The library system where I work is a conglomeration of small libraries in small towns within a county that has always been heavily industrial. Mostly General Motors. Its a county I used to live and work in more than 15 years ago, and it was already struggling back then. Given the economic climate now the area is pretty devastated. Today I worked in a branch out in one of the small communities and much of the talk among patrons, overheard by me, was about job loss, the decline of housing prices, and fears for the future. Where to find health insurance, which employer closed last week, who is rumored to close next week. Who’s already out of work, who is likely to be out of work on Monday, who’s had interviews, and where.

Though the patrons smile at me as they check out their DVDs, CDs and books, the smiles are thin and don’t reach their eyes.  The faces are tired, hopeless, frightened.  People who were always able to take care of themselves are searching for anything, any kind of work, to feed their families now.  It made me feel guilty to be working, especially as I am now someone from outside their community.  I stay quiet, scan stuff in and out, try to make myself  less noticible.  Kind of hunkering down, which is what many people said they were going to do as they try to survive the next few months…or years.

As I drove the forty miles home tonight there was a beautiful sunset, all golden and orange streaks with big blocks of pink, purple and navy.  It was a sunset my mother would have taken a picture of, and it was just about the only beautiful thing I’d seen or heard all day.  While I’m glad the library is there, to give people  resources and a place to meet other people to talk and vent,  I wish there was more I could do.  And I feel guilty about hoping my husband and I don’t find ourselves in the same boat soon.