Letter from Paul, January 22/23/24, 1984

(January 22.)  With meetings on Wednesday in Madison (workshop on grant-writing sponsored by the Division for Library Services) and on Friday in Milwaukee (Personnel & Professional Concerns committee), the schedule for the past week was busier than usual.  Because of the two full days away from my office, I'll have a lot of loose ends to tend to, along with the usual forward progress, come Monday morning.  I considered a Saturday afternoon visit to the library to give myself a head start but felt too much like a vegetable to tackle anything work-related.  Instead I stayed home and read the newspapers while watching an old Mae West movie on television.  Every Day's a Holiday.  One of her few films that I had not previously seen.

Technically, I didn't stay home on Saturday.  I returned home after the Friends of the Library's annual meeting, a buffet brunch at the Grey Fox restaurant.  Nearly 50 people attended, 40 being considered the threshold of success.  After the business meeting and various remarks, Barbara Vroman, the program speaker, described a series of personal sketches on the ups and downs of being an author.  So far, she has had two of her books published:  Tomorrow is a River, a story based on Wisconsin folklore, and Sons of Thunder, a generational saga that focuses on an Irish family.  I have not read either of them, but each one has been popular locally.  I'm unaware if she has gained a regional or national reputation yet.  She resides in a small community just 40 miles west of here, so for Oshkosh she can be considered a "local author".

Last Sunday was special, my first day on cross-country skis in over two years.  The trails at Kusel Lake, a county park located near Barbara Vroman territory, were in excellent condition considering the infrequent snowfall during the past few weeks.  The extreme cold has given the snow, the packed snow especially, a styrofoam-like quality that creates outstanding cruise-control qualities.  It becomes possible to ease into a mechanical rhythm and glide through the forest.  I felt so blissfully relaxed after last week's outing.  Might as well try it again.  In another hour, I'll be on the road for a return engagement at Kusel.

(January 23.)  No difference from Sunday to Sunday as far as ski trail conditions are concerned.  I would have enjoyed skiing a second loop before returning to Oshkosh but had made plans with Dave and Lynn to watch the Superbowl, which resulted in a 6-hour marathon of 3-handed sheepshead.  When plans for the get-together were being made earlier in the day, I promised Dave, a native Pennsylvanian, "something special to drink".  Neither Dave nor Lynn were surprised to find a drinkably cold case of Rolling Rock in the refrigerator.  We drank heartily until it was Miller time, which was only a few beers before the house become dry.

Clean Gene, my former upstairs neighbor, has been gone for at least two months now.  The apartment is still  empty, though it has been rented, as I learned Saturday afternoon.  The new tenant is a zaftig, young grandmother type.  Her excessive use of make-up gives her the appearance of a secretary just out of business school, though I would gather she's actually in her early 40s.  She gave out small nuggets of information about herself -- current job, former residence and housemate, moving-in schedule -- but neglected to mention if she was divorced or widowed.  She appears to be a very outgoing type of person, which I hope will translate into another phantom as upstairs neighbor.  Now that I have a very full and clear stereo sound, I'd hate to be deprived regularly of the opportunity to hear it at its most effective volume level, which cannot be called especially neighborly.  Who knows?  Maybe she's into aerobics, but that could cause some structural damage.

(January 24.)  For two of out three Mondays, I have been able to use the same bowling ball.  The familiar feel of a 16-pound round object with three holes drilled into it has not yet translated into consistent success with knocking down the pins.  My average over the first three weeks is in the 136, 137 range, but I haven't bowled on a regular basis since college.  I can see an improvement in ball control and a corresponding increase in confidence already.  Having my own ball would probably add ten points to my average in a hurry.  So far, though, bowling equipment has a low priority on my list of purchases.

By the time you're retired, Mom, I should have an annotated bibliography of the type of fiction you like to read.  I'll be using the list in conjunction with a special display of these books this fall.  The listed recently appeared in a monthly library publication, The U*N*A*B*A*S*H*E*D Librarian, and I am presently revising and expanding it.  At this time, my work draft is somewhat difficult to decipher, so even a photocopy would be of little use.

After a second major dose of subzero weather, everyone is enjoying a brief thaw.  While walking to work this morning -- 8 a.m. temperature; 32F -- I could almost feel a light touch of spring.  Not that I'm overanxious for its arrival.  Last year at this time, I was able to enjoy an occasional extended bike ride, but this year the weather has been much too uncooperative and the streets -- for the most part -- too much like snow-covered washboards to enjoy such an activity.  But last year I couldn't ski, and since the first time out for the season two Sundays ago, I've been living from weekend to weekend to experience the exhilaration of gliding on top of groomed snow.

Wall Street Journal on pickled herring.

All for now.