Wednesday, December 06, 2023

Speaking of....

 


I have been the featured speaker for these events and organizations


Libros Schmibros at the Hammer Museum shared with J. Michael Walker

Professional Journalists Association

Los Angeles Festival of Books on a panel 

Los Angeles Archives Bazaar

Los Angeles Public Library Best Friends

Los Feliz Arts and Architecture lectures 4 times

Los Angeles Geographers Association

Los Angeles City College

Google at Santa Monica

California Map Society twice

Los Angeles Corral of  Westerners

Western Association of Map Librarians

Board of Library Commissioners

Los Angeles Library Foundation- the Committee

Waverly School 4th graders

Crossroads School 7th graders

Los Angeles Natural History Museum

Mt. Washington  Homeowners Alliance

Glassell Park Improvement Association twice

Whittier Genealogical Society

Torrance Genealogical Society

Bruckman Award at the Los Angeles Athletic Club

Southern California Genealogical Society twice

Urban Rancho at  Sycamore Grove

Los Angeles Breakfast Club

Hollywood Heritege Museum

Fullerton Public Library

Aloud at Central Library

The Chapparal Club

Little Landers Society 

Eagle Rock Historical Society

Los Angeles Public Library Docents 


protein acids ticking

 



"Young as I am, I can hear in myself the protein acids ticking; I awake at odd hours and in the shuddering darkness and silence feel my death rushing toward me like an express train. The older we get and the fewer mornings left to us, the more deeply dawn stabs us awake."- "the lifeguard by John Updike

the Land of Nod

 


The Land of Nod

Lisa Sewell

The night after she returned from the hospital 
the uneven rumbly liquid breathing of one soon  

to go under kept me at the surface of thoughts 
I couldn’t escape. Clonazepam, Lorazepam, 

not even Ambien could pull or sink me. And in the morning, 
sure enough, we couldn’t coax or shake her awake  

except for a few seconds when someone or thing  
wrenched her eyes open and let her answer no 

to every question in a scornful voice we’d never heard before 
before pulling her down to that rocky undertow. 

Through the morning and afternoon every breath, 
a grunt, a rattling that soaked the bedclothes and pillows in sweat. 

Then at 3 pm, she returnedrecognizing her two daughters 
speaking her own name and the name of the president. 

The hospice nurse put a line through the word “Comatose” 
scrawled at the top of her chart and for the next few hours 

a light or absence seemed to emanate from her almost 
emptied irises. No sentences. No speech as the white  

nimbus of hair, thick and lively around her head 
nodded yes to sitting up and getting dressed— 

to sweet potatoes and Jeopardy! as though part of her  
remained in that rheumy underwater place 

that took her breath away and wiped out the syntax  
of explanation and inquiry, leaving only 

no I won’t and certainly not and don’t ever wake me up again

Sunday, October 22, 2023

A ticket

 

"It makes you appreciate each clear-headed day we are given but reminds me that all the E-tickets are gone and it is just the Main street trolley ride left. No more will we gaze from the prow of the Mark Twain stern-wheeler and wonder about love and adventure...It is 11:45 and Disneyland closes at midnight...Yet, we rode all the rides, smoked hash on the skyway to Tomorrowland and staggered for balance in America the Beautiful. We used up tickets E, D,C,B and cling to the soiled A, the last laughs. It is just the parking lot and real world waiting."

- Glen Creason unpublished manuscript

Saturday, August 26, 2023

old age

 


Old Age

Maxwell Bodenheim

In me is a little painted square
Bordered by old shops, with gaudy awnings.
And before the shops sit smoking, open-bloused old men,
Drinking sunlight.
The old men are my thoughts:
And I come to them each evening, in a creaking cart,
And quietly unload supplies.
We fill slim pipes and chat,
And inhale scents from pale flowers in the center of the square . . .
Strong men, tinkling women, and dripping, squealing children
Stroll past us, or into the shops.
They greet the shopkeepers, and touch their hats or foreheads to me . . .
Some evening I shall not return to my people.

Sunday, August 06, 2023

Eileen

 


(read at meal of consolation after the services at Mt. Sinai)


Eileen-

 

    I confess I was worried when I heard Eileen Sever was going to sub in History and Genealogy in those golden times before Covid. I remembered her from my time at the West LA branch in the 1980’s as a force of nature when she ran a tight ship at Palms-Rancho. She seemed to me like a know-it-all with confidence to burn. It was rumored she could stand up to Penny Carr who scorched the behinds of many a branch manager as Principal of the Western region.

     It took five minutes into my first desk in History and Genealogy with her that by God she was a know-it-all in the very best librarian sense of the word. It is not that she had the personnel manual memorized or that she knew what all those databases did, but she knew the best way to be a reference librarian. Despite a mind like a steel trap, she was humble and gentle to the mixed crowd of patrons down on LL4. She nodded silently at those who thought THEY knew all the answers and then dug into books, vertical files, photographs, maps, newspapers and even card files. She then spouted citations proving the legitimacy of her answers. Eileen Sever with decades of experience asked lots and lots of questions of we veterans of the department. She even delved into Burke’s Peerage or the dreaded Army Map Service maps. She almost always started a reference interview by saying “that sounds like an interesting question” even if it was far from it. She helped the Antler Man, the Sultan of Brunei and Dr. Baker like they were visiting scholars.  She was born to do this job and her enjoyment in the chase for answers was infectious.  You tended to want to join in and throw in a clipping or random paragraph from somewhere just to be part of the Eileen show.  It was easy to sit back and watch her weave her magic when you were ten feet away trying to stay on your toes. If something proved her wrong, she laughed and made it right.

     It is impossible to calculate how many patrons Eileen sent out into the world smarter and more appreciative of our great library system. She enjoyed the desk so much she had to be forced to take breaks. Yes…a civil servant who refused breaks! She just did not want to miss anything. After 42 years on reference desks, I put Eileen in a select few of the master librarians I had the pleasure to serve with. Even this old dog learned plenty from her dedication. I am speaking for all the lucky staff who shared my department with her. That includes librarians, library assistants, clerks, messenger clerks, security officers and custodial folks who she treated like her equals.

The best part of her service is that she loved doing it and indeed one of the last sentences I ever heard her say from her hospital bed was “I love questions.”

     Lastly answering questions was not everything wonderful about Eileen Sever. We never really saw her as the little old lady librarian. She knew where all the bodies were buried and had the best library gossip ever. Plus, it went back decades. Yet, she wasn’t mean about it, but you know librarians are strange people and she embraced that fact with love. She liked men and mentioned the rare handsome guys in the system. She handed out compliments in bushels but did not suffer fools or foolish patrons. When you saw the name Sever on the schedule you knew you were in for a good time. In times like this it is common that we speak about those who we are mourning in glowing terms but in this case these paltry words don’t quite make it. I think of the words of the Jewish poet

'Tis a Fearful Thing By Chaim Stern

‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch…

  For your life has lived in me, 

your laugh once lifted me, 

your word was gift to me. 

To remember this brings painful joy. 

‘Tis a human thing, love, a holy thing, to love what death has touched.

Sunday, May 28, 2023

Will You Remember Me


 "I waited until I knew you'd finally fallen asleep

Told myself you could still hear me somehow in your dreams
I whispered, "I love you, I'm sorry, I think you know"
You're always there with me everywhere I go
I cannot wait to come home"

     "Will You Remember Me"- Milk Carton Kids

Tuesday, April 04, 2023

I Dare You

 

I Dare You

Dorianne Laux

It’s autumn, and we’re getting rid
of books, getting ready to retire,
to move some place smaller, more
manageable. We’re living in reverse,
age-proofing the new house, nothing
on the floors to trip over, no hindrances
to the slowed mechanisms of our bodies,
a small table for two. Our world is
shrinking, our closets mostly empty,
gone the tight skirts and dancing shoes,
the bells and whistles. Now, when
someone comes to visit and admires
our complete works of Shakespeare,
the hawk feather in the open dictionary,
the iron angel on a shelf, we say
take them. This is the most important
time of all, the age of divestment,
knowing what we leave behind is
like the fragrance of blossoming trees
that grows stronger after
you’ve passed them, breathing
them in for a moment before
breathing them out. An ordinary
Tuesday when one of you says
I dare you, and the other one
just laughs.

Monday, February 20, 2023

Hey, watch this


 But the story is essentially the same. You go along the road as time and the elements lay waste to your luggage, scattering the contents into the bushes. Until there you are, standing with a battered and empty suitcase that frankly, no one wants to look at anymore. It's just the way it is. But how lovely those moments were, gone now except occasionally in dreams, when one could still turn to someone and promise them something truly worth their while, just by saying "hey, watch this."

-David Rackoff