Beth and I went to see Gordon Lightfoot at the Collins Center last night. On the way up, we listened to Dar Williams Live to set a mood and ate at Heros, a sports pub with plentiful and wicked good food. I think this was the fourth time I've seen him in concert, but, given the haziness of my early years, it might be concert #5. 47 years, that's how long he's been doing gigs like last night. I discovered him when I was in college at Arizona State, not long after he put out his first album. That was a time for lovers of live music. There seemed to be a concert almost every weekend somewhere in the Valley of the Sun. If there wasn't something at one of the campus concert halls, then it was at the Phoenix Coliseum, Scottsdale's Theater in the Round or another smaller venue. Over a four year period, I saw more live musicians (especially when you add in Woodstock)than most people see in a lifetime. I suspect my cultural self has been much better for it.
Last night, the crowd certainly matched the performer, graceful and gray. I had the pleasure of seeing and chatting with a co-worker from my days at the state hospital who now works with medically fragile children in a group home, a perfect role for a man with his level of calm and compassion.
At first I was a bit worried about Gordon's voice, but by the third song, he was the bard I have known and loved for 40 plus years. Granted he moves more slowly, but so do I. The song selection was a perfect mix of selections covering the whole range of his work. Everyone goes to concerts hoping to hear certain songs and I'm no exception, but to hear all my favorites from a master like Gordon Lightfoot would require a concert lasting six hours. Suffice it to say that I came away sated and happy. The set design and lighting were perfect mood setters. I couldn't help but think as I was driving home that this was likely the last time I'll ever see him live, a thought that would have been unthinkable not so long ago.

I started another short story for Hardscrabble Kids last night. Tiredness co-opted creativity pretty quickly, but the germ was nicely tucked into my subconsciousness. Tonight, I went back to this new miniature world where Billy Wadsworth is coming to terms with the fact that he's not the sharpest crayon in the box and his grades are about to force the school to kick him off the basketball team.
The process of defining who Billy is, how the guidance counselor handles the task of telling Billy and how a rusty 1973 Chevy appears out of nowhere to become an important symbol of what happened to get Billy to this point in his life and then creating the girl who really matters and cares about him all came together in a magic hour tonight. I've tucked the story back in my creative area for the night. It will be interesting to see how an overnight in my dreams helps Billy move forth in his tale. Stay tuned for more.
Listening to Dar Williams live certainly didn't hurt one bit. What an angel voice she has!

First off, I have created a second livejournal page to more or less replace the Hartland Public Library website. you'll find it at http://hartlandpublic.livejournal.com/ The old website remains, but updating a website when you have limited time is cumbersome. The intent of moving content to a blog format is to make it more timely and relevant. Monday morning, I broke my new rule about not working on MY time by spending over an hour writing a post on where do readers go after the Hunger Games. I did so in part because of an elegant response from daughter Sara Beth on her feelings about the series. That, coupled with her sister Lisa's lament about where to go next, started me searching for links to websites where others had already answered this question. I found an abundance of such material and pulled a bunch together, noting which books we already owned. In the process, I discovered half a dozen we did not and used some of our Amazon funds to buy them. The response from other members of the Maine Library community as extremely positive. Yesterday, I added a posting listing the books I cataloged by genre with a brief synopsis as well as a bit of reasoning behind some of the selections. It added a little more time to the overall cataloging process, but should give our patrons as well as those at other Maine libraries an opportunity to see new stuff quickly and with, as the saying goes, some 'value-added' content.

I'm entering territory that is definitely outside my personal comfort level. I'm not a formal, meeting, shake hands, knock on doors sales-type person. I function best behind the scenes with no formal role. The last time I was actively involved in a political campaign was 40 years ago when Brownie Carson ran for congress and lost. All my public activity since has been limited to town budget committees and planning boards. Last week, I stepped outside my comfort zone when Daniel Swain, democratic candidate for the Maine house of representatives asked me to be his public relations person. It took about 15 seconds to agree. Last night we had our first strategy session here at the house and it was incredibly productive. It will allow me to use my knowledge of who in three of the five towns in our district would be good people for Daniel to meet personally, what organizations will be worth speaking to and what some of the important issues locally are.

I'm pumped! We're going to see Gordon Lightfoot tomorrow evening in Orono at the Collins Center for the Performing Arts. This will make the 4th or 5th time I've seen him live. The last time must have been close to 15 years ago in Portland and the most memorable part of that concert was the way a thunder shower synched with his rendition of The Edmund Fitzgerald.

We have another day of fairly heavy and constant rain. While it certainly affects humans, I realize while looking out my back window how many other living things can't be happy about it. Half the apple blossoms are out with the remainder almost jigging in anticipation. The bees who want to pollinate them can't get much done either and the 20 or so birds hanging around our feeders look beyond miserable, oil on feathers or not.

I have spent time after dark in two graveyards these past couple days. This is not one of my usual nocturnal hangouts, but I was hoping to catch a great shot of the full moon to use as my entry in the 2013 Level Best cover contest. Well good readers, I'm here to say that such a photo, even with a nice Canon digital camera, pretty much eluded me. Beth reminded me I should have used her tripod, but that would have crossed into the area of common sense. How foolish. Even without getting a winning moon shot, the combined experiences and eerie ambiance were worth having all those cars slow down and probably wonder what the fool with the tiny LCD screen was doing wandering among the dead. There are a lot of solar powered lights placed by gravestones in the Pine Grove cemetery. We often drive past at night, but have missed the fact that many of them change color every 30 seconds or so. The effect up close is quite something and did make for a few keeper pictures.
I had much better luck taking bee and flower photos yesterday in our back yard. When we built the raised bed garden last July, we had to move the frame a few feet away from where the old garden had been. The result this year is numerous clusters of daffodils in varied shades of yellow, white and orange. They provide a beautiful blend of nodding color when the wind blows. The creeping phlox we moved last spring has also flourished at the edge of the wall behind the house. Even the scrawny scrids of plant I expected would wither and die have managed to rebound and now form a rich runner of crimson down to the end of the wall. Apple blossoms are getting fatter and one more warm sunny day should have all 12 trees turn into giant pink and white pompoms. I am amazed by the different shades of apple blossoms, ranging from pure white to an almost red. The most intriguing aspect of spending time in our back yard yesterday was the predominant scent wafting through the air. It came from the massive collection of Johnny Jump-ups that spread all over one corner of the raised bed. They emit a subtle, but far from unpleasant smell.
The lawn got mowed and the upper half of the garden got tilled. Nothing has been planted yet, but peas will be in by Friday and once the lower half of the garden is tilled, I may get daring and put in more seeds while covering them with the white row cloth I bought last year to expand our gardening season

Too nice a day to spend more time inside. Gotta catch some close-up bee shots while smelling the apple blossoms as they open today.
I have started a second Live Journal blog to replace the library column I wrote for 4 years. That went away when the newspaper stopped printing. I think this will be as good an alternative as I can find. Today, I wrote about how to help patrons deal with Hunger Games withdrawal.

http://hartlandpublic.livejournal.com/952.html

Mr. Rogers ain't singin' no 'it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood' today. Instead, he's got tats, a 'tude and is singing something about muthas and he ain't talkin' about gettin' ready for next Sunday either.
Yesterday, my experience at town meeting was an interesting epiphany and after I de-steamed over what I still see as a slap in the face in terms of town support of the library, I remembered another line from the promises: "You will know a new freedom and a new happiness." Well, if the town as exemplified by the selectmen, the budget committee and those who attended town meeting (and there sure as hell weren't many), thinks that the library doesn't need any funding for maintenance, materials or utilities, why in hell should I worry about them either. This frees me from doing any of the things that have involved non-paid time, energy or my personal funds. Beth and I have invested at least $20,000 over the last 6 years to make the library better, and I doubt that there has been one single week where I've worked less than 45 hours as opposed to the 34 I am actually paid for. I now consider myself free from any obligation to do ANYTHING that can't be done during the 34 hours I am contracted for. I now consider myself no longer obligated in any way form or manner to use one cent of my own money to improve the library collection. Sour grapes? Maybe. Tasteless and immature? Possibly. Giving me a sense of vindictive satisfaction as I sit here on a Sunday morning in May? You bet your ass.
God knows I can use the time spent on library stuff to garden, write and listen to music. Yesterday afternoon, I told Beth about the three books living in my head that I want to complete or write. I love the immersion in our back yard and the endless challenge of seeing something there or on my travels which begs to be captured on camera. Last night, I wandered around the Ireland Cemetery trying to get the perfect moon shot to use as my entry in the Level Best cover contest. I didn't get anything exactly like I have in my head, but the process allowed me to enjoy the peacefulness of an old graveyard after dark and did help me think about what I really want to capture in another cemetery at sunset tonight.
Anger isn't necessarily a bad emotion if used wisely. I don't always do so, but I was amazed by how quickly I realized the solution to three plot problems at the beginning of Last of the Mango Firecats yesterday. I had all three cleared up between turning off I-95 and the stop sign where I turned onto Route 2 in Orono.
Further fuel for optimism comes from an article from the Washington Post May 4th edition about Martha Grimes. Here's an excerpt that should be of great comfort to anyone frustrated by things not yet done. "Thirty-something years ago, Martha Grimes was a single mom with a drinking problem. She bought vodka in half-gallon jugs. She taught English 101 at Montgomery College in Takoma Park, Md., a job she couldn’t stand. She argued so vehemently with post office clerks about mailing rates for her manuscripts — she wanted the cheaper book rate — that her son, embarrassed, preferred to wait in the car. She was in her late 40s. She had never published anything. Ten days ago, the 81-year-old crime-writing doyenne accepted the Mystery Writers of America’s highest award, the Grand Master, joining legendary honorees such as Agatha Christie, John le Carre and Elmore Leonard. She has sold some 10 million copies of her books in the United States alone. Her catalog lists 31 titles. She has been published in 17 countries. She did almost all of this after she was retired, sober and over 50."

If you want to read an excellent take on writing and rejection, check out Barbara Ross's part two post at http://mainecrimewriters.com/ today. It reminds me of Shakti Gawain's tenet about plenty being a pipeline and those who hoard anything, be it money, talent, love, whatever, have things backwards because the act of hoarding simply kinks the pipe. I'm in the "If you want to keep it, you have to give it away camp." It works for sobriety, it works for technical skills, it works for good reads, heck, it works for surplus veggies in summer.
Today is the annual Hartland Town Meeting. I'm facing a 10% cut in the library budget at a time when we really need an increase to help with maintenance. The roof is beginning to curl, the brickwork has cracked on both sides of the steps and we have at least one crack in the foundation that results in flooding whenever we get prolonged heavy rain. It is my understanding from a friend who has a degree in political science that a line item cannot be increased by an amendment, only decreased. If that's true, then any hope of getting adequate funding is dead for 2012.
Last night, I obsessed about it for at least an hour, to no good result of course. The process, did, however, give me the opportunity to seriously examine my future commitment to the library and discover it has significantly decreased. I know patrons are wonderful, appreciative and supportive, but none of that pays bills and I don't want the stress of having to worry about having sufficient revenue to cover expenses. I, the board and our capable volunteers, have worked darn hard to give the Tri-Town area the best possible library. To put it bluntly, I'd much rather go work in relative obscurity in another library job at this point in my life and let someone else worry about finances. Stay tuned for further details.
One of the plot elements in "Last of the Mango Firecats" revolves around the protagonist having to leave Ballicore and come to Earth because of his addiction. Magic works on Ballicore, but there is no magic treatment for substance abuse, hence his flight/exile to earth. In the course of re-editing what I had written back in 2005 so I could go forward with the story, I realized I had the germ of a sequel. What would happen if my hero and his main squeeze took recover off world and started the movement on a world halfway across the universe? Would it work and if so, how? Universal sobriety; what a concept. Stay tuned for further details.

Years ago, I sponsored a woman named Michele in AA. She eventually moved away to another part of Maine, but gave me a beautiful hand drawn poster as a parting gift. I've been thinking how prophetic the wording on it was. It showed a pure white egg that had a spiderweb of faint cracks. Underneath, she had written in neat calligraphy "Sometimes when you think you're cracking up, you're really starting to break through." Wherever you are, Michelle, thank you for that gift.
It is so terribly easy to forget what keeps my soul whole and that I really do fit in with the human race in some pretty neat ways. If there is one force/energy that can get me in touch with whatever is buried inside and recharge my spirit, it is music. Great Cesar's Ghost! I own over 60 gigabytes of it and I hadn't listened to more than a passing tune on the radio in months. Tuesday, I decided it was time to start listening while working in the library, so I pulled a few CDs from my stash at the house and played them softly. After running through the ones I had, I started pulling old favorites from the library collection. Listened to another couple hours on Wed., ditto on Thursday and again today. The incremental spiritual movement toward wholeness was amazing to experience. When I got home tonight, I decided to use my monthly Emusic credits to fill in some stuff from artists I listened to during the week. I own pretty much everything by Sixpence None The Richer, one group I listened to a lot, so I went on to Marshall Styler and found a terrific new CD called "A Face In The Clouds" (which I'm listening to as I write). If you are unfamiliar with this artist and like spiritual new age piano music that lets tension flow away while getting you closer to a power greater than yourself, this guy can do it every time. He has some YouTube videos that I haven't seen yet, but I bet they're as good as the stuff I'm listening to right now.
I listened to Best of the Guess Who and Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys (my all time favorite album from the 1960's) before getting back into some new age stuff, starting with 2002. This husband and wife duo create amazing, soul lifting stuff. Their sound track to a DVD of Hubble photos of the universe is a real God-convincer. I gave my copy to the library and often suggest it to people I think have embarked upon a spiritual path.
No music fest would be complete without some of my all-time favorite performer, Medwyn Goodall. My third book, "Married With Familiars" was heavily influenced by his Winds Across The Pacific album, so I played that as well as his Dolphin album. I'd bet there are at least 30 of his songs that trigger a specific memory when I play them.
Today was the beginning of the FEDCO Tree sale, a two day event I look forward to every year. They sell their surplus trees, bushes, vines, etc. to the public. This year, they used the big blue steel building right off I-95, so parking was easy even in a downpour. Aside from the great stuff for sale, I noticed a nice intangible; I was amidst a crowd of people who value the earth, love nature and like to grow things. That realization opened me up to the positive energy flowing out of everyone and somehow the fact that it was a dreary day with rain pouring down became almost immaterial. I came home with ten more gold raspberry plants the deep purple lilac Beth wanted, a cherry tree, a couple Thunbergia, three different cherry tomato plants, kale seedlings and a smile.

We joke in AA that fine is an acronym for Fouled up (I had to clean that one up) Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. Sometimes being in such a state doesn't happen by choice, nor is it necessarily bad. Failure to recognize that you're in such a place is dangerous, but you can work with what you are aware of. Years ago I saw a flyer for a workshop on organizational change that was headlined "The only one who welcomes change is a baby with a wet diaper". There's a lot of truth in that one, folks. Ruts are comfy and familiar, whether they're good ones or bad ones. Standing up, looking over the edge and getting the where-with-all to grab the edge and start across an unfamiliar spiritual wasteland, looking for something better isn't exactly the sexiest activity in life's workbook. It is, however, one of the most important ones.
Sometimes books or movies crawl inside my head and start processes I don't initially understand. I've learned to recognize when I've been strapped to the Velcro Tiger and hold on, trusting the ride will get me to a destination that will open something new. The combination of seeing the Hunger Games on Saturday night and then spending Sunday morning ripping through Travis Thrasher's Temptation created one of these VT rides. Both my daughters said I should read the Hunger Games before seeing the movie. Yesterday, one of the first things I did after opening the library was grab the available copy off the shelf and read a bit between patrons. When I got home last night, I did something I very rarely do these days. I ignored the computer, parked myself in a chair and finished the book. Book, movie? Movie, book? Who knows. I tend to read most books by letting my own movie scroll through my brain while I'm turning the pages. Most of what I saw, with three notable exceptions, matched what as on the screen Saturday evening. I'm going to have to think about those exceptions for a bit.
Anyhow, the hunger game referred to in the title of this posting stems from my inner struggle between wanting to push/promote my written work more and the realities of demands on my time right now coupled with family/physical stuff. I also look at writers I know who do put lots of effort into marketing and promotion. Tons of time, tons of effort, lots of events and sometimes (Hell, often) not much to show for it. That whole internal debate gets caught up in the ongoing question of where I fit in a world that seems to have lost touch with respect and civility. Sorting that one out is occupying a disproportionate share of my mental plate these days. And, yes, I see people, lots of people every day whose struggles with fitting in and making sense of a fruitcake world are way scarier and more serious than mine, but in the end, everyone has to sort their own pile of stuff.
Speaking of piles of stuff, I started my day after coffee by taking close to a thousand bits of paper and other clutter that were threatening to hide my desk and dresser. They're all lying in sorted piles on the bed where Bernie, the family dog, is admiring them, pondering, I suspect which might be the tastiest. At least the recycling and DO-IT-NOW piles are probably going to be resolved by day's end. A small, but valiant victory in the organizational war here in Hartland.