This remodeled library is a glorious expanse, with airy, tall ceilings enveloping the shelves, and any number of comfortable chairs, high backed and low, set near the fireplace, or the magazines; some alone, some angled in pairs in cozy corners overlooking the trees, some clustered to encourage whispered conversations and hand covered giggles while sharing a favorite paragraph, or chapter.
There is everything you could want in this great new space. Large conference rooms, small glass front offices with screens and white boards begging for graphs and tables. Everything you could want, or need, or dream about, including privacy in an otherwise public area.
So tell me, Dude with the scruffy, long beard, and the grunge covered jeans, old boots and whatever else you hauled in with you, why did you think you had an invitation to push into my corner against my egg shaped cocoon chair, pile your newspapers on the table in front of me, then unceremoniously settle your arse in the chair touching mine, letting out a sigh as though I should look at and/or speak to you?
I was in the library alone by design. Lord knows I was not there to save anyone, speak to anyone, acknowledge anyone. I was there for a few minutes just to take some time to think and read in a beautiful, comfortable place. I know for a fact that there were at least fifty other empty chairs available…at least fifty. I briefly waited to see if you realized I was sitting there. Surely you did, and just as certainly, I realized you intended to continue to sit there. Rude douche. You must be related to those people in the grocery store who see you studying the spice rack, then elbow in front of you, rather than going around, to grab their can of red beans. Or those inconsiderate chicks who stand right next to you at clothing store, checking out the clothes YOU are holding in your hand.
You, Interloper, drove me from my magazine article about saving my fatty liver to the fiction section to find a Tami Hoag, or a Stephen King to calm myself with a horror filled murder or two. And now I am home, in my own comfortable chair, by my own toasty fireplace, still fuming, and hoping your skin develops boils, and your scruff is filled with gnats. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, as they say, I shall never encounter you near me ever again.
Amen, and hallelujah for lonesome spots in the world where you can sit in peace while contemplating your very own navel.
It must be a five,
else I’ll never finish it.
That book I just chose.
rJo Herman 4/14/19
But sometimes, a northbound train hauling strange and unusual objects such as huge, blue airplane bodies, no wings, no tails, just long, pointy nosed tubes, making everyone stop, stare, and wonder whips up the rails with seeming abandon, leaving us with much to cheer and exclaim about for a day or two.
rJo Herman 4/10/19
Once, driving home to Denver from Gillette by way of Buffalo —
All the windows open to that wild Wyoming wind —
I embraced that lovely, lonesome road,
Relishing the thought I was the lone world survivor.
But as I sang along with Garth, as loudly as I could sing,
‘Bout all my friends in low, low places,
I chanced a look east across the plains,
And there in the middle of a wide, open basin,
Taking my breath clean away,
Stood a bison, shoulders tall, beard blowing.
Clearly the King of all he surveyed.
And I was humbled,
And hushed to awed silence, before I whooped and hollered
At the wonders of God’s creation.
Life is good!
rJo Herman 4/3/19
There once was an April Fools Day,
When no one could think what to say.
They chuckled, and muttered.
They chortled, and stuttered,
And they missed all the tricks of the day.
Limerick 4/1/19 rJo Herman
One spring morning in Sacramento, when I was in first grade, I brushed my teeth, got all dressed, then went into the kitchen where Mom and Dad were talking over coffee. While I ate my toast, Mom brushed and braided my hair, and Dad asked me what time it was. I was very proud that I had learned to tell time, uh-hunh.
The clock said it was eight o’clock.
I HAD TO BE AT SCHOOL IN MY DESK AT EIGHT O’CLOCK?
“OH NO! I’m late! I’m late!”
I wailed and cried, ran into my room for my shoes, blubbering all the way.
Mom and Dad called, “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”
I quickly made my bed, grabbed my books, glanced at the clock radio next to my bed…
Looked again, then stomped my foot, “Auugh!”
Back in the kitchen I looked from Mom to Dad,
“Why does the clock in my bedroom say it is only SEVEN o’clock?!”
Dad grinned at Mom.
“April Fools!” They hollered together.
“THAT IS NOT FUNNY! YOU ARE NOT FUNNY!”
They were holding onto each other, laughing, enjoying the joke.
“We’re sorry. Don’t be mad. We turned the clock ahead as a joke! Just a joke. You are not late!”
I huffed out the door and dramatically sobbed and muttered all the way down 8th Avenue to Donner Elementary on Stockton Blvd, then spent the rest of the day pulling pranks on other kids in my class. In all these many years since, I have never thought of a better April Fools Day prank than that first one pulled by my bratty Mom and Dad. HA!