white, snowy world. There was some accumulation last night, and more on the way. Last night I got an email from Bill who said that his vehicle broke down when he went to drop off a bookcase at a mutual friend’s place.

She gave him a ride home. He then attempted to dig out his wife, Charlene’s Ford Explorer. She’s in Oregon, caring for her elderly father. He said it was buried under six storms. He was going to drive it, but I said via email he could drive our Tundra pick up. He had his vehicle towed to the repair shop.

Icey Roads

I’d previously asked Bill for a ride home from the museum, in his vehicle, saying that otherwise, I’d have to wait until 10 p.m. when Pete finished teaching. He’d said maybe.

So today Pete went to Bill’s place and dropped off our vehicle. Bill came back here with Pete and picked me up and dropped me off at the U-Haul storage locker. I spent most of the day boxing up ten books for shipping. It was slow, backbreaking work. It was made easier by the fact that I’d previously categorized the duplicate young adult books, so I didn’t have to dig around for them.

These books are going to a yet unknown village.

After, Bill picked me up and we attended the Palmer Museum annual meeting, and after, spoke to the board about the project. The board members, they made it seem as though the museum has a lot going on. I was impressed.

The board did not seem impressed with my talk about the project and Nan’s request for space for a bookcase and little library. It was like none of them could think outside the box. I presumed that they’d want to partner with us, and together we could do some fun things. But no, they focused on the fact that they don’t have a lot of space, and the space they do have is for art-related displays.

I began by giving each board member a copy of now deceased musher Gary Paulson’s book.

This board president interrupted my portion of the presentation saying, “and what do you want from the board?” To which I said, “I’m getting to this.” I finished my story and then turned the floor over to Nan, who simply requested space for a bookcase.

The board members said they’d let us know what they decide. I said that we’d provide books on Alaska, not hardback fiction like Clive Kessler. I don’t think that they know who Clive Kessler is because they did not laugh. I thought, oh oh.

Well, we are now at the point where it does not matter if we get space for a bookcase at the Palmer Museum. I’m going to leave this to Nan who is on good terms with all the board members and board president.

Bill gave me a ride home, in our truck. I was home by 8 p.m. I hate to say it, but his misfortunate was my fortune. Had I gotten home later it would have been a much longer evening, what with having to tend to the animals.

Next: 41. 2/10/22: Wordless

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