Support Your Local Library

The Saint John Free Public Library - the emphasis is on "free" because it is Canada's first free public library - is a golden opportunity to expand your horizons right at your very fingertips.  I don't intend this to be about the history of the library, but the hows, whys, whens and wheres are just too interesting to omit.

The idea first germinated in 1874, but was put on hold because of the Great Fire of 1877 - it's tradition to bow your head at the mention of this reverent event - so it didn't reach fruition until 1883 when it occupied a room at the City Market.  From there it went to the Masonic Hall on Germain Street and in 1904 it finally had its own splendid building - thanks to a donation from Andrew Carnegie, no less - on Hazen Avenue.

Increasing circulation is a challenge for all libraries and, apparently, the powers that be were enamored with the success of their idea to open the Maritime's first library branch in a mall on the west side of the city in 1967, so in 1983 the main branch was moved from this treasured bit of architecture to Market Square - a glistening modern atmosphere so perfectly suited that it seems it may possess the same interior as it did then.  As I said, they must have loved that mall idea because the east branch is in a mall too.

Now that our history lesson is over, let's get back to why it's in your interest to make use of the borrowing resources contained within the cement walls of your library.

First, it's important to note that the Saint John library is just a cog in the vast New Brunswick Public Library system. This means you can borrow from any library in the province.  Now for a wonderful annotation to this fact: until recently CDs and DVDs were not transferable within regions - I know, that made no sense whatsoever - and there were often two copies of the same album in one region, but none in any other region, let alone your own.  But now that restriction has been lifted, so rejoice!

Next, while the library system doesn't have the extensive inventory available in most of the modern world, you can take solace knowing that if there is something that you want, there won't likely be much of a wait - it doesn't seem as though anyone actually borrows from libraries in Saint John.  Before moving here, I used to make good use of my privileges at my branch of the Halifax Public Library where I would put items on hold, sometimes having to wait weeks for one of their scores of copies to become available, then having to find my name alphabetically amongst walls of shelved material that others had put on hold.  There's none of that here - my first trip to a branch in Saint John saw me asking the librarian to do all the work, having to find my name in the little shelf of requested items while all I had to do was wait and watch.

As an aside, I have The Essential Bruce Springsteen serenading me as I write this article, proving there is some fantastic material to be found.  This is relevant because in other library systems borrowing CDs or DVDs is often futile, having to hope the item isn't too scratched up to actually play - especially on the old, run-down equipment I employ.  Springsteen's vocals, put on this CD in 2003, come clear and unscratched - well, as clear and unscratched as a Springsteen vocal can sound - looking as though the item was just purchased yesterday.

The hours may seem a little odd for a city library, some may even think they would contribute to the lack of circulation, but they do have a drop box with padding at the bottom to try and keep the contents of that special CD together, even if you forget the rubber band it came wrapped in.

Finally, I'd like to let you in on my secret on how I do a little extra to support my local library.  It used to bother me if, when I was in Halifax where their financial pockets seemed a veritable bottomless pit of wealth, I managed to rack up a fine.  Here they will actually extend the due date by a few days, so don't fret if the due date seems too soon, but should I not be able to make it on time, I just view that as my little donation to an important community resource (even more important if it was actually utilized by the community) and know that the item will be waiting on the shelf for me the next time I'm in the mood for The Boss.

Fundy Library Region Book Sale

One of the great things about living in Saint John is the ability to add to my collection of Nova Scotia related items inexpensively.  Nobody here seems to want Nova Scotia stuff.  May 3rd and 4th marks the Fundy Library Region's 26th annual book sale and I stopped by after closing the studio Friday evening.

I am already enjoying one of my finds - A Basket of Apples: Recollections of Historic Nova Scotia, a reminiscent hard cover with choice photos.  Harry Bruce provides the musings while Chic Harris shows his photography skills, and both are excellent so far.

The inscription on the first page sold me though, "To Dad, Top o' the morning to you.  Love Josie, Randy & Jon.  March 17, 1983," written in blue ballpoint with clean, plain, round feminine letters.  I'm guessing Josie wrote this.  Perhaps dad was from Nova Scotia and had moved here, to the most Irish city in Canada, and started a family and this book caught Josie's eye in a book store back in 1983.

Yesterday's adventures also included a dreaded, but necessary trip to the emergency department.  Thankfully, we were in and out quickly, but with a couple prescriptions to fill, so we headed for the only pharmacy we knew was open after 9pm, albeit only to 10pm.

While waiting for Holly's drugs, I took my blood pressure then browsed the aisles for sales.  After finding a big 100g  chocolate bar on sale for $1.39, with a dollar off coupon attached - a 39¢ bar of chocolate! - I checked the price for low dose aspirin.

Turning the corner, there was only one other person in the aisle, a small boy - looking intently at the assortment of pain killers.  He was sturdy - not fat - with short dark hair and dark features and didn't seem to come up to my waste in height.  Seeing nothing on sale, I noticed in my peripheral vision that he had turned to look at me, staring without reservation the way only small children can.

"I saw you at the hospital," he stated confidently when he saw I took notice of him.

"You did?" I replied, smiling, trying to generate some degree of interest in the tone of my voice, still working on getting through a long day.

"I had to see the doctor and get some medicine for my ear," he told me, pointing out the hospital bracelet around his wrist.

"Well, I'm glad you'll be feeling better soon," I told him, and as I headed back toward the pharmacy counter I recognized his mother speaking with the pharmacist.  She seemed young, but a little more pulled together than most young mothers that can be found at the hospital so often.

"He's 41 or 42 pounds," she responded to the druggist's inquiry, looking back to see that her son had returned from his foray.

Life doesn't always happened as planned, but gems can be found when you need to detour.

The Cardinal

You silently requested a cardinal

So many years ago, so it came.

I heard you and, as soon as you were ready, I came.

I listened.  And for as long as you recognize that,

You'll see cardinals and robins and jays.

When I was little - we're talking seven or eight - I wanted a desk.  A big, wooden desk, not unlike the one my teacher sat behind.  One day I came home from school to find one in the spare bedroom that my father had adopted from the Power Commission.  It was huge and heavy, solidly constructed of oak, just like those desks you see people giving away online or for cheap prices at used furniture stores because they weigh too much to move.  I loved it.  Not long after it was left behind because it was too big for the truck carrying our fleeing family to Halifax.  I cried for many losses that day.

My favourite colour has always been red - excepting a brief flirtation with pink when I was just learning the subtleties of childhood rebellion.  I asked my mother to make me red pants when I was little, and she did.  I coloured dinosaurs red, until I was told they should be brown or grey.  I tried to make the Montreal Canadiens my favourite team because I loved the way the uniforms popped on the hockey cards I collected - I couldn't do it though, there's no reasonable justification for liking that team, even for a six year old.

I noticed, really noticed, my first blue jay when I was a young adult and stood outside the apartment building door marveling at the colour.  It wasn't brown or grey or white.  It was spectacular.  Then I wondered why there aren't red birds.  The orange on a robin is wonderful, but they are often so haggled looking, having braved a Maritime winter and orange isn't red.  Why weren't there cardinals in Nova Scotia?  I supposed cardinals only lived in exotic locales, such as St. Louis.

In 2010 I met my soul mate, someone I've been looking for, knowing full well she existed somewhere, since I was born and it wasn't long after that I moved to Saint John.  One day, while standing at the kitchen window doing the dishes, a chore with whom I have a strange relationship, I saw red in the tree.  There was my cardinal.  He had a mate.

I hadn't seen this pair for a couple weeks, they seemed to have been replaced by robins, but this morning I noticed the missus as she coquetted shamelessly with the tiny window on our neighbour's garage, a behaviour she has become known for, as her man waited patiently nearby.  I was glad to see them.

In the animal world, I have learned, red is a dangerous colour.  It is actually a defense.  It warns predators that this is not a meal that will sit well if digested.  I wonder how this applies to my attraction to this chroma.

Now I know that if I truly want something, it will come.  When I'm ready to see that I really do want it, it will be there for me.  And, as long as I know this, it will stay for as long as I need.  I have always wanted a Canadian 1921 five cent piece, but with my newfound knowledge, I think I'll aim even higher.

Autographs by Post

I collect autographs.  When you live in an east coast Canadian city like Saint John or Halifax, you have to be creative to obtain signatures from the stars.  So, years ago I began mailing requests to celebrities hoping for a response.

Recently, I found a few letters that were never mailed and I'd like to share them with you because I believe it is important to share some of the secrets that make make you a successful philographist.

Send a SASE (self-addressed, stamped envelope) with your request.  Even though stars make lots of money dancing and such, they aren't going to pay for your stamp.  Add a stamp for a couple extra cents because it sometimes takes years for a busy celebrity to respond and you wouldn't want it returned to sender.  Don't forget about geography either.  That Canadian stamp won't work if the target is US based.

Send a hand-written note requesting their autograph.  Make it personal, but not too long (bloggers should excel at this).  If you have the capabilities, you may want to try one of my patented tricks - write it with your left hand (if you're right handed), it makes you appear younger and makes it more difficult for the person to refuse your request.

On a similar vein, it's not considered to be in good taste to lie to elicit sympathy.  Don't say you have a terminal disease when you don't, but it is certainly encouraged to identify with your particular luminary's struggles to form a bond.

Make certain you send the item you want autographed.  Be it a photo, a sport card or a plain index card, doing this will increase your chances for success and, if they happen to have an extra 8x10 laying around, you just may receive a little bonus.

Don't tell them that you pay their salary by supporting their work.  It doesn't work to get out of speeding or jaywalking tickets and it will ensure your letter ends up in the bottom of a waste basket or tossed out of the window of a speeding  limousine.

Be aware of autopens.  You may get your item back signed, but that doesn't necessarily mean they signed it.  Many who get  copious amounts of requests use this device and it is not considered a true autograph.  Some simply have their  secretaries  sign things.  Margaret Atwood's infamous LongPen puts things in a bit of a grey area, but definitely saves on travel costs for those draining book tours.

Next post will have those examples mentioned above, so be sure to check back to see how to properly word an autograph request to give you the highest probability of achieving your goal.

Different Blades of Grass

The many different shades of green - where is your money being spent?

We hear about the importance of supporting local business everywhere, but do we follow through?  Some of us avoid the large box stores unless we don't have a choice.  Some sing the praises of their favourite shops to friends and family.  Some read about local bloggers' sponsored visits to local stores, some stops even hit twice!  Some have even attended Cash Mobs.

According to statistics presented by The 3/50 Project, $68 of every $100 spent at an independent business stays in a community compared to $43 spent in a chain store.  Naturally, when you make an online purchase at, say Amazon.ca, nothing is injected locally.

How does uptown Saint John fare when it comes to supporting local business?

Since Holly and I started Cash Mobs and, resulting from the positive energy we received from that endeavour, opened our own business, The New Artisan Studio, the following uptown businesses have closed their doors:

• Robin's BeadWorks (our first Cash Mobs destination)
• Rowena's Boutique
• Appleby's Image Centre
• Belly Beautiful Maternity and Baby (moved to Rothesay)
• Bejamin's Books (not uptown, but needed to mention since this was a Cash Mobs Destination too)

And we hear of more to come soon.

 On a positive note, there are shops opening too.  Exchange on Germain,Classy Lassy and Harrison House Gallery come to mind.

Saint John born Canadian Icon Stompin' Tom Connors died last night and as I listened to an interview on CBC Radio with Jian Ghomeshi from a couple years ago, lamenting the fact that I didn't know as much of this man as I should have, Tom was asked about the changes he's seen in Canada over his life and this uber-loyal patriot expressed his regret that it once meant something to him to be able to say he knew each blade of grass in this country, but now each town has lost its individuality as mega-outlets like Walmart set up their box store replicas.

How many reading have been to the newest Walmart on the west side?

Let's make our lawns unique - support local independent business.

Serena Ryder

Serena Ryder is a fireplug ready to go off.  At her recent concert at the Imperial Theatre in Saint John, NB she delivered life like a gospel preacher before the rapture - no small feat in that venerable space - even getting some dancing in the aisles.

I first saw Serena in concert in Halifax at St. Matthew's Church in November of 2009 and have been extolling her abilities ever since.

Amid the apprehension of an impending storm, Holly and I sat down in the new Ta-Ke Sushi on King Street needing some respite from an unforgiving winter.

"Is she like Sarah Harmer or will she move on the stage?" dance-girl Holly inquired.

"It'll be fun," I smirked back.

Satiated with yam and avocado makimono, miso soup, and green tea, we started, after a quick stop at the studio, on the slippery incline toward the Imperial, found some over-priced chocolate for dessert and were ushered to our eighth row middle seats.

Montreal born Danielle Duval showed her fearlessness taking the stage with only a guitar and her camera as she opened the concert with some songs from her album Of the Valley and tossed in a brilliantly brave cover of Grease's "You're the One that I Want" that was featured on the soundtrack for Californication.

Ryder chose the certain-hit "What I Wouldn't Do" to open the show and showed off the stuff her newest album, Harmony, is made of.  With polished repartee and a few on-stage local guests, she charmed the audience from start to finish, disporting her abilities with various guitars and a small fortress of drums.

And then there's her most-treasured instrument - her voice.  Her self-proclaimed idols - Etta James (At Last) and Nina Simone (anything she wanted) - had nothing on Serena's modulations, despite her recent troubles with "losing" this gift.

Her performances sound so much like her recordings I found myself looking for cues that would signal to me that she wasn't pulling a Beyonce, it's that good and no, she definitely wasn't.

Serena delivers a real show - the band, lighting, technical effects all combine with her vocalizations, intrumentations and dramatic costumes to showcase the smart, tribal, sorceress she has become.

Holly and I left the sermon with renewed spirits and looked out upon King Square to find the ground we expected to be white and nasty was still mostly bare.  It was a March miracle.

One Degree, Not Six

"Don't they do this test in New Brunswick?"

Holly confirmed to the hospital receptionist in Halifax that they do definitely do have the ability to administer this medical test in Saint John.

"Couldn't your doctor ask for the test to be done there?"

She couldn't because Holly's doctor isn't registered in the New Brunswick computer database.

"Couldn't your doctor there have ordered it?"

The receptionist, only asking these questions out of personal curiosity and registering Holly for her test while conversing, appeared both surprised and sorrowful to hear that there are no available doctors in Saint John.

A quick online search and a phone call was all it took to land a family doctor in Halifax and this test was why we made the four hour trip exactly a week before Christmas.  We made the most of the hours in Halifax by having brunch with two of my sisters and exchanging hugs and gifts over the excellent food at Heartwood Restaurant on Quinpool Road.  Having to close our new studio for a day so close to Christmas was not something we took lightly, but health trumps money - or so should be the case.

Late December road trips (the first day of winter, my birthday, and seemingly, the end of the world are only three days away) are always a concern in Canada too.  On our return trip, just past Sussex, the temperature gauge on the car's control panel indicated that the air had chilled to freezing and the light drizzle we had picked up just after Moncton had changed to big, fat snowflakes and the painted white segmented lines on the highway began to fade.  The road had quickly become a treacherous mess with the centimetre or two that had fallen and we were creeping along near 30kms per hour.

"The sign says there's an exit to Norton in six kilometres," Holly informed me.

Is there anything in Norton?  The two cars behind indicated their intention to take the off ramp, so we followed suit.  Lo and behold, at the bottom of the ramp, an Irving sign glowed through the snow.  This would be so pretty if we were safe at home, I commented.

A handful of cars and a couple tractor trailers sat watching the highway in the service station's (and liquor store) lot and nearly two hours past.  This precipitation was no surprise, nor was the temperature or the wind chill that accompanied the gusting winds, there was no indication any salt had been laid on the highway.  During our time watching from the Irving, we saw two plows going our way, the off ramp was plowed once, but not the on ramp.  Then another plow passed and everyone seemed to decide that it was time to venture out.

The tractor trailers took a number of attempts to get up the covered ramp and the cars crawled their way to the highway.  We prepared the car and went into the service station for any last necessities, still unsure of setting out for the last 55kms to Saint John.

"Are there any motels in the area?" Holly asked one of the seasoned clerks.

It turned out the closest would mean back-tracking 18kms to Sussex.  This was what the clerk recommended, adding "They say a plow just went by, so going from experience there isn't likely to be another 'til morning."

I found that statement to be so incredulous that I struggled to believe it, but was most disturbed with her delivery of it, as she was neither upset by this neglect nor seemingly aware that situations like this were certainly not normal in other parts of the country.

Put off with the prospect of traveling a significant distance in the wrong direction, Holly and I agreed to attempt the journey home, noting that we had water and food should we have to camp out on the side of the road.  We crawled most of the way, but made it safely, albeit completely unnerved, to the untouched slushy streets of home.

Art has Power

Many emerged from their homes, eyes not used to that foreign orb in the sky, to an October Saint-John-summer-like-day making them amiable and thirsty for anything outside of the confines of their residences.  That meant many strolling the uptown sidewalks, alert for anything that fills more than their survival need, opening the space in their minds to the satisfaction the arts can provide.

Whether or not they realize art is a need, though not necessarily primal or immediate, they become more willing to entertain the thought of spending good currency that has accumulated in their bank accounts.  That's when they will enter such a radical place as an art gallery.

Early afternoon saw two young girls enter cautiously, skillfully scanning for the dangers new territory can provide, sporting backpacks and soft vinyl lunch boxes.

"Hello."

A smile lit the first girl's face and her posture became noticeably relaxed, "Hi."  They began to take in the treasures around them.

"Oooh," followed by some murmurs as the girl pointed to something on a shelf so her also-Asian friend would take notice.

They moved on past the boutique to the gallery section, drinking in the paintings.

Coming full-circle, the girl stopped at the cash to inquire about the item that first caught her attention.

"Is Meaghan Smith CD for sale or part of the display?" she asked quietly, in good, but somewhat broken English.

"It is for display.  If you really want it, I could probably sell it to you and order another from Amazon though, that's where I purchased that one."

"Oh.  Yes, please.  I tried to get it at HMV, but they said they don't carry any of Meaghan Smith's anymore.  They told me I would have to buy it from Amazon, but I don't have a credit card.  I could pay with debit?"

"The miniature paintings with the CD are also by Meaghan Smith.  Do you follow her on Facebook?"

"Yes, they are so cute.  She very talented."

"Is $15 for the CD okay?"  I couldn't remember how much I paid, but thought that should cover it... I ended up being off by 75 cents... I'm not going to make money this way!

 "Yes.  Thank you very much."

She left the store atwitter, like something you'd see in a '50's teen movie, with her friend, only having to return a couple hours later to retrieve the lunch bag she left behind.

"Oh, sorry," as I passed her the square case, "I was too excited," she explained apologetically.

In between her visit I was pleased to welcome a lovely lady we lease a parking space from to our studio.  Being the beginning of the month, she was nice enough to offer to come by for her money so she would be able to see this new entity.

As I offered information about our artists and artisans, we were both able to share some personal details and thoughts about our lives and the places and people that inhabit them.

"I like this a lot," as she paused at one painting.

"He's from Fredericton.  I like his work very much and that is one of my favourites."

Fingers to lip, as she took a slow step back to absorb the piece.  "Yes.  That is nice."

She turned and continued to take in the rest of the works as I tutored about the artists.

"I don't like that stuff," pointing.  "That sort of stuff doesn't appeal to me."

"No, art has to speak to you and they all have different conversation styles."

We were back at the front and I took out my wallet to pay for October's parking."

Almost surprised, she said, "I'd like to place that as a deposit on that painting I like."

Art has that power, that ability to touch you when you're not expecting it, but are mentally open to the possibilities.

The Young and the Restless

This city breaks my heart.  Even with all its natural beauty and past splendor it is having a horror of a time trying to keep up with the rest of the world.  I have stated before how happy garbage day makes me, although it may simply be the notion or ritual involved with purging your home of its waste, but a troubling thought has recently entered my head:  what if the city's attempt at a recycling program is merely a way to reduce the waste management budget?

Think about it.  Instead of picking up our recycling like other cities, they have us cart it to easy-to-manage depots, essentially eliminating a large portion of our household trash from the garbage routes.  I have seen days where the garbage truck pulls up and the driver has to get out and put the trash into the back, then return to the driver's seat and pull up to the next house.  There is nothing efficient or safe about this, although it does seem to keep the employees from loud tirades of profanity.  Nevertheless, we can now add sanitation engineers to our resume.

Saint John is not a city where you can expect to have any measurable quality of life without owning a car, so try thinking about carting waste on the bus or by foot.

Then I started wondering what kind of market there is for the materials we are recycling which led my brain its next illuminating realisation:  maybe this stuff isn't even being recycled; perhaps it just ends up as trash anyway.

I thought about contacting Anderson Cooper or, at least, Rick Mercer, but it dawned on me that by simply putting the words in print I'll soon get an answer:  if there's truth to this, I won't hear anything; but if it's not true, the city will bring suit.

Mel Norton, the strapping young hero that felled the mighty and terrible Ivan, has Saint John swooning and basking in his eminence.  The men all want to be him and the ladies want to be with him.  I'm pretty certain I was woken from my slumber the other night by Holly tossing and passionately calling out his name, although she wants me to believe she was telling me to "move over."  The simple truth, for me, is that I have a difficult time putting my faith in a mayor who seems content with the past administration's decision to address animal management concerns by removing cats from the bylaws.

Please, young Mel, see the opportunity you have to lead this city toward a semblance of its former glory.

Cats and Dogs

In Saint John, as well as all of New Brunswick, we are reaching the eve of the municipal elections and, as dull as that may sound, it is the talk of the city.  The council presently in court is attempting to offer for re-election with upstanding decisions such as removing cats from the city by-laws and animal control services, as announced by the Animal Rescue League, and, well, let's just say 'pension fiasco' and leave it at that.  (I bring up that last item because nobody can fathom the idiocy and because I'm hoping I'm not going to be sued for stating my opinion.)

One thing is painfully clear, the reign of Ivan (The Terrible) Court has to come to an end, but I'm not going to harp on this subject because telling people not to vote for the fat man would be like telling them the sky beyond the Saint John fog is blue.

Returning to the animal control problem, it concerns me that the current council has missed the painfully obvious solution and hope the newly elected (come Monday) will implement the path to economic independence for this city.  I can see collective heads nodding in approval as everyone reads this.  There is a bountiful free range, pesticide and drug free (they drink from puddles, not Saint John water - damn, is that another law suit?!) food source just ripe for the plucking in our literal back yard: those stray cats and dogs.

Every problem is an opportunity, so instead of looking upon the situation as a financial burden, these frisky critters can be collected, processed and sold locally, heck, globally.  I am a vegetarian, but if I chose to eat meat, I see no rational reason why these felines and fidos can't be the perfect source of protein and cholesterol for city dwellers.

Think of the publicity.  Saint John, stop trying to tout your dulse (who the hell actually eats that?) and peddle poodles.  Kitty can keep your family plump and happy.  Animal groups in Toronto estimate anywhere from 100,000 to 250,000 stray cats in their city, so a little entrepreneurial ingenuity could see huge profits as four legged friends are trucked into Saint John like wood chips heading to the mill.  I wouldn't recommend using this seemingly unending supply of meat for pet food though, that would just be wrong.

So, if the candidates for Monday's election don't have their heads in the game, feel free to pass the word on to Matthew Thompson; notify Joseph Allan Callahan; and, for goodness' sake, tell Mel!

What Would Jesus Do?

My pants seem to all be wearing in the same spot; just above the rear pocket on the right side.  Maybe it's from reaching for my wallet too much, maybe I hike up my jeans too much.  It doesn't matter, I just knew I needed some new comfortable, every day jeans and this was my thought as I was in the neighbourhood of a Saint John thrift store, so I took a chance they would have something that fit the bill.

The non-clothing items in second hand stores are always far more interesting than the clothes (maybe that's just a guy thing?), so I perused the books, CDs, games, household items and office supplies and spotted a hard cover journal with a cross and some initials on the front.  It was empty and the writer in me can't resist clean new paper for only $1.49, so I tucked it under my arm and headed toward the men's section.

There was actually a large selection of jeans in my side - Gap, Old Navy, American Eagle - I hit the jackpot.  I took three pairs and went to the changing room to see if any of these fit and qualified as "comfy."  I hate changing rooms and I hate trying on clothes, but it's definitely a necessary evil at a second hand store.  My hands were somewhat full and the book was awkward with the pants, so I tucked it under one pair to carry them easier.  Inside the fitting room, I set the clothing down and the book slid out.

For some reason my mind pondered the idea of how easy it would be to stealthily sneak that item out of the store without anyone being any wiser.  No, I'm not a thief by any means, so my next thought turned to the embarrassment of sitting in court while the crime of stealing a buck-and-a-half item from a thrift store would be read out loud to the judge and anyone else in attendance.  It was then that I looked at the book and noticed for the first time the words on the cover, "What would Jesus do?"

I'm not even joking.  I tried on the jeans, selected the two that fit best and took them and the book to the cashier and, yes, paid for them.  The universe has answers, if you just open yourself to them.

Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be

Not everyone takes advantage of their public library, especially in this electronic age of abundant reference, but I have always tried to make use of the free services offered by this institution.  Did I say "free?"  I did, and I like "free" very much.  Now, how does the library system in New Brunswick stack up with those I have used elsewhere?

The only real reference point I have to compare the New Brunswick Public Library Service to are the Halifax Public Libraries.  The first thing to note is that in New Brunswick the libraries are provincial (then broken into regions) while Halifax services only the municipality.  There are fourteen branches for Halifax compared to 70 branches in New Brunswick and ten in the Fundy region, where I reside.

The Saint John main branch is particularly gorgeous, at least from the outside beyond the semi-stocked shelves.  It is located inside Market Square, an upscale uptown mall that also houses the New Brunswick Museum.  There is an unusual penchant to place the libraries in shopping malls here.

Everyone knows about books at the library, right?  Anyway, today's libraries also sport music CDs, movies, computer/Internet time, and much more.  If a movie has been released to DVD, I was able to get it in Halifax.  If the library didn't have the latest CD by Tori Amos, I could request that they purchase it and I would be first on the list to enjoy it.  I often wondered how Blockbuster was able to stay in business when the Halifax library had 66 copies of The King's Speech in its system.  Oh, wait, they filed for bankruptcy protection.  Did I mention "free?"

The available material, or lack thereof, in my new home has been a big adjustment.  I think they may be adjusting to me too.  The librarian at my branch already seems to know my name, as all I have to do is appear at the counter and she goes to the shelf to see what's there for me.  That's not a bad thing, but I have to admit I preferred going to my spot under the T's amidst the many shelving units of requested material on hold in Halifax.

Then I was able to check myself out.  This option exists at the Saint John main branch, but not at mine.  Come to think of it, I've never actually seen anyone use the self-serve machine at the main branch.  Does anyone borrow things here?  It's "free."

Having a smaller, less developed entity doesn't go without some advantages.  I was deer-in-the-headlights surprised to learn that the due date for borrowed material - remember that grade school librarian that made school life miserable and wreaked havoc on your pristine relationship with your teacher if you forgot to get a book back on time? - is really just a suggestion.  You don't get fined when you're a little late.  I'm not lying.  I haven't had to nerve to test just how far this envelope can be pushed.

Today I returned three items.  Upon arriving home and sitting down to work I received a phone call - private caller.  It was my librarian informing me that the Lady Gaga "Born This Way" CD (oh, the shame) wasn't in its case and I should check my CD player, which was exactly where it was hiding.  This definitely beats being informed that you owe $40.25 in fines on top of the purchase price when this little stunt plays out in Halifax.

My next test of the system will be to make a suggestion for purchase.  They foolishly gave me the email address where this could be done.  Stay tuned.

Captains of Hospitality - Saint John and Transit

Reliable public transportation is essential for any city.  It is much more defining than many imagine.  Transit systems affect everyone.  When it operates smoothly it's something that's easily taken for granted, but when things are awry, it becomes a cat in an exotic bird sanctuary.

Saint John is a city that is reliant on buses, whether or not those inhabiting the many satellite communities that make up much of the blind affluence care to admit it.  The regular Saint John Transit buses are obvious, but there is also Acadian Lines, school buses, the trolley buses, the many tour buses, and those horrible Pepto-Bismol pink double deckers.  I know because they all assault our home regularly.

The first time I visited Saint John, just over a year ago to the day, I utilized the accommodations at University New Brunswick at Saint John and took the city bus to the convention I was attending each day.  Doing this allowed me to rid myself of my preconceived notions that Saint John was the same as Halifax, Montreal, Boston, Toronto and other North American cities with which I was familiar by allowing me to become intimately acquainted with areas outside of the uptown core, which has been transformed and dressed up like a six year old pageant girl for the tourists.

Of note are the plastic wrap-around bus stop signs that adorn some utility poles (if there is a piece left that hasn't been stripped by the harsh weather), the 'phantom stops' that sport no pole or apparent marker of any sort, the antiquated buses that make up the city's fleet, the high fares, the smell of depression, motley drivers flirting with younger female passengers, and the many unkempt riders that dominate the scene inside these vessels.

On one of my first 'dates' with my fiancee, Holly, we waited at an uptown bus stop one evening and she regaled me with stories of adventures on the bus warning me, to my mockery, that the drivers very often don't bother to stop.  As if on cue, the bus rounded the corner and left the two of us, along with another older gentleman, gawking in disbelief.  We hightailed it to King's Square where we found another bus waiting and Holly told the captain of the ship about our misadventure and ordered this driver to radio ahead to demand that the other driver wait for us at a transfer point.  I thought, "Right, as if this would ever happen," and lo and behold it did.  I'm convinced it was my intimidating stare while looking over her shoulder that made these events transpire.

To make things even more difficult for an already pedestrian-challenged city (expect much more on this subject!), many bus stops are located at intersections.  While speaking to Saint John Transit's Assistant General Manager on the telephone, who seems to be convinced their new GPS tracking system is the magic step in solving these problems, I was able to look out of my office window and convey my concern that the pole for the bus stop sign I was viewing shared said pole with a crosswalk sign and that both myself and Holly have had close calls with vehicles (including a City of Saint John pickup truck that had to actually steer into a snow bank while sliding to avoid colliding with her) attempting to pass buses stopped, often without buses using proper turn signal indicators.

Breath out.  Sigh.  Remain positive.


I'm actually trying to have hope for my adopted city, but I feel like Saint Johners have no desire to remove their blinders and tell officials to get their acts together.