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"Library 2.0" and Wikipedia

The topic for today's Talis podcast conversation is the recent dustup over the suggestion that the Wikipedia article on Library 2.0 should be removed.    The suggestion was made a week ago, on the basis that it was a neologism coined by bloggers and used by bloggers, and thus unworthy of a Wikipedia entry.  By yesterday, it was clear that the overwhelming opinion (of those who cared to comment) was that it should be kept.  I strongly agree, although I'm firmly in the camp of the last commenter who, while supporting the notion to keep it, said, "the term causes my teeth to grind."

I still hope that the term will fade away, but certainly the Wikipedia article, which documents the discussion that has swirled around it for the past year, is valuable and serves as an important bit of background and a useful pointer.

My problem with the term is the same as ever -- it is simply incoherent.  People who use the term refer continually to the "Library 2.0 concept" but I'll be damned if I can figure out what that "concept" is.  Everyone who uses it has their own intention for it, and one knows that it has something to do with social networking software and with making libraries better, but is there really any more to it than that?  It's a very sloppy use of language, and I'm a firm believer in the concept that a sloppy use of language betrays sloppy thinking.

That being said, I'm hesitant to criticize those who have done the most to promote the term, because there's no question that the work being done by people like Michael Stephens and Michael Casey is extremely important, and the ideas that they are promoting for how we can keep our organizations alive and vibrant and useful has added a great deal to the discussion of what we want our organizations to be and how we want to interact with our communities.

But here's my problem -- in their LJ article, Casey and Laura C. Sevastinuk refer to "Library 2.0" as a "new model for library service."  They say further that "the heart of Library 2.0 is user-centered change."  They define a Library 2.0 service as "Any service, physical or virtual, that successfully reaches users, is evaluated frequently, and makes use of customer input..."

It's that last phrase that really sets my teeth on edge.  If one has followed the management and organizational literature for the past fifty years or so, it is pretty clear that the phrase Casey and Sevastinuk are using to define Library 2.0 services applies to the goal for every service for every organization.  But by defining it as "Library 2.0" and as a new model, they necessarily place it in opposition to the old model, which must have been Library 1.0 and which, by the definition of 2.0, must have been a model of librarianship that was opposed to reaching users, evaluating services, and making use of customer input.  It's not enough to say that there are tools and ways of doing things that enable us to reach customers better now -- by casting it as a new model, they are, intentionally or unintentially I'm not sure, suggesting that prior to the last couple of years, the model of librarianship was essentially anti-user and opposed to change. 

Clearly this is nonsense.  The real challenge is that ALL organizations are by their nature change-resistant, and the leaders of most organizations are unduly cautious.  Again, refer to half a century of management literature.  At least since Dewey, the model of librarianship has been one of carefully matching services to user needs and desires, evaluating what we're doing, making use of the latest technology, etc., etc.  The extent to which individual librarians or library organizations have lived up to that model is a different question, but the model has been user-centered for a very long time.

Look at it this way -- if Library 2.0 is a new model that is just catching on, then most librarians must still be working under the old, Library 1.0 model.  That means that there must be many librarians who would argue that we should not be making use of customer input, and who are opposed to evaluating our services.  And not just that there must be librarians who profess those positions, it must be that this is what is taught in library schools and preached at conferences -- after all, those are the places in which the model of a profession is shaped.  But can anyone seriously argue that such a model, an anti-user Library 1.0, actually exists or has ever existed?  But if Library 1.0 doesn't exist, then Library 2.0 doesn't either.  That's simply the way that the language works.

Should we be making use of all of the new social networking tools?  Of course.  Should we be encouraging creative user involvement in designing our services?  Of course.  Should we be change agents in our communities?  Of course.    But will waving the Library 2.0 banner make a timid library director slap his or herself upside the head and say, "My goodness!  I'm supposed to be user-centered!!"  I doubt it.

What The iPod Shuffled Up On My Walk This Morning

National Emblem March
Leonard Slatkin
American Portraits

Rock Of Your Love
John Hiatt
The Tiki Bar Is Open

Make Me A Pallet On Your Floor
Lost Jim
Sings & Plays Mississippi John Hurt

I Like To Fuss
Patti LuPone
Philadelphia Chickens

Straight To Your Head
Mutton Birds
Envy Of Angels

Chocolate Shake
Duke Ellington
The Blanton-Webster Band

Sunday Morning Comin' Down / Just Like A Bookstore
The Bearded Pigs
Live In Phoenix

Johnny Too Bad
The Slickers
The Harder They Come

New York - Parte Ii
Keith Jarrett
The Carnegie Hall Concert

The Ways Things Are Done

"After growing up in Wisconsin, even after living here a dozen years, I can't get used to seeing people putting up Christmas decorations on a day like this!"

That's me, up on my deck, shouting down to my next door neighbor Fred, who is putting a Christmas tree up on his dock.  It's the day after Thanksgiving, the sky is a brilliant blue, and it is just shy of 75 degrees.

Fred grins up at me.  "Yeah," he says.  "I hope we get some winter this year."

But regardless of the weather, this is Christmas decorating weekend in this part of the country.  I took Josie out for a wagon ride, and as I was coming back, the neighbors were out on the street, either starting to put their lights up or talking about getting it going.  Some (like us) will dawdle a bit, but by tomorrow night when dusk falls, almost the entire street will be outlined in little white lights, which is the fashion here.  It's quite pretty.  I shrug, and just go with it.

When I was a little kid growing up in Wisconsin we wouldn't start decorating until about two weeks out.  First, the outside lights would go up.  In those days, the fashion was big colored bulbs outlining the porch.  Maybe a plastic santa, maybe someone would have a manger in the front yard.  The first year that somebody put up little flashing lights chasing each other along the roofline, they were the talk of the town. 

My Dad would buy a tree from a local lot, bring it home, and toss it into the snow bank next to the house.  The tree would've been cut down in northern Wisconsin a couple of weeks earlier and was well frozen by the time we got it. In the week before Christmas, we'd start decorating the house, but the tree wouldn't go in the stand until the 22nd.  Dad would set it up after work that day and for the next 24 hours it would slowly thaw, filling the house with pine scent.  On the 23rd, we'd have our family tree trimming party.  That's the way it was done.

How different it is here!   Thanksgiving weekend is when the decorations go up, and then everything comes down the weekend after New Year's (if not on New Year's day itself).  Lynn and I generally manage to get the outside lights up by early December, and down by the 2nd weekend of January, so we're not too far behind the accepted schedule.  Inside is a different story.  I will put the tree up tomorrow, but it won't get fully trimmed for a couple of weeks (we'll do it bit by bit as we find time), and Lynn won't finish her house decorating until Christmas Eve.  Having taken such a long time to get everything the way that she wants it, we're in no hurry to take it all down.  Marian is scandalized when she comes over in early February and we're still decorated for Christmas.  We'll try to get everything packed away in time for Josie's birthday.

Despite my shoutout to Fred (I was just trying to be conversational), I've never been very locked into a particular tradition.  I've probably been through more "Christmas traditions" in my half century than I could properly count.  I weary somewhat at the relentless commercialization, but that's not peculiar to holidays.  Traditions change and evolve, and in this country, so huge with so many different histories and cultures mixed in, what counts as tradition shifts every couple of hundred miles.

I feel no nostalgia for the Christmases of my youth.  They were wonderful, and the memories are rich, but I have no need to recapture or recreate them.  They were right for their time, and I was a very happy young boy.  But that was a long time ago.  Now I'm a happy middle-aged man, looking forward to sipping a glass of champagne with Lynn & Marian while we watch Josephine take in the wonder of it all.  Each year, as we all grow older, our own tradition evolves.  It's those changes that I love, how we accommodate and adjust to the shifts in relationships and to the demands of time.

The Beauty of Alabama

When I moved to Washington, DC, twenty-three years ago, I had lived all of my life in east central Wisconsin.   That first year, we went down to the Mall over Thanksgiving weekend, and I remember vividly the sensation of sitting on one of the benches in a t-shirt.  A t-shirt outside in late November!  I had never experienced such a thing.  After two decades of gradually moving further south, it takes something more than a gray fall day in the upper fifties to excite me as much, but this weekend might do it. 

It's early in the morning as I write this.   I woke up at dawn, and came out to the living room and lit the fire.  Weatherbug tells me it's only 32 degrees -- so far.   But I know what's coming.  As the sky lightens, I see the fine mist on the lake.  The air is perfectly still, so the mist hangs softly above the water and dissipates after rising five or six feet.  Soon the sun, which is rising behind me, touches the tips of the trees on the opposite shore.  The line of sunlight slowly descends, illuminating the fall colors -- it hasn't been the best year for fall colors that I've seen here, but it's been pretty good, with plenty of deep reds and russets mixed in with the yellows and the patches that are still green.  The angle of that morning light makes the colors thick and rich, as if the leaves have truly been gray for the last few hours and are now waking up, and stretching, and responding to the light by letting their warm colors surface.

The sunlight is just touching the lake now and the warmth against the cold water makes the mist swirl in slow circles as it rises.  The light sneaks into the cove across the way, waking up one of the great blue herons who flies straight towards me before veering off to the right halfway across the lake.  A line of geese cross above in the other direction.

Not a cloud, and none expected for a couple of days.  This sun will have a good chance to warm everything up, and by the time Josie and Marian get here after lunch, we should be in the upper sixties (tomorrow will be even a little warmer).  We'll take a leisurely boat ride.  I'll let Josie steer for a bit, and we'll take time to feed the swans.  Miles Davis and John Coltrane will be playing softly in the background.

When we get back, Lynn will start making her traditional Thanksgiving dinner.  Marian and I will play with Josephine; I'll read to her for a bit ("what does Charlie Parker play?"), maybe show her how my new guitar sounds. 

The holiday gives us a day off, and an excuse for Lynn to put on a fancy meal.  I give thanks every day.

Librarians On The Loose

I see that someone from Yale has set up a wiki to discuss library liaison programs.   Very timely.  I've noticed a significant increase in discussions on the topic over the past year.  It came up a couple of times during the recent AAHSL/AAMC meeting, particularly during the Charting the Future Committee meeting, and it's likely to be one of the areas they're going to be looking into during the coming year.

By and large I'm pretty pleased with how our own liaison program is going, although we still have a very long way to go.   Libraries have had liaison programs for many years, of course, but there's been a significant shift in how we look at them and what we expect from them.   I see two significant phases -- there's the formal part, where the liaisons get to know the faculty and students of the school or college, and the students and faculty identify that person as their liaison.  The liaison becomes a conduit for providing information about library services that are particularly relevant to those programs, and they funnel information that may be useful for collection development and program planning back to their colleagues in the library.  In the past, that pretty much summed up the liaison experience.

But now we have to go much further.  What I think of as the informal phase comes when the liaisons are having conversations that are NOT about library services, but about the real workings of the school -- the research that's being done, the curriculum changes, why this year's students seem so much better prepared than last year's or why in the world is the department chair pursuing that idiotic plan.  It's the hallway conversations and the institutional gossip that we need in order to become intertwined enough with the real life of the school that we can be truly creative partners in developing critically important services.  One of the very essential responsibilities of the liaisons is simply to listen and to observe.  "Don't ask them what they want from the library,"  I tell the liaisons.  "Get them to talk about their research, their courses, the work they do on a daily basis.  That's how we'll find out what we really ought to be doing."

I heard Crit Stuart put it something like this:   It used to be that you could sit at the reference desk and the life of the university would be right there.  The students would bitch about the faculty, the faculty would bitch about the students and the chairs, the chairs would bitch about the faculty and the deans, and the deans would bitch about the president.  And that's how you found out what was really going on. 

The relationships that a good reference librarian had with the users of the library were a fundamental building block for library excellence in the pre-digital age.  And we still have a critical need for those relationships, but we're not going to have them unless we are spending as much time as possible outside of the library.   The library itself is just a tool.  The core service is the librarian on the loose.

Diamonds and Guitars

I've told the story many times, how, given the circumstances of our getting together, Lynn thought for the longest time that a "telecaster" was some kind of high-speed modem, and that when we finally got that sorted out, she'd tease me that if I ever got her the "sling-ring" (the engagement ring so big and heavy you'd need your arm in a sling to hold it up), she'd buy me a telecaster.  In due course, she got her ring (presented in the middle of the appetizer tray at lunch at Gian-Peppe's, one of the few times I've seen her speechless).   And for the next few months, wherever we were traveling, we'd stop in guitar stores and I'd try out telecasters.  We found the '73 Thinline at the Guitar Shop in DC.   During my last year with Liquid Prairie, that's the guitar I played.

A few weeks after we found the Thinline, Lynn and I were traveling somewhere and as we walked past a guitar store, I said, "Oh, let's stop in here..."  She gave me an annoyed look and said, "But I just bought you that telecaster..."

"Darlin'," I said.  "D'you think that ring is the last piece of jewelry you're ever getting from me?"

A few years later, when we were at Doug & Nancy's wedding, Ferd mentioned that he was selling off his guitars, including the '52 Telecaster, which he'd brought down to L.P. gigs a couple of times for me to play.  Lynn worked out a deal with him on the spot, and a few days later, the '52 arrived in Birmingham.  But I was working primarily as a solo act by then, and so the ever-reliable, nearly indestructible Takamine had become my utility guitar.  The telecasters didn't see much action, although I'd bring 'em out every once in awhile.

I've been to five continents with the Takamine, treating it as checked luggage.  If it ever gets lost or destroyed, I'll mourn it, but then I'll replace it.  The '52 and the Thinline, however, are not replaceable, so I don't fly with them.  Over the past few years, whenever I've been able to drive to a Bearded Pigs gig, I've brought them along, but I've still relied mostly on the Takemine.    For the Atlanta gig in October, however, I wanted to play more electric, given the direction in which the band has been moving.  So we loaded up all the gear in Marian's van, and I ended up playing the '52 exclusively, while Bruce stuck with the Thinline.  It was a great night, but when it was over I knew I needed a new telecaster -- one that I could fly with. 

So it was quite fitting that for my birthday last Friday, Tambourine Grrl gave me a brand new NashvilleP821d Deluxe.   It's a pretty guitar, with a sound that I am just beginning to explore.  It'll be a great guitar for the Pigs spring tour.

Speaking of which, we've just started accepting Thicket Society memberships for the coming year.  SG has the website updated, the PayPal link is working, and we've got the membership form posted for people who are sceptical of PayPal (and, of course, we accept cash from those who prefer not to leave any paper trail at all!)

This weekend we have no big plans.  Marian & Josie will come over for the traditional dinner on Thanksgiving Day, and I presume we'll watch a movie or two and go out for a boat ride.  But I'm going to spend a lot of my time working the kinks out of that new guitar.

A Heretic in Charleston

I was trying to figure out a theme to use for my comments at the panel discussion in Charleston on Friday.  Anthony Watkinson had done a superb job of framing a series of questions for us to respond to during the session "Open Access - Beyond Declarations".   But with only ten minutes of speaking time available, it wasn't going to be possible to address each of them as thoroughly as they deserved.  We'd have to pick and choose.

Among other things, Anthony asked, Is the achievement of Open Access to (all) scholarly communication a moral imperative, or is it one where advantages and disadvantages have to be weighed and evidence adduced? 

The open access moralism on the part of some of the partisans has been extremely damaging to the entire discussion, so I ended up characterizing myself as perhaps an Open Access Heretic, pointing out that, "Martin Luther continued to believe in Jesus.  He just quit believing in the Pope."  That's a fair metaphor for the evolution of my views.

When one takes the strong moralistic approach, the open access all or nothing approach, and treats it as if it is the most important issue in scholarly publishing, then one is essentially absolved from the difficult consideration of social costs.  If one feels that the social benefits of open access are clearly and completely overwhelming, then one is compelled to push for whatever solutions might point in that direction and let the chips fall where they may.   But to righteously ignore the fact that some of those chips may fall very heavily indeed is irresponsible.

The result of this has been to create a climate of strong distrust among the various stakeholders and to lead both sides to make tenuous and twisted arguments that may make good soundbites, but don't really hold up under close analysis.  In the battle of the press releases, all sides present overreaching arguments, designed, finally, to score points, rather than to push the discussion forward seriously. 

I tried to illustrate this with the "taxpayer rights" argument.  In a mom and apple pie kind of way, the statement that taxpayers should have immediate access to the results of federally funded research is trivially true.  But this could easily be met by having scientists write up the results of their work and post it to publicly available websites.   This, however, is clearly not what those who are making the argument would be satisfied with -- they still want the benefits of the peer review and editing processes that are part of the publication system and that are not, under the traditional system, paid for by the taxpayers.   It is the subscription system that currently pays for those added benefits.  So in order to include them, we need to shift the funding streams so that the taxpayers are paying for those benefits as well.  Indeed, this is what the move towards having funders pay for publication costs is all about, and that approach seems perfectly reasonable and logical to me.  It is not, however, without social costs, and the blithe response on the part of the advocates, who dismiss the concern about costs by saying it is such a tiny portion, maybe 2% or so, of overall NIH funding, is simply not sufficient.  At a time when the NIH budget is flattening and competition for grants is becoming tighter and tighter (at present, NIH is funding just under 20% of approved applications), and promising young scientists are leaving academic careers because they're not able to get that all important first grant, shifting even 2% of the budget toward publication is not a trivial matter.  Open access advocates need to do a much better job of making a compelling and detailed case for why the benefit is worth the cost.

The taxpayer rights argument is the soundbite hook on which FRPAA hangs as well, and it is a soundbite that plays well with members of congress and in the press.  But, of course, FRPAA itself is a compromise and doesn't provide any more immediate access than the Highwire publishers do independently.  "Libraries aren't going to cancel subscriptions if there is an embargo," say the partisans.  Since this seems so obvious to them, they accuse the publishers who are opposed to FRPAA of bad faith for claiming that they are concerned about the survivability of their organizations.   But since the people who are claiming that FRPAA doesn't threaten subscriptions are the same people who are on record as taking the moralistic view that everything ought to be immediately open, can one really blame the publishers for being convinced that FRPAA is just one step along the way, and that if they give in to this "compromise" it will simply encourage the partisans to continue to push for complete and immediate access?

Open access moralism has poisoned the debate, generated tremendous distrust, pushed people (most of whom I believe are essentially well meaning) into making tendentious and unsupportable arguments (on both sides), and made it far more difficult to build the kinds of alliances that might actually enable us to develop a social benefit calculus that could lead to positive changes that don't carry the burden of unintended negative consequences.

By the time I got to the speakers' platform, I was fairly convinced that I was going to seriously annoy everyone in the room.   So I was somewhat surprised, and deeply gratified, by the number of positive comments I got from people immediately afterwards and throughout the rest of the day.  Perhaps there are indeed an increasing number of people who are trying to find a useful middle ground.   (Which is not to say that I didn't annoy plenty of members of the audience -- I'd've felt a failure if that had been the case).

I hope that we've reached a point where we can do some bridge building among the various stakeholders and do the hard work of seriously analyzing the social costs & benefits of various open or enhanced access approaches.   A much stronger and richer scholarly communication system is within reach, with greatly expanded opportunities for access and synthesis, but it will require careful work among all of the stakeholders to bring it to fruition.  The battle of the press releases isn't going to get us there.

Participatory Democracy

Whenever the pundits decry the nastiness of modern attack ads, I can comfort myself by recalling that political campaigns throughout history have always been foul.  Read the Philadelphia newspapers from the late 1700s or scan the cartoons of Thomas Nast or Honore Daumier and tell me that the scurrilousness of the attacks, one side upon the other, is any more repellent now than it has been in 250 years.

Notwithstanding that historical perspective, I approach this election cycle more disheartened than I recall ever being.  There is a recklessness to the political rhetoric that is in keeping with the growing disregard for truth that has been a hallmark of the current administration.  The recent Kerry gaffe is a good example -- no one who took the time to read the transcript and the context of Kerry's remark could have misunderstood his intent -- but that didn't stop the White House from trumpeting the claim that Kerry was insulting the troops.  He foolishly handed them a club, and they had no compunctions about using it.

I don't mean to imply that Democrats are blameless in this mess -- a quick scan of campaigns across the country should quickly disabuse anyone of that.  What the Republican strategy of the last six years has made clear is how completely one can get away with a reckless disregard for the truth in political advertising -- and as that has become clear, politicians of all stripes have been eager to embrace the strategy and avoid what they see as the primary mistake of the Kerry presidential run, in failing to quickly, and head-on, confront the swift boat veterans. 

It turns out that when you lie about your opponent, the only people who are outraged at you are the partisans who weren't going to vote for you anyway.  The lies will help to energize your own base (whether or not they perceive them to be lies) and they may help to sway some of the undecided voters who are trying to weave their way unsteadily through the rhetorical muck.  There really isn't any down side.

My president's administration has been singularly inept (he hasn't even been any good at managing the things that I agree with him on -- immigration policy being one), and nothing that happens today is going to change that since he has made it clear that, while he is no longer "staying the course," (indeed, he has never taken that approach!) he is still surrounded by people who are doing a damned fine job and he'll stick with them as they make some minor tactical adjustments.

If the Democrats do take control of one or both houses of congress, this won't change.  The incoming politicians will not be much different from the politicians they are replacing, or from their Democratic colleagues who are already there -- quite willing to pander to the fears and emotions of the electorate, all too willing to support legislation that further unbalances the separation of powers for fear of being called soft on terrorism, and generally quite lacking in the sort of visionary leadership that we are so desperately in need of.

The reputation of the United States is in tatters and its standing in the world may never have been lower.  Our ability to influence world events in a positive direction is practically nonexistent, and the notion that we provide a shining example of democracy to the rest of the world is widely considered to be a tasteless joke.  We have ceded to the presidency a degree of independent power that the constitution was explicitly intended to prevent, and no future president, of any party, is ever going to be willing to give that back.   The current makeup of the Supreme Court insures that the theory of the unitary executive, and all that the Bush administration has drawn from that, will be firmly upheld when those challenges finally get that far.

This fundamental restructuring of the presidency, which has been a goal of its architects for nearly twenty years, will be the primary legacy of this administration.  Changing the party that controls Congress is going to do nothing to roll it back.

My Hat Has Been Replaced

When the Stetson Duster that I'd bought at Meyer's in New Orleans in the late 90's started looking seedy, it took me well over a year to find a replacement.  Good hat stores are few and far between, and even though I'd check in every city that I found myself in, it wasn't until we got to San Antonio in May of '05, that I found a store convenient to where I was staying and with a pretty decent selection of western style hats.   Stetson stopped making the Duster some years ago, but I found two other styles that I kind of liked and bought them.   I was particularly glad to have done that after one of them was stolen in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago.  At least I didn't have to go hatless once I got back to Birmingham.

I wasn't surprised that the restaurant wasn't able to retrieve the hat from the miscreant who walked off with it (although I am a little annoyed that the manager never called to let me know).  I was resigned to a quest of many months again before I could replace it.

But there were a couple of people at the meeting in Seattle who made a point of letting me know that there was a good hat store only a couple of blocks from the hotel.  And, indeed, Byrnie Utz Hats is one of the best I've been in.   They had the exact model that'd walked away and the tall young man in the bowler hat shaped it expertly for me and arranged to have it shipped back to Birmingham.  It was here by the time I got home.

What remains to be seen is whether the restaurant will make good on their pledge to cover the replacement cost...

Airports and Airplanes

It's 10:15 pm local time, and my flight from Atlanta to Birmingham has been delayed for 45 minutes to 11:45, but I'd think it churlish to complain.  After all, I'm sitting in a comfy chair in the Crown Room, sipping scotch (Dewar's has dramatically adjusted their expression over the last ten years to create something much more to the taste of a single malt drinker than the thin, nondescript, iced beverage they used to produce), it's quiet and peaceful here, and I've had a perfectly delightful day.

We had a fine flight from Seattle.  We'd gotten the complimentary upgrade, and had allowed enough time to easily make the cab ride to the airport and the line through security.  We've got the routine down.  At the last turn in the line, I kick off my boots (I always wear the black ones, which are easy to slip off, when traveling through airports), so that I'm ready to plop them into a bin, along with my hat.  The topcoat (if I'm wearing one) goes into the next, and then the laptop.  The bag goes last on the conveyor.   It's automatic, and always easy, and from time to time I catch the look of relief on the weary TSA guy who's relieved that he doesn't have to patiently explain, just this once, how the drill works.

It was about four and a half hours on the plane -- time enough to read a couple more chapters of Joseph Epstein's Friendship: An Expose  and the first 30 pages of the incomparable Seamus Heaney's new book of poems District and Circle (remind me some time to tell the story of our drunken ramble through Oshkosh, Wisconsin of 30 years ago).  I made some good notes for my presentation in Charleston next Friday, and read through the manuscript that I'm reviewing for JAMIA.   I was able to get email caught up and even had time to watch an episode of 24 on the iPod.  How could I complain about having the opportunity to spend the afternoon that way?

If we don't suffer further delays, we should be home around 12:30.  We'll check on the cats, go through the mail, do the preliminary unpacking and shake off the travel wearys.  I've got a lunch meeting tomorrow, but I'll be able to sleep in a bit and tomorrow will take care of itself.  I've got time for a few more of Heaney's poems, and another couple of chapters by Mr. Epstein.  A fine travel day, indeed.