LSA News

No. 60, December 2004

If you have anything you want in the next newsletter, send it to lsaweb@lists.uoregon.edu.

Pot-stickers and Palate-Pleasers

by Rose Thomas
photos by Laura Damiani

Every year, right before Christmas, my friends Amy and Nick spend at least two busy days making pot-stickers to give as Christmas gifts. I'm always appreciative of the small red-and-green carton filled with a dozen or so deep-fried, meat-and-vegetable filled pot-stickers—especially since I'm usually in the midst of chaos making food gifts of my own. Unfortunately, this rare treat, heated up in the microwave, dipped into a ginger-soy sauce and slowly savored, vanishes much too quickly and I'm left with their distant memory again for another year. Imagine my excitement when I learned that there would be an LSA Pot-sticker Program for those of us who wanted to learn to make these tasty tidbits.

	Kaiping adds green onions to the filling mixture.

My research shows that pot-stickers were being made more than four centuries ago, and many specialty food stalls in current-day Shanghai and Beijing make nothing else but pot-stickers in order to satisfy hungry appetites. Called "pot stickers" because the base of the dumpling is crisped and browned in oil before steaming, these dumplings are filled with meat and/or vegetables and are a favorite treat for anyone who enjoys Chinese traditional food.

Kaiping Zhang—business librarian and chef—skillfully taught the two afternoon classes, held November 18th in the staff lounge. Both sessions received quite a large turnout of those library staff who were ready to learn and eat. Kaiping and her assistants, Lei Yu (a Sports Marketing graduate student) and Daphne Wang (MDLS East Asian cataloger), showed great patience with some of our attempts to roll out small balls of dough—made of flour and water—and craft them into the small, thin wrappers for the dumplings. Held carefully in the palms of our hands, the circles of dough were filled with contents such as cabbage, carrots, bean-thread noodles (cooked and chopped), chopped egg, ginger, and scallions for the vegetable-filled; ground meat, water, soy sauce, sesame oil, scallions, ginger, and celery for the meat-filled dumplings. The smaller the dumpling, the more difficult it proved to make them, so my own attempts to fill, fold and crimp ultimately yielded dumplings that were the size of a small vehicle. However, several of my classmates were very adept in the art—continuing to fashion them while those who were less adept waited for the cooking of the first batch of pot-stickers to finish.

Good smells soon overtook us, as the odor of the sizzling dumplings wafted throughout the classroom and out into the hall. Kaiping quickly mixed up an aromatic dipping sauce of vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, chopped cilantro, and chili garlic sauce for us to dip the just-cooked pot-stickers into and enjoy.

Lori Robare, Sheila Gray, and Nancy Loya making dumplings.

As our session ended, and another group of eager students was soon to arrive, I was struck by the satisfying act of learning something new and the spirituality of us all coming together to make food, share laughter and leave with our bellies full. Apparently everyone else in my class enjoyed the meal, because some were searching the campus area for pot-stickers the next day for lunch.

Now, will I attempt make my own pot-stickers? I hope to in the near future for my mah jongg friends, but I've definitely found a new appreciation for Amy and Nick's gift.

For recipes and instruction on making pot-stickers, Kaiping recommends a visit to the Food Network website; use these search results on "pot stickers" to get yourself started. Rebecca Fisher took notes as Kaiping cooked; see this recipe. If you want to browse the Knight Library's cookbook collection, head for TX724.5 for Chinese food—and enjoy!

Dreaming at My Desk

by Harriett Smith

An English Tradition

As a child, I eagerly looked forward to all holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, Washington's Birthday—and I adorned my playhouse accordingly. Bats swooped through string cobwebs, shamrocks graced the windows, a flag waved from its holder, and colored paper turkeys sat proudly on my card table in season. These days, though, I reserve that decorating energy for the Christmas/Solstice holiday. And at our house, that celebration has a distinctly English feel, not only because of my English husband but because of the heritage of my Canadian-English forbears and my own fascination with Britain.

Probably the most truly "English" of our holiday celebrations, aside from Christmas crackers, involves creating and enjoying the traditional flaming plum pudding. A co-worker was aghast a few months ago when I described how I make the pudding, put it in the lidded mold, steam it for about seven hours, and then store it for months, taking it out every so often to pour brandy and/or rum over it. I have to admit, until I married Justin, I too thought this was weird. How could you keep something for months like this? But in truth the constant re-application of alcohol both flavours and preserves the dense, fruity "pudding", which most resembles a round heavy fruitcake with a hole through the middle. A second steaming on the day of eating, for two or three hours, gives it the final cooking. You can supposedly also bake or "steam" these in the oven, but steaming in a pot on the stovetop frees up the oven for the goose, turkey, roast beef, or baked vegetarian offerings.

Although it can be eaten at a 1 p.m. dinner, this kind of flaming pudding is most spectacular in the dark hours of the night. When the second steaming has gone on for an hour or two during and after dinner, and the company now feels it could wedge in "just a little something", you slip into the kitchen and tip it out of its mold onto a plate. Top it with a washed sprig of holly (for Christmas Eve/Christmas Day only, I've been told; no holly for New Year's or other days or you'll have bad luck), and heat about a quarter cup of brandy in a little saucepan. When the brandy is hot but not boiling, you pour it over the pudding and quickly light it with a match. Don't worry! You won't be burned by the gorgeous blue flames, even if you get them on your hands or arms.

Once you've lit the brandy and the flames are going, walk swiftly into the darkened room where the awed and appreciative company waits for the pudding. Speed is of the essence, because the flames soon die down, leaving only the wonderful dark pudding and a slightly charred sprig of holly behind.

I'm not at liberty to divulge Justin's family recipe for Christmas Pudding, which dates back to the 1700s, but I'll pass on a few web sites with decent-looking recipes. A search on Epicurious brings up Superb English Plum Pudding, which is much like what I actually make. Mrs. Mackie's recipe looks interesting, and Victoriana.com has some Victorian recipes from Godey's Lady's Book. You'll notice that many of these recipes call for suet. That's what I use, since for us this is a once-a-year treat. But in Nancy Silverton's Desserts (New York, Harper & Row, 1986) you can find a recipe for Christmas Pudding that uses butter. Her secret? "Melt the butter and vanilla bean over high heat...until the bubbles subside and the butter is dark brown and smoking, and gives off a nutty aroma."

We eat brandy butter on our Christmas Pudding, but others like hard sauce. Brandy butter is easy - you start with butter, cream in powdered sugar, and add brandy bit by bit til the taste and texture are as you like them. Ever-helpful Epicurious has a recipe for brandy butter to accompany a Caribbean Christmas Pudding. The leftovers are good cold or wrapped in foil and re-steamed briefly.

There's a good short article about the history of steamed puddings, with photos of some pudding molds, at Hearth to Hearth in the January 2002 issue of the Journal of Antiques and Collectibles. Modern day pudding molds look very similar to the molds pictured in the article, and are usually available at the more up-scale kitchen stores or more cheaply at the True Value hardware store on Willamette in Eugene.

Recreational Eating: A Lament

By Dvora Robinson

Okay, it's the day before Thanksgiving and I'm in my first year of a low-carbohydrate eating plan. It's not a diet, because I have to stay on it until medical science has figured out how to replace all of my insulin-resistant cells with insulin-gobbling cells, at which point I'll be able to eat flourless chocolate cake with raspberry sauce every day and still not get diabetes. Meanwhile, I'm on the low-carb plan. I call it the "if-I-like-it-I-can't-eat-it" plan.

There have been a lot of changes since I started. Before I ate fish, but not meat or poultry. After a month of eating fish or tofu twice a day, every day, I decided that meat and poultry would be my new friends. It's been a difficult relationship. More like a reluctant truce than a friendship. Of course, that's just from my side. From the meat and poultry side, it's murder, but I won't get into that right now. So I've been learning how to cook and eat meat. I've lost a fair bit of weight, and my friend R says it's from reduced calories, not the carbohydrate thing. It's true that I'm eating less, since I don't get to eat anything that I like. My days of recreational eating are over, for now, and I'm looking for a new hobby. I still get sugar and pastry cravings, but not as often as before, and I've found that heroin is very effective in reducing those cravings.

So Thanksgiving is potluck at R's, and my assignment is to make cranberry sauce. I plan to make two batches: a low-carb sugarless version for me, and an edible version for the others. I looked for a low-carb cranberry recipe on the internet, and was distracted by low-carb recipes for pumpkin pie. R makes delicious pumpkin pie. It's not low anything. Smelling R's pumpkin pie and not getting to eat it is a violation of the Geneva Convention. I'm not sure that even heroin can make up for it. Nonetheless, me and my insulin-resistance are standing firm, while drooling. I plan to attempt a low-carb pumpkin pie. At least it won't be low fat. It will be high fat. With enough of the right spices, it might even smell a bit like R's pie. I'm sure it won't taste anything like it.

(story continued)

Tradition

By Jennifer Rowan

The most unwaveringly traditional holiday meal I can remember of my youth was the annual Christmas Eve dinner at Mavis'. Mavis and Mike (M&M) were my parents' closest friends when we were kids. Mike worked with my dad at the City while Mavis and my mother provided each other with critical support through the pregnancies, parenting, penny-pinching, the making-do and the getting by. They joined Great Books; took art, skiing and knitting classes together; curled their hair; wore penny loafers and pedal-pushers in the summer and smoked packs of Lucky Strike cigarettes (until my mother, a new Catholic, gave up smoking for Lent and never took it up again. Mavis, now in her late 70s, still puffs away even after a bout of throat cancer and the loss of most of her characteristic raspy voice).

Somewhere in those early years, our families formed the tradition of having Christmas Eve dinner at Mavis and Mike's each year. Each Christmas Eve, we'd bundle up and pile onto the cold, stiff vinyl seats of the station wagon for the dark drive across town, on the lookout for colorful light displays and already feeling half-sick in optimistic anticipation of the holiday. Mike, a forester, provided Christmas trees for both our households from the area around his hunting cabin Up North. These wild trees were invariably misshapen and irregular with great gaps between branches, and although the asymmetry offended the lofty aesthetic standards of us kids, the trees were free so that was the end of it. Mavis, like my mother, had made most of their decorations with styrofoam balls, construction paper, sequins and pipe cleaners so their tree, a hunched and feral replica of ours, seemed curiously familial.

The card table was already set up for the younger kids—perhaps one or two of the older ones could squeeze themselves in with the adults—and dinner was served buffet-style. Year after year, it was always the same: an enormous turkey, of course, with homemade dressing redolent of fried onions and sage. Mashed potatoes. Pillsbury rolls—the kind you had to break the tube to make. A limp green salad of iceberg lettuce (was there any other kind? Not in the 1950s and '60s!), lavishly anointed with oil and pepper but little evidence of vinegar. Baked sweet potatoes and acorn squash with butter and brown sugar. The inevitable dish of anemic green beans (any vegetable that didn't come out of a can was suspect) and a bowl of canned cream-style corn for my dad who was from Rhode Island and had strange, foreign appetites. There was always jello, freshly sprung from some ornate mold, a bit blubbery around the edges and a bit runny through the middle. And of course, there was cranberry sauce. Not just one kind but two—both from a can—the kind with the lumps and the kind that slid out of the can in a, well, can-shaped gelatinous cylinder that quivered ominously on a plate. Mavis' percolator provided a percussive accompaniment from the kitchen. There was always great hilarity, perhaps a little too much in the form of high-strung shenanigans from the kids' card table, so eventually we kids would storm off to the basement to get into mischief beyond the immediate scrutiny of the adults.

This was a meal and a tradition that we repeated annually into our adulthood. Years later, when I came home with my own small child for the Christmas visit, we were all expected to turn up on Christmas Eve at Mavis' to partake in the ritual feast. My mother, always much affected by the trappings and displays of tradition and especially mindful of the delightful duty of initiating her small granddaughter into our family's cultural institutions, simply could not contain herself. Each year, she'd chatter to Madeleine with greater than usual animation as we prepared ourselves to get into the icy car and drive across town to Mavis' house. It was Christmas Eve; familiar friends and a wonderful meal awaited us, and after many years, there was finally a legitimate reason for Santa to revisit our old house. She could not contain her infectious enthusiasm. "Are you excited yet?!!!!" she'd ask little Madeleine with ferocious intensity. "Santa's coming—aren't you excited???" And little Madeleine would empathize so profoundly with her Nana's high spirits that she'd begin to throw up and continue to be sick through the evening. Thus, I missed several Christmas Eve dinners with Mavis, staying at home with my over-excited toddler, and a couple of years later, my parents moved to Oregon and soon persuaded us to follow.

The Christmas Eve dinner tradition continues, with what family we are annually able to pull together. My parents persist in their determination to sacrifice a turkey for their traditional feast and each year, my mother makes a homemade, traditional-style cranberry sauce (someone else's tradition). A Shaker corn pudding has replaced the canned creamed corn in my dad's affections and we have long denied any prior knowledge of or affinity for Pillsbury products; however, most of our Northwest family are vegetarian and eschew the more conventional fare. Every traditional holiday meal is an opportunity to be non-traditional, and expectations of the ethnic and the exotic tend to run high. Yet, every year, we invoke Mavis' name with reverence and offer a toast in honor of a lifetime of good cheer and communal holiday feasts. And inevitably, as a joking aside to poor, grown-up Madeleine, "Are you excited yet?"

A Question of Condiments

By Jennifer Rowan

During the recent presidential election, I was amused to learn that a more politically "right" alternative to the Heinz 57 brand catsup called "W Ketchup" was being aggressively marketed ("W Ketchup comes in one flavor: American"). Although I'm a purist and prefer my fries French and sans-sauce, it occurred to me that we are a country with little tolerance for variation in our condiments. Catsup is ketchup after all, and mustard, well, that's another story. And when it comes to cranberry sauce, we stand firm. After all, it's considered an integral part of the great American tradition, or at least part of the great American feel-good myth of unity, tolerance, and sharing during tough times. Ironic, that the original Thanksgiving meal did not include cranberry sauce (nor sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie, for that matter). Our pilgrim forbearers had the berries, which they called "crane berries", but not the sugar to cook them with.

So I asked a few of our library colleagues what alternative sauces, if any, appear on their holiday tables. Overall, it would appear that tradition is the still the standard by which all such meals are measured. In particular, even when other conventions become dispensable, folks are still devoted to their cranberry sauce. This relatively simple concoction of cranberries cooked up with sugar transcends food philosophy, politics and fashion. Bruce Tabb put it bluntly. "Good cranberry sauce made from fresh cranberries can't be beat in my opinion. The only reason to have a turkey is for the fresh cranberry sauce." And his sentiments were echoed by Christy Carmichael who admitted to being something of a purist when it comes to cranberry sauce. "I adore the traditional, boil-your-own fresh berries with the evil white sugar!"

But what about less familiar and more challenging alternatives to the humble, traditional cranberry? Why do we love it so? It is sweet and yet tart, embodying contrast and contradiction in a mouthful; it functions nicely in a humble, supporting role and generously improves the performance of everything else on the plate. If heat and spice were added to the formula, we would call it chutney and think ourselves quite daring. Indeed, at the back of one of my kitchen cupboards, I have a jar of something calling itself Cranberry Chutney that includes cranberries, apples, raisins, orange peel and unidentified spices. It has been sitting there for several years because my mother, with whom we share all holidays (even a few we've invented), insists on making her own cranberry sauce from scratch so as to feel herself a fully-realized celebrant of the season. But I am thinking of other fruits that are relative curiosities just waiting to insinuate themselves into an American holiday menu.

(story continued)

A Few Things to Like About Lichens

by Marilyn Mohr
photos by Laura Damiani

On a cold, gray day early in November, a hardy group of library staff gathered in the Pioneer Cemetery to join in a lichen walk led by Eugene lichenologist Daphne Stone.

A lichen is a composite organism, consisting of a fungus living symbiotically with an alga. Lichens grow on bark and rocks, and flourish in areas that have clean air quality. Air pollution in the city limits the size and diversity of lichens on campus, but the cemetery provides a good habitat for lichens which like different kinds of stone. A trip up Spencer's Butte or Mt. Pisgah would feature many more varieties of fruticose lichens such as usnea longissima or 'old man's beard.' Foliose (leaf-like) and crustose (crust-like) lichens like the cemetery.

Daphne Stone points out the fruiting bodies of
the foliose lichens (xanthoparmelia sp.).

Lichens are exceptionally slow growing. In addition to providing a good surface for lichens to grow on, the date on a tombstone can indicate the maximum age of the lichen growing on it. This foliose lichen may grow in radius a maximum of 1 millimeter per year. The thallus (lichen body) at the lower right is 11 centimeters in diameter, so this lichen could be around 50 or more years old and perhaps date back to Eisenhower (1953-61), maybe Herbert Hoover (1929-33), or even William H. Taft (1909-13). And on it grows.

A close up of the fruiting bodies of xanthoparmelia sp.
on the south face of the gravestone of John Howe (d. 1910).
The lichen at the lower right is 11 cm in diameter.

Lichens give us hope. Seek clean air. Live with your fellow organisms while creating mutually beneficial relationships. Recognize and honor the diversity within your species. Continue to grow, however slowly, knowing that fruiting bodies will someday become visible. Be like lichen.

For more lichen photographs click here

Beneath the Helmets: an Exclusive Profile of Library Motorcyclists

by Mark Watson

Has the thought of mounting a motorcycle, rocking the throttle and riding off through the countryside on a twisty back road ever crossed your mind? One weekend at Lane Community College riding the parking lot range with your Team Oregon instructor yelling encouragement could put a motorcycle endorsement on your driver's license. Over the years, a number of Library employees have taken the plunge and now enjoy the freedom, fresh air, free parking and lower fuel costs that go along with commuting and riding for pleasure on motorcycles. These folks were recently asked some questions about what they ride and why. Here's what they had to say:

Leslie Bennett:

1. What is the year and model of your current ride?

• Honda Goldwing 2002Gl-1800

2. What other motorcycles have you owned, if any?

• I should preface this by the fact that I haven't owned any of these (other than in name). This is a life-long fascination of my husband and he has owned many, many more than these in his lifetime. These are just what we've owned since we've been together: 2001 Harley-Davidson Heritage Classic ; 1984 Honda Goldwing Standard; 1997 Honda Valkyrie; 1992 Yamaha Venture Royale.

3. What would be your dream bike to own?

• We've got it ... the Honda Goldwing.

4. How long have you been riding?

• Since 1988 - 14 years.

• Just for pleasure

6. Do you have a favorite ride?

• My favorite ride(s) are those around Eugene-to Junction city, via Hwy 99 and back through Coburg- or out the Loraine Hwy to Crow/Applegate. The beauty of these rides, no matter what the season, is that you can experience the smell and sounds of each season and find something new every time.

(story continued)

Annie's Winter Spring

by Jen Lindsey

We always thought of Annie as a little angel dog. She came into my family's lives at a time when we needed someone, something to love. And she was a perfect fit. We got Annie when I was 12. My grandma had recently passed away, and her passing was very hard on my little family. She had been ill for some time, and it had been the focal point of our lives. Suddenly, we were adrift, broken. But one of my dad's customers had the answer to our troubles, even if she didn't know it. She raised Pulis to show and breed, and had bought Annie, a cocker spaniel, for fun. She thought she might breed her, her line had many champions and she was so beautiful. After researching her family tree, however, she found that cataracts were common and decided to spay her instead. Annie was languishing in the Puli world, just hanging out. So her owner asked my dad if we wanted a dog.

Did we? Of course we did! Annie was perfect, the best-looking cocker spaniel I'd ever seen. Her color was silver buff, and she was so well-behaved! When her previous owner dropped her off at my dad's shop, I remember she was so excited to see us, she piddled on the sidewalk. My sisters and I were that excited too, but we restrained ourselves from showing it too much.

We had had Annie for only a few months when Christmas rolled around...our first Christmas without my grandma. How would it be? We were all prepared for it to be awful, but Annie had other ideas.

One of the best Christmas traditions (in my humble opinion, of course), is choosing the tree. Nowadays, we're all so busy that it usually gets picked up from a tree lot in town. But when I was younger, my parents would pack me, my two sisters, and Annie up in our old Pontiac and go up to the snow. Ski jackets and snow boots were dug out of storage, hot chocolate and coffee were thermosed in preparation for the cold day ahead, the roof racks were put on the car in anticipation of the perfect tree. We all piled into the car and headed out the North Umpqua Highway, stopping briefly at the ranger station to procure a tree permit. And then we were on our way, Christmas carols on the radio and the flush of excitement (and too many layers of clothing) on our faces.

A few hours later, the newness of our quest had worn off, replaced by cold feet and noses, and a cranky family. Our search for the perfect tree had been fruitless - everything was too big, or too small, or lopsided, or dead on one side—and we were disheartened. All except for Annie. Dogs love snow; I've never really understood why. But she was so happy, nose to the ground, smelling invisible squirrels or gophers or deer. We had let her off her leash, we were in the middle of the Umpqua National Forest in the cold of winter and she never strayed far from us anyhow. Suddenly, she took off running, not too fast, but fast enough for us to be concerned. All thoughts of the tree vanished as we chased our precious dog further into the forest. "Maybe one of the squirrels isn't invisible after all," we were thinking. "Where could she be going in all this snow?"

It turns out that Annie had found magic in that forest. When we caught up to her, she was sitting at the edge of a natural hot spring. It wasn't huge or deep (maybe ten feet across), but it was there, and it was beautiful. There was ice around the edges, it looked like a lace collar and sparkled like a diamond. The clearing around it was ringed with stately firs, and branches and grass poked up through the sparse snow on the ground all around the spring. We all just stood there and stared, transfixed. To my memory, I had never seen anything that beautiful. I don't think I have since. I think if we could have, we would have stayed there forever. Seeing that place rejuvenated us, and of course, we found the perfect tree just a few feet from the clearing.

Maybe it wasn't a magical spring, maybe it was. But I do know that that little dog helped heal us that day—not just from the troubles of the day, but of the last year which had been so hard for all of us. And Christmas without my Grandma? It wasn't the same, but it was okay. We had been truly blessed.

Diversity Committee Annual Report

By Karen Munro

2004 was a very productive year for the Library Diversity Committee (LDC), and for diversity at the University of Oregon overall. The appointment of Gregory Vincent as Vice Provost for Institutional Equity and Diversity was a major advance for diversity affairs across campus. Vice Provost Vincent will work to coordinate diversity activities across the university, and to develop a plan for the institution's recruitment and retention of minority students, staff, and faculty.

Here in the library, we kicked off the year with an invitation to members of CoDaC and to Gregory Vincent to speak to library staff and faculty about their work. John and Robin discussed the development of a "cultural competency" component to students' education. Gregory explained his role as a policy-maker and leader in developing strategies for drawing minority faculty and students to the university. Library staff and faculty had great suggestions about how CoDaC could draw on library resources and expertise to achieve their goals.

(story continued)

Have a favorite poem?

Poetry will be the theme of an upcoming issue of LSA News. We'd like to find out what poems are particular favorites among library staff. If a particular poem, whether ancient or contemporary, in English or in another language, has touched you in a special way, tell us the name and author of the poem, and we'll try to include it in that issue. (If the poem is not in the public domain, we may need to ask for permission to publish it; if you wish to suggest a contemporary poem, try to contract us fairly soon.) You may suggest more than one poem. Also, if you are a poet, or know someone in the library who is, please consider contributing some poetry to that issue of LSA News. Contact us if you'd like to suggest a poem or have something you might want to contribute to our newsletter.

Four Score in Presidential 'Fact File'

Our November Fact File contest brought out the presidential historians among us, as we asked you to name some Americans who sat in the big chair in the Oval Office. Four staff members demonstrated their impressive historical knowledge by scoring ten out of ten. Chosen at random, our winner is Jen Lindsey of Access Services, who will be receiving a gift certificate worth $5.00 toward purchases at the UO Bookstore. Kudos also to Carol Lenocker, Travis Honea and Bill Murray, who demonstrated flawless command of past commanders-in-chief.

You can revisit the clues in the November LSA News Fact File.

The Answers:

1. Franklin D. Roosevelt
2. Calvin Coolidge
3. Rutherford B. Hayes
4. Lyndon Johnson
5. Andrew Jackson
6. Grover Cleveland
7. William Henry Harrison
8. Harry Truman
9. John F. Kennnedy
10. Thomas Jefferson

Events of Interest

LSA EVENTS

The Library Staff Association Holiday Sale will be held on Tuesday, December 7, 2004 from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. in the Knight Library Browsing Room. Bruce Tabb has once more graciously agreed to donate a wonderful dessert to be raffled off. Tickets are $1 each.

If you plan to sell anything at the Sale, please accompany your merchandise with an itemized list that includes prices, and bring it to the Browsing Room after 9:30 a.m. on the day of the Sale. Please make sure each individual item has a price on it. In the past the Sale has featured art, crafts, preserves, a "jumble table", plants and seeds - just about anything! (But please - nothing alive except plants.)

If you have questions or would like to help with the Sale, please email Pam DeLaittre or phone her at 6-1826.

Whether buying or selling, you can pay your LSA dues at the Sale. Dues are $6, and Library Administration has graciously agreed to match half of that amount. Your LSA dues help support programs such as the Tree Walks, Gonzo Revue, and outside speakers, and help pay for the newspapers in the staff lounge.

Sign-up sheets are posted in the Knight Staff Lounge, or you can contact a member of the Social Committee to let them know what you are bringing. If you'd like to help with the potluck, or can bring greenery for decoration, please email Raina Smith or phone her at 6-1837. Former Library employees who need transportation to the Potluck should contact Stephanie Midkiff at 541-346-1661 or smidkiff@law.uoregon.edu.

NON-LSA EVENTS

Marilyn Mohr recommends the Third Annual Benefit Concert for Famine Relief in Southern Africa at Cozmic Pizza, corner of 8th and Charnelton, on Saturday, December 4, 2004 beginning at 7 p.m. There is a suggested donation of $10 for this event, which includes a full night of lighting by Phantazmagoria Lights and music by Kutsinhira Marimba Youth Ensemble, Vakasara Mbira, Njuzu Mbira (from Portland), and Kudana Marimba. Marilyn's daughter Grace is with the youth ensemble and Marilyn herself plays mbira with Vakasara.

The performance on Sunday, December 5 is a benefit for Thurston's Colts & Kilts group, which is headed to Scotland in August 2005 to perform a new play about teen suicide by William Mastrosimone. There will be a prize drawing after the play. Grand prize is a two-hour Christmas lights tour in a stretch limousine for the lucky winner and 9 friends. Many delightful prize baskets will also be awarded. You need not be present to win. Raffle tickets are $2.00 each, or 3 for $5.00. Email or phone Lonni Sexton in MDLS at 346-1843 for raffle tickets.

People in the Library

Welcome

Jennifer Hufman assumed the position of Purchasing Assistant in Facilities and Purchasing on November 9, 2004. Jennifer studied history and medieval studies, with an emphasis on medieval art history, at the University of Oregon. She lives in Eugene with her fiancé and their pets, cat Zoe and dogs Gumbo and Jasper. In her last job, she worked in inventory control and purchasing for a manufacturer of archery products. Welcome, Jennifer!

Photo courtesy of Laine Stambaugh.

Congratulations

Each year the University Libraries recognizes the outstanding contributions of library faculty members to the University Libraries and the information science profession by bestowing the Richard and Mary Corrigan Solari Faculty Fellowship Awards. In addition to the esteem of their colleagues, winners receive an award of $3,000 to fund professional development and their names are added to an honorary plaque in the lobby of Knight Library.

This year, the University Libraries honored two faculty members who have made lasting contributions to the library and to the profession through hard work and creative vision:

Carol Hixson, Head of Metadata and Digital Library Services
Lori Robare, Cataloger and Assistant Head of Metadata and Digital Library Services

Over the past year, Hixson reorganized the library's Catalog Department into what has become Metadata and Digital Library Services (MDLS). Under Hixson's strong leadership, MDLS has initiated and developed many collaborative projects within the Libraries and across the region, including Scholars' Bank, a digital repository for results of research conducted at the UO, and Western Waters Digital Library, an online collection of historical and contemporary resources focused on the Columbia River Basin. The collection includes digitized texts, maps, historical photographs, and aerial photographs, and will soon include video and audio files.

In more than ten years of service to the University Libraries, Robare has distinguished herself as a skilled and dedicated librarian, a knowledgeable and temperate colleague, and a creative and dependable collaborator. On the strength of these fine attributes and her dogged work ethic, Lori has achieved great success in her field both regionally and nationally. As co-chair of the Joint Initiative on Subject Training Materials, a project of the Program for Cooperative Cataloging and the Association for Library Collections & Technical Services, Lori led a national effort to develop a training program to teach cataloging skills in subject analysis.

Congratulations, Carol and Lori!

Goodbyes

Nate Walker, formerly a library technician in Access Services, resigned on November 11, 2004. He will pursue a professional degree in architecture at the University of Oregon. Nate worked in Circulation/Reserves for two years. Thank you and good luck, Nate.

Changes at the editorial desk

Two staff members join the LSA News editorial team join us beginning with this issue. Laura Damiani has taken on the duties of editing photographs in the newsletter. Laura is the reserve clerk at the AAA Library. She is an avid photographer and bluegrass musician and enjoys hiking and backpacking. Nathan Georgitis, Special Projects Team Leader and Metadata Librarian in Metadata and Digital Library Services, will be peforming a number of editorial duties. Some of Nathan's passions are canoeing, poetry and The Phish.

We say thank you to two departing members of the team. Hilary Hart helped us revive the newsletter and resume regular publication following a period of sporadic publication. Lonni Sexton, one of the original staff members who helped launch LSA News in 1998, is taking what we trust will be a temporary leave of absence. Those of us who've worked with her appreciate her editorial good sense and eye for detail, as well as her wry sense of humor.

View from Mt. Pisgah hiking trail on Thanksgiving Day photo by Laura Damiani

Been to an interesting conference?

Send us a brief report for publication in the next newsletter. Thanks!

Last updated: 030902
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