Monday, March 23, 2009

quotes#575694 At peace in the light

Dying people don't have much time or energy to talk. Yet more than anyone else, they have a deep need to wrap up issues in their lives. By using my psychic issues to get issues and feelings out in the open, I could help the dying and their loved ones face things that had bothered them for years, and thus heal psychological wounds before their deaths.
As I sat there with my friend Peyser, I knew that his life was ending. At the same time, I knew that mine was beginning. Peyser had given me an insight that might never have arrived without him. My gift of intuition and my experience of dying was to be passed on to the dying. p91

Maybe I needed that constant motivation to keep me true to their goals. p11

Friday, March 20, 2009


Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen, c. 1987 -- by Mrs. Mooney
At peace with the light, by Dannion Brinkley, c. 1995 -- from Edwin

Friday, March 13, 2009

there is nothing like the smell of a new library book ... mmm nice way to spend a friday night.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


All together now, by Monica McInerney, c. 2008 - newbie
The faraway fairies (the magical roses), by Eleanor Coombe, c. 2008 - kids book
The good life, by Jay McInerney, c. 2008 - recommended by patron
Border crossing, by Rosie Thomas, c. 1998
The maze of bones, by Rick Riordan, c. 2008 - 39 clues
The book of fame, by Lloyd Jones, c. 2008 -- donated to library

Sunday, March 01, 2009

quotes#310056 The other side of the bridge

Last thing at night he went out to the barns for a final look around before bed, as he and his father had always done, just to check that everything was OK. They used to stand for a minute or two in the farmyard afterwards, studying the sky, and Arthur did it still, couldn't break the habit, though of all the moments of the day it caused the greatest pain [of dad passing]. He stood alone in the silence of the night, remembering. In his mind's eye he saw the two of them - always saw them the same, standing together, faces turned upwards. Clouds pale against the blue-black of the night. Stars cold and bright. The moon hanging there, pale and brilliant, clouds drifting across it like smoke. The sky and the silent land beneath it stretching on, and on, and on, so that he and his father were shrunk to almost nothing by the vastness of it. Two tiny insignificant specks, side by side, faces upturned, staring at the sky. p179