A friend once said to me, “You know, when you get knocked down, you need to dust yourself off and climb back onto your feet.” I heard this and I thought of my grandfather on my father’s side. He paid his way though medical school by boxing. I don’t think back then they knew that head injuries caused brain damage. In fact, I don’t think my father’s generation even knew this. This information is recent.
My grandfather was also a heavy drinker and his drug of choice (I suspect that there was more than one) was laudanum. My father suffered the brunt of my grandfather’s lack of concern for him. My heart will always ache for them all. This could be why my shoulders are in a permanent slump. |
Unloading books at Ben Boeke last year
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What brings the above up: It was, as I expected, a tough day at the recycling center. Pete pulled into the drive up/pay your fees window and the person in the booth, a staff member, said she needed to talk to me. I knew what this was about. I hopped out of the car and I entered the booth and was told in no uncertain terms that I was not to take books out of the bookstore.
I told her that the book shop sorter had given me permission to do this. No matter, I was told not to take the books.
I have learned that it is better to do what needs to be done. So, I went down to the warehouse floor, cleaned up the mess left by the mid-week sorter, and boxed and put 20-or-so boxes of books on an outgoing pallet. The books were continuing on their journey, the next destination being the temporary Anchorage Homeless Shelter. There was a wide variety, some books of faith, some fiction: romance, science fiction, fantasy, and westerns included. There were also pick yourself up and dust yourself off kind of books.
I set aside some books for local distribution. Three hours later, Pete came and got me. We loaded the books into the truck, picked up our bee order, and came home. I tended to the horses and goats and Pete loaded the bees into the two hives.
Then, on impulse, Pete and I drove to Anchorage and dropped off the books at the shelter. My only regret was that I didn’t have more on hand. A staff person went and got a cart and we loaded it up. The cart was very old. The wooden floorboards were well worn. He was so appreciative. This made my day. This, in a manner of speaking, was the moment when I stood up and dusted myself off.
I could, I suppose, relive falling down ad infinitum. But instead, I have decided to bring back to mind the fact that the books were well received. On the drive home I realized that though some at VCRS are unaware of it, the Bright Lights Book Project has momentum, momentum which is going to carry it through the tough times.
Next: 100. 4/11/12: When Dark Clouds Hover |