Library Notes
August 8, 2003
By Pansy Hundley, Librarian.
The other Tuesday morning, my alarm went off, yelling "IT'S TIME TO GET UP!" You know, like Bill Cosby's door bell that doesn't ring, but shouts 'THERE"S SOME BODY AT THE DOOR!!"
I lay there a coupla minutes, mentally urging myself to put that first foot on the floor. When I finally put them both on the floor, I wished I hadn't The world went crazy as soon as I sat up.
That world was spinning around and around as fast as it could. I was sick, sick, sick. I managed to get on my feet, by holding onto the wall and weaving my way down the hall to the bathroom. I was not sure that I would not lose the breakfast I had not eaten yet. By the time I staggered there, I was beginning to break out in a cold sweat all over.
I knew I had to go, somehow, and get a "dizzy" pill to swallow and something in my stomach. Had it not been for crackers and milk, I would not have lived this long. I sat at the kitchen table and got some of those down, which helped a little. I even kept 'em down.
Folks, I have 520 hours of sick leave. I would have taken 9 ½ hours of them that day, but I had the program for the Rotary Club at noon.
I cooked breakfast first thing and got something more solid in my stomach. The nausea had gotten better, but the world was still turning -- too fast -- if I looked up or turned my head too fast.
I stumbled through the morning, not feeling good at all and going slow and easy. I did not want to leave the Rotary Club at the last minute with no program.
I made it, with the help of another dizzy pill four hours later, keeping something in my stomach and sheer determination. I thought if I could make it til l:00, then I could go home to bed the rest of the day.
I made it. I got that speech delivered, without falling down, fainting or throwing up. Those guys were lucky I did too, because they were eating lunch!
At l:00 o'clock, when I thought I might be able to finally give up the fight, Trish greeted me with the good news that the Storyhour lady had no car to come into town, and could not do Storyhour. That left me to do it.
So, with gritted teeth, determination, and another dizzy pill, I did Storyhour at 3:00 o'clock that afternoon.
It was not a good day to say the least. I worked until 6:00 PM and finally got to take myself home to my couch. I felt somewhat better the next morning. At least, there were no more cold sweats.
I managed to work until noon that Wednesday. Then went home to my couch. It felt so good just to lay down and close my eyes, as the world turned. I slept on and off for most of the afternoon and felt quite a bit better.
I did live over this most recent vertigo adventure. It surely reminds me why I dread a bout of it so much. I mentioned cold sweats and now let me mention "A Cold Heart". No, my mine. Jonathan Kellerman is writing about one. You'll have to read it to find out what he's talking about.
"I've got a weird one, so naturally I thought of you," says Milo Sturgis, summoning his friend, Alex to the trendy gallery where a promising young artist has been brutally garroted on the night of her first major showing. What makes it "a weird one" is the lack of any obvious motive, and the luridly careful staging of the murder scene - which immediately suggests to Alex not an impulsive crime of passion… but the meticulous and taunting modus operandi of a serial killer.
Delaware's suspicion is borne out when he compares notes with Milo's associate, Petra Connor, and her new partner, a strange, taciturn detective with a past of his own named Eric Stahl. The Hollywood cops are investigating the vicious death of Baby Boy Lee, a noted blues guitarist, fatally stabbed after a late-night set at a local club. What links Baby Boy's murder with that of painter, Juliet Kipper is the shadowy presence of an abrasive fanzine writer. This alias-shrouded critic's love-the-art/disdain-the-artist philosophy and his morbid fascination with the murders leads Alex and the detectives to suspect they're facing a new breed of celebrity stalker: one with a fetish for snuffing out rising stars.
Tracking down the killer proves to be maddening, with the twisting trail leading from halfway houses to palatial mansions and from a college campus to the last place Alex ever expected: the doorstep of his ex-lover Robin Castagna, whose business association with two of the victims casts her as an unavoidable player in the unfolding case. As more and more killings are discovered, unraveling the maddening puzzle assumes a chilling new importance -- stopping a vicious psychopath who's made cold-blooded murder his chosen art form."