October 18, 1991

After seeing JoAnna off, I attend a brief WAPL spring conference planning meeting. I need to visit a TYME machine before finding a place to eat breakfast. I end up at Big Boy in the Grand Avenue Mall.  The western omelet I'm served is a bit on the runny side and the cheese has a somewhat unreal quality to it.  Once my stomach is filled and my head is buzzing with caffeine, I take the escalator to the third level food court and describes the events of Wednesday on the back of four picture postcards.  Waiting for Sharon and Julie, I mingle with folks in the Hyatt lobby.

Outside of Sharon's whistling windshield, I enjoy the return trip to Madison.  I could have blown off the rest of the day, but I decide to do my catch-up stuff at the library now instead of Monday morning.  JoAnna and I return home at the same time. We're so happy to see our boys.

July 12, 1991

I try the stereo again and this time the intro to "Hotel California" floats out of both speakers, just like it did in the dream I had overnight. 

Midmorning at the library, I call Liz to inform her of the great news [Librarian of the Year] but there's no answer.  She's at the library with her kids, that's why.  She is overjoyed; her eyes brim with tears.  She shares the news with Sharon, but Peg [Branson] did say to try to keep a lid on it until next week.  Both Sharon and Liz make a point of telling me how richly deserved the award is.  I am very touched. 

Larry Martin and I have lunch together at the Olde Towne Inn -- great onion rings -- and then he sits in on the SSRT meeting. 

I'm so busy at the [reference] desk I make no headway on the long-rang plan or an initial budget draft. 

I pick up Andy, JoAnna's golfing, and spend about a half hour watering the plants. 

April 1, 1991

A new week, another Monday finds me at the information desk, composing my weekly column when I'm not helping people.  It's a surprisingly busy morning, Madison's last day of spring break.  The atmosphere in the library becomes increasingly squirrelly as the afternoon progresses.  Reports from Liz, Sharon, and Pat indicate that Chris Robbins is his usual uncontrollable self.  When I confront him with his variety of misdeeds, he naturally denies everything.  My asking him to leave makes him feisty, a little too much so.  "Faggot!  Motherfucking bastard!" he says to me as he starts to leave.  I tell him not to come back for the rest of the week.  Then I call his Mom and express my displeasure.  She says an apology will be forthcoming.