He has been thirsting for books, for anything to read. He has long ago finished The Riddle of the Sands, which he brought with him into NEFA, and has been reduced to reading the labels on bottles of medicine, the fine print at the bottom of army requisition forms, and as even these have run out he has started to experience a kind of panic, as if he is slowly drowning.

Vikram Chandra
from Sacred Games

It's sometimes hard to explain just how much I love to read and how cranky I feel if I'm temporarily bookless. (Truth be told, I'm happiest if I have a stack of books to read. Just to be on the safe side.) Although the Jefferson County Library system has been keeping my bedside table full, I knew I "was home" today when I visited the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver for the first time and was greeted by this huge sign on the door.

another candidate was chosen, whose knowledge and experience more closely fit our requirements."

Intellectually, I realized midway through the job interview that the position would not have been a good fit. Emotionally, it was still a bit of a knock up the side of the head when the envelope arrived yesterday.

All I could think of was a fake rejection letter that one of my classmates had taped to his kitchen wall during our last term in library school, when jobs for new graduates were scarce. The letter, addressed to probably the only famous librarian whose name the public might recognize, read, in part, "Frankly, Mr. Dewey, we wouldn't even hire you to sweep our floors."

A new puppy recently moved in next door. Izzie is a goldendoodle (Golden Retriever/Poodle mix), whose bright blue, intelligent eyes and tousled, pale coat distract you from the fact that she's shredding your shoelaces while you're chatting with Tom and Melissa, her owners.

Having a puppy nearby really brings home how old Hana is (12 in September). I can't remember the last time I saw her run; she doesn't even chase the backyard squirrels, preferring to just watch them run up and down the fence. Getting to a standing position in the morning is a struggle that 500 mg of glucosamine a day doesn't make any easier. Other than her twice daily walks, which we take at her slow pace, she now spends most of her life sleeping.

Although some days (including a couple of scary ones last week) it seems as though walking around the block is too much for her, Hana loves to go hiking in the mountains, as we did Saturday near Golden. She insists on being at the head of our little group. When we stop for a water break, she quickly slurps the water in her little metal bowl and then stands impatiently waiting for us to finish drinking. Hana hates to be picked up, but when the trail became more of a boulder field than a path, she accepted tush boosts from me and let Jim lift her from a boulder that was too steep for her to scramble down.


After the hike, she joined us for a beer on the patio of the Golden City Brewery, snoozing in the shade before the bar's 4 p.m. dog curfew. We're trying to treasure such moments with this lovely animal, because we know that there may not be many more.


And on an unrelated, Wolverine-centric note:

As we were approaching Golden, we spotted a huge, block "M" on a hillside near town.


"Wow, look at that, another UM fan lives out here," we said to each other, adding, "Go Blue!" It took us a few hours to realize that the "M" was for the Colorado School of Mines, which is located in Golden. Thank God Kevin and Anne, who are Mines alumni, were far away in Brussels and couldn't knock our Maize and Blue heads together . . .

BTW, the yellow (Maize?) and white specks in the picture are parasailors.

After a childhood in Catholic school uniforms, making daily decisions about what to wear is stressful. It was much easier when the only wardrobe choice was the color of my knee socks.

I have a job interview in 10 days, and already I'm agonizing as much about how to dress as how to answer the interview panel's questions. Over the years, I've had many interview outfits. I showed up in Cleveland for my first "real" job interview in a truly cringe-worthy ensemble consisting of a knit jumper, a borrowed cardigan sweater, and platform sandals; amazingly, the CWRU Library offered me the job on the spot.

When I interviewed at McKinsey, I wore an early '80s wool "power suit" cut like a man's suit (but with a skirt) and one of those God-awful floppy bow ties, a silk Ginnie Johansen number that I was really proud of. I got that job, too.

I can't recall what I wore to my interviews at MEDSTAT and the Novi Public Library, but I do remember that Donna, one of the NPL librarians interviewing me, had on a beautiful flowered jacket and black leggings. Whatever I wore must have been inoffensive, because I got both jobs.

My last interview--toward the end of the dot-com boom--was with an information architecture company in Ann Arbor. I decided to ditch the suit and dress down in black pants and a twin set. I didn't dress down enough, though. The partner who interviewed me showed up in Bermuda shorts. They might even have been plaid, but what I really remember was how weird it was to sit at a table interviewing with someone with really hairy legs. Although we weren't that far apart age wise, I felt like his grandmother.

Back to my current dilemma: Fashion in the working world seems to have gotten a lot more casual since the last time I went on a job interview. From what I've observed since moving here, Coloradoans dress even more casually at work than Michiganians. I don't even own a suit anymore, and I don't think I'd even feel comfortable in one. I haven't worn pantyhose during the summer in years. All my summery shoes are sandals, and I seem to recall reading that open-toed shoes are inappropriate at interviews. (Of course, I didn't know that back in 1978.) I am in a complete fashion meltdown that only promises to get worse as the interview date approaches.

Maybe I'll just apply at McDonald's. At least then I'd never have to decide what to wear to work.

Given the price of gas, we were thrilled to discover White Ranch Park, just 20 minutes from home. From it, we could see downtown Denver (below), and, with binoculars, the distinctive roof of the Denver International Airport, which is about 35 miles away.

And it wasn't all about the panoramic views. Recent rains finally brought out a dizzing array of wildflowers.






High above the ranches in the foothills, a lone white horse grazed, like a creature from a fairy tale.

Dear Mom,

The youngest of your four grandchildren graduated from high school on Sunday. As a toddler, Anna Kate looked exactly like pictures of you at that stage, except that she didn't have your red hair. (Patrick got that piece of the genetic pie, although he attended his high school graduation as a peroxided blond.)

Like her sister, Gretchen, and her cousins, Alison and Patrick, Anna Kate has brains to spare and graduated with honors. Of the three girls, Anna Kate has the sweetest temperament; Gretchen and Alison don't suffer fools gladly, and the objects of their scorn are lucky if all they have to endure is heavy-duty eye rolling, accompanied by stage-worthy sighs. Anna Kate and Patrick both have a remarkable way with animals, especially dogs; a scruffy little terrier named Peanut owes his life to Anna Kate. (To give full credit where it's due, Anna's mother had the patience of a saint with Peanut, whose housetraining took longer to accomplish than some disarmament pacts.)

One Christmas years ago when we visited St. Paul, two-year-old Anna Kate stood in her crib and yelled--to the delight of her sister and cousins--"I can sing, I can dance, I'm alive!" It proved to be prescient: As she grew up, Anna Kate spent a lot of time singing (Sacred Harp) and dancing (Morris and contra). Like all your grandkids, she also plays a musical instrument, or in her case, two instruments, violin and piano.

In her cap and gown on Sunday, Anna Kate looked charmingly poised on the edge of adulthood. We wish you could have been there to see her and to tell her how proud you were to be her grandmother.

Love,
Kate

Anna and her dad

* Mom died from breast cancer in August 1978. She did not live to see any of her grandchildren.