Most of my movies come from Netflix these days, but tonight I ran into the library to return some things. Then I found a few books and an old movie on DVD. The movie container has to be opened by a librarian before a borrower can check it out on the self-service machines.

I set the book bags down on the floor at the end of the librarian counter. Mostly because I didn’t want to put them by the machines as they are usually being used.

After the librarian gave me the DVD, I went about three steps over to where the book bags were. Here’s the dialogue:

Librarian: M’am. M’am! You are to check the DVD out on the machines here.
Me: I will when I pick up my books.
Librarian: I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave this area and go back in the stacks.
Me: I’m not going back in the stacks, I’m picking up my books (bend down to the bags).
Librarian: M’am, I’m not allowed to let you loose back there.
Me: I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here getting my books.
Librarian: You have to use the machines right there, right after I give you the movie. You can’t go back.
Me: I’m not going back. I’m picking up my books. See?
Librarian: Oh. Sorry.

Hooray for Netflix!

On Monday nights, I’m easily entertained. After a better than average workday, there was leftover tri-tip and a movie not seen over the weekend. I knew very little about the movie, except that some people didn’t like it much. Not having high expectations meant that there was little disappointment.

Plus there was Redford, even at his crustiest. With Josh Lucas and Bart the bear. Raw meat with honey. What’s not to like?

Right by the front door, easy to escort out, or so I thought. There were mailing supplies near the door, notably a large piece of bubble wrap. Trying to corral a lizard while accidentally stepping on the wrap did nothing to inspire confidence in the poor thing. Pop! Pop!

One afternoon last week, I heard the unmistakable sound of a duck quacking. We get seagulls, owls, hawks, pigeons, ravens and sometimes, a heron going after the fish in a neighbor’s pond. And large numbers of songbirds, but never ducks.

Saturday, we spotted a female mallard in the middle of the road. Later, it moved to a cozy spot on a lawn, where it appeared to be settling down for the night. We debated whether it was a pet. Since this particular neighbor is the obsessively spotless one who goes after single ants with an industrial-weight pesticide sprayer, we decided not. Given the excretory habits of the average duck.

What should I see this morning but a pair of mallards flying by in what I generally think of as raven airspace.

As I recall, there is some connection between the presence of ducks and a gnome population. Stay tuned.

Their numbers are up as many Brits enjoy seeing the occasional fox in the garden. But as in all things, there are those who beg to differ.