that time i remembered how to read

From the time I submitted my final paper for Foundations of Library and Information Science until the spring semester officially began on Tuesday of last week, I had just over five weeks to live life on my own terms without assignments or quizzes or articles or textbook chapters or discussion boards.  A significant amount of that time was eaten up by holiday preparations and the holidays themselves, which were, despite a case of strep throat and just over a day lost to a stomach virus, uniformly lovely.  But just as noteworthy in blogging terms as Christmas baking and parties and presents was that during my break from school, I rejoined the ranks of readers, consuming six books.  Let me tell you about them, please.

Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins


The circumstances:  Since I started my expanded teen gig back in the fall, I've been feeling not so cool about the fact that I don't read much young adult fiction these days.  Additionally, every time I think that, I want to punch someone over the name young adult fiction.  So when I got tired of being the only person in the world who hadn't read this trilogy and when my long-time stooge (non-internet friends will know her as Sam the page) offered them to me in audiobook format so I could listen to them on the way home for Christmas, I knew my time had come.  I actually got a head start on them by listening to the first one as I did some holiday baking and then consuming the second in day I spent languishing in my bed of sickness.  And because I couldn't wait any longer, I polished off the third a few days later several day before I began my trip home.

The verdict:  A few disks into Hunger Games (because I didn't actually read them with my eyes, I have no concept of the number of pages or chapters), I thought to myself that I could totally understand the mass appeal of this book--but it also seemed a little formulaic to me.  And then a disk or so later, I acknowledged that I too had been sucked in, formulaic or not.  I really enjoyed the first one, and I was eager to see the story develop in the second . . . but that's when the hopelessness and futility started to make me itch.  I would still say that I liked Catching Fire, but things were starting to fall apart for me, and by the time I started Mockingjay, I was worn out by the misery.  Much like my final verdict on watching Lost, I can only handle characters I've grown to care about being miserable for so long before self-preservation kicks in, and I have to remove myself emotionally from the story.  That happened here.  And in case you are wondering whether I was rooting for Peeta or Gale (and yes, I just had to look up how to spell their names on the internet), I was rooting for everyone except Katniss.  She was my least favorite.  Maybe I was rooting for Haymitch most of all.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman

The circumstances:  After the Hunger Games saga, I was in the market for something else to listen to on my drive to Kentucky, so I explored some options.  What I really wanted was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo as it was the January selection of my online Peeps book club, but there was a hold list at the library, so I went with the coworker recommended Magicians instead.  I also got the book itself in case I got four hours into the story and wanted to keep going while I was at my moma's house and not in the car.  I listened to it all the way home, but never felt the need to crack open the book while I was in Kentucky.  I put another four hours into it on the way home, and I was still waiting for something to happen.  When I got back to work, Jonathan had started listening to it as well, and though I was further ahead, we shared a similar feeling that something was lacking, but I forged ahead and finally finished it on a lazy Saturday.

The verdict:  I hated the person who narrated the audiobook which I'm sure influenced my overall experience, but I just didn't enjoy it.  At all.  I tried to--I kept expecting for it to click with me as so many people had extolled the greatness of the book, but I never got it.  I don't recommend anyone ever reading this book (least of all you, my dear imaginary readers), but if you think you might someday read it, go ahead and skip down to the next paragraph to avoid some spoilers.  The book is about this teenager who gets accepted to a magical college (leading someone to mistakenly tell me that the book was like a grown-up Harry Potter, which is the most insulting thing anyone's ever said about Harry).  The kid is completely unlikable (even worse than Katniss Everdeen) and profoundly unhappy to boot.  But when he discovers this magical world waiting for him, he's sure that he's figured out why he's been unhappy.  And then he's unhappy being magical.  And then he's unhappy some more.  And then later, he's unhappy.  Also he's obsessed with this series of books he read as a child where a family of English children are sent to a manor in the country side and discover a portal to another world where animals talk and there's a wicked queen to defeat and they become royalty.  The land is governed by wise,moral and very stately rams who might as well be named Aslan, because my goodness, it's such a blatant rip-off of the Chronicles of Narnia that I wanted to scream.  And then it ends badly and the most likable character dies and it just gets worse from there.  The dumb kid (who's in his mid-twenties by the time the book actually ends) never stops whining and wallowing in his own unhappiness, and there's actually a sequel (and a third book coming soon) and a movie to be made of the mess, but I've washed my hands of it all.  Don't ever read this book.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson

The circumstances:  By the time that I got home from my holiday trip, this audiobook had come in for me--plus I bought the paperback as a little present to myself, so I was ready to give it a whirl so I could attend book club for the first time since we started it back up--and so I could go see Daniel Craig as I have a strict policy about not seeing movies if I haven't read the books.  I listened to about a third of it, but the names were confusing without being able to see them, so I switched to the print version.  I started it on a Saturday evening and finished it before bedtime on Sunday with plenty of time to spare before book club on Monday.

The verdict:  It's a slow start, and the Swedish names can be a bit confusing, but once I got into it, I was hooked.  The mystery bit was intriguing, and I found the main characters really interesting, and although it ended up being fairly graphic and brutal in places, I thought it was well worth the read.  I still haven't seen Daniel Craig, but I'll get to that eventually.  My enjoyment of this one made me place holds on the remaining two books in the series, but so far I haven't made a start on them yet.  Maybe during spring break . . .

Julie & Julia by Julie Powell

The circumstances:  I saw Peep Martha the morning of book club, and she warned me that I might get the chance to choose the next book since I was showing up at chat and hadn't had a turn picking yet, so I did some research that day so I would feel prepared.  I was looking for something that would be a light change of pace form the intensity of Dragon Tattoo, and everything I knew of this book fit the bill, so I picked it.  So with only one more week between me and the start of the new semester, I decided to go ahead and try to make a dent in it, so that I'd be prepared for our February book chat even if my classes did try to kill me.  Luckily, in that week, I had another trip to Kentucky, but this time I would be a passenger--and be traveling twice as far to get to Pinkie's birthday party, so there were plenty of reading opportunities along the way.

The verdict:  I laughed out loud at the book enough in the car that my moma wants to read it.  I'll have to warn her about Julie Powell's potty-mouth, but even with her propensity of dropping the f-bomb enough to make me blush, I really enjoyed it.  It was often insane and sometimes unintentionally sad, but it was still a delight.  And now I get to watch the movie--which I always thought looked cute but was unavailable to me because I hadn't read the book.

Since the start of my semester, I've also read a few gems such as the back cover of Bossypants by Tina Fey, which had me in fits of hysterical laughter, and two chapters in The Neal-Schuman Library Technology Companion, which is a real page-turner, let me assure you.  Next up is a couple chapters of Information Representation and Retrieval in the Digital Age.  I'm pumped about that as you might imagine.  It was a joy to be back in the land of the pleasure reader for a while, and I'm determined to not let so much time pass before I sneak back for another visit.  In the meantime, for those of my faithful followers who are not hip-deep in library textbooks, what are you reading?

harry potter haiku #8

Just when you thought your dreams of a haiku-less existence were finally coming true:

Some dragon smuggling

(Hagrid's a bad influence)

leads to detentions

I solemnly swear that this is the last Hagrid-bashing I'll do for a while.

Forbidden forest

something's killing unicorns

centaur saves Harry

Stay tuned because sometime in the next year I'll finish the first book and move on to Chamber.

i am overcome by my harry potter obsession at inexplicable times

Last night I was minding my own business on Pinterest.  Okay, that's a lie.  The whole point of Pinterest is that you're minding everyone else's business--but mostly people want their Pinterest business minded, so it's not a bad thing to do.  And someone pinned some piece of HP information that drew me to an their entire board of Potter deliciousness.  And then I lost an hour of my life.

Then I got to thinking about Wordle and how I've never made a beautiful wordle thing, and how my office would never be complete until I had a Harry Potter themed Wordle gracing its walls.  So I worked on it and worked on it and worked some more (and lost hours more of my life), and I think if I can get it to print the way that I want, I'll have something spectacular to show for it eventually.  Here's what it's going to look like maybe unless I change it again.

 

(I hope that doesn't publish as tiny as it looks in this composing screen.  Sorry if it is.)

harry potter haiku #7

Faithful readers will recall that I enthusiastically started a series of haiku honoring Harry Potter which I abandoned with a decided lack of enthusiasm when life got to be so life-ish.  I left off when I was still using Sorcerer's Stone as my inspiration, so that's where we are again.

Loose lips sink ships and

Hagrid's always flapping his.

Dude can't keep secrets.

After one tongue-slip,

the gang searches for Flamel

Library fails them.

Let me interrupt the poetry to mention that although Hermione's all a magical genius and stuff, she clearly lacks good research skills.  And I don't just mean the Flamel debacle in book 1.  As my blogging brother pointed out a while back: How in the world could she not have found out about either gillyweed or the bubblehead charm  as underwater breathing options in Goblet?  Are we to believe that the book the fake Moody gave Neville was the only book that mentions gillyweed?  And in Order the bubblehead charm is so well-known and easy to perform that students use it to avoid dungbombs in the corridors, so are we really to expect that it's not in any of the spell books that she reads trying to help Harry?  I love Hermione, but maybe they should have been nicer to Madame Pince.  I guarantee she could have steered them in the right direction.  Librarians are good people.  

Hagrid blabs again

selling out Dumbledore for

an illegal egg.

A baby dragon

that's born in a wooden house

nothing but trouble

Four in a row!  You're on the edge of your seat now, aren't you?  But I'll save the rest for another time.

*****Plagiarizing blogger's note:  I've updated the Hermione as a researcher rant to give proper credit to Shane for his inspiration.  I couldn't handle the pressure of you people thinking that I was smart enough to have figured that out.*****

harry potter haiku #6

Blogger has not been a friend to me lately, but enough of the excuses.

On Halloween night

a troll brings them together

with Hermione.

harry potter haiku #5

Malfoy's bigotry

uncovers Harry's talent

Gryffindor seeker

harry potter haiku #4

I had a a few written ahead of starting this project, but after this one, I'm caught up.  Now's your chance to pray that my writer's block kicks in and ends this series.

Sorting is stressful

if you don't want Slytherin

but the hat listens.

harry potter haiku #3

The saga continues in poetry.  I'm pretty sure this is the least noticed/responded to thing I've ever written, but I'm not going to let your indifference stop me.  Sorry, friends.

On Hogwart's Express

Harry and Ron are besties.

Ron's nose is dirty.

harry potter haiku #2

Yesterday, I shared with you the inspiration behind the new series.  Hope you don't hate it already because it's completing my life.

Hagrid breaks the news
but not 'til he's eleven,
he's the boy who lived.

And another--because I can't wait to share this one--that's my favorite so far:

In Ollivander's

Phoenix feather chooses him

a curious choice.

This could take a while to work out of my system.  Patience, please.

harry potter haiku #1

A few weeks ago at work someone sent me the following in an email:

Fighting Voldemort
from the comfort of this chair
in my library

It changed my world.  How could I never have considered devoting my favorite form of poetry to what is arguably my favorite series of books?  No longer, imaginary readers, no longer will the world have to muddle through a sham of an existence without my contribution to bad Harry Potter poetry.  Today I present the beginning of a new series.  Sometimes I think my long streams of haikus sort of ruin each other.  They're meant to be short, after all.  So for this project, I'll be presenting the haiku one at a time in roughly chronological order.  Today I present a haiku inspired by Sorcerer's Stone.

 On Four Privet Drive
the cupboard under the stairs,
lives Harry Potter.

You feel your life changing already, don't ya?  Stay tuned for more.  I've got a few in the hopper of which I am excessively proud.

be impressed by this

I know no one wants to hear any more about my dumb phone and how I ruined it (and cost myself a bunch of money in the process) anymore, so instead I'm going to blog about a recent success that should impress the pants off you, imaginary readers.  For the sake of others, please don't read this in public.  I don't want to be responsible for your pants flying off and freaking anyone out.

I had to put my plarn mat project on hold recently to take care of a more time-sensitive crafty project.  My friend Mo is having a baby sometime soon and the Peeps threw her a baby shower last weekend.  Here's how cute it was:

There were some good eats too, and pregnant Mo is fairly precious (but her baby bump and the cheesy bacon bites are not the impressive thing).  Peep Amy made the perfect, perfect cake.

Peep Amy has a cake-decorating blog that she updates very sporadically.  Apparently working full-time and raising two of the sweetest boys in the world and creating the most amazing cakes doesn't leave her much time to write about them.  I'll forgive her if she'll continue to make me cakes occasionally.  The cake, while magnificent, is not the titular impressive thing.

 Here are the peep girls at the shower with Luke hiding his face but no Calla because she was having kind of a hard life right then.  This cute but poorly lit picture doesn't really have anything to do with the thing that's going to impress you, but I like us and we're cute, so I wanted to include it.

Technically these next few photos aren't the thing that's going to impress you either, but I do think these two delights are impressively cute.  I love them.

 I know it looks like she's just about to stand up and take off, but this is actually her method of not crawling.  She gets up like this and plants her bottom in whatever new direction she's trying to move.  It's awkward but effective.

I took roughly four thousand pictures of the tweeps on this afternoon, but in a surprising number of them, the more mobile Calla is blocking Luke. 

This face is hilarious.  She has a very skeptical brow sometimes.  And has been previously discussed on the blog, the Clintster would make a pretty, pretty girl.

So we're getting to the impressive thing just any second now:  My brilliant bit of creativity factors into the shower in the gift-opening.  Back in the fall, I made the tweeps wee striped hats since they were going to be cold-weather babies.  This baby is due in late-May and won't be requiring much in the way of warm head coverings, so I had sort of written off the idea of a knitted gift, until this book came into my life:

I was charmed by all the cuteness but intimidated by the intricacies of the patterns.  But since there were several animal projects that fit right into Mo's decorative scheme, and because I occasionally get confident (over-confident?) in my own ability to accomplish things, I ultimately decided to tackle a project for a lion that reverses to an elephant.  (Spoiler alert:  I don't think this is the last we'll see of projects from this adorable book.)

Like the irresponsible blogger/crafter I am, I didn't take pictures documenting the project, but here's what the finished project looks like:

 the lion side

 the elephant side

 the back views

 I know it's not polite, but if you look up the elephant's skirt, here's what you see:  a wadded-up lion.

 And if you look up the lion's skirt, the scrunched elephant.

 The bottoms of the heads are stitched together for some stability, so it can't be a two-headed beast, so this is the only way you can see both animals at once.

So that's how my most recent knitting turned out.  I'm just the tiniest bit proud of it, but since I learned this week not to have so much pride in my own accomplishments, I'm not going to make any promises that the little liophant won't fall apart tomorrow, but I do hope that it'll last for the next four weeks or so until the Raspberry is born.

perfection, bliss, or why every good thing begins and ends with my moma

Have I ever told you, imaginary readers, about my moma?  Probably not.  So let me fix that now . . . you see, I'm sort of a fan.  In fact, folks reading about her here might think I was embellishing or exaggerating her awesomeness, but truly I'm not.  She's just as great as she seems here.  And the Popster?  Well, he's not too shabby himself.  So please indulge me as I sing their praises.  After all, it's not like I do it all the time.

As the youngest kid in my family, I'm the only one of us who ever lived at home with my moma and the Popster without siblings.  My senior year of high school when Joshua was at UK and after Michelle had moved away (Shane had been long gone for years), I was a mostly only child in our old Kentucky home out in the country.  That was kind of a lonely year as I adjusted to life without Michelle (don't tell her, but I hated having our room to myself) and because my moma and the Popster were heavily involved in renovating our new Kentucky home in town where we would move just a month after I graduated.  I was pretty useless to the remodeling process, and probably too selfish and lazy to help much anyway.

After we moved, Joshua was home for the summer, so that one doesn't count, but for the next four summers, I would come home from school and be an only child for three glorious months.  I quickly learned to love it.  We were a happy little trio.  I never really went through one of those rebellious teenage phases where my parents were lame morons who wouldn't let me have any fun.  I don't mean to imply that life was always perfect or that we lived like some sort of idyllic scene from a 50s sitcom.  We argued, I'm sure because I like to argue.  I'll assume I was stubborn and loud and lazy and messy (as I'm still those things now), but when I remember that time, I mostly just remember us being happy, having fun, and laughing. 

There are countless little memories that we still talk about that are just for the three or us--or sometimes the three of us and Grams, who I'm closer to than most of the other grandkids just because I had those summers at home with her after Gramps died.  That's when I became her favorite (but don't tell her I said that because she doesn't like to admit it).  All that time spent together is why I can still crack her up (or my moma and the Popster) by mentioning the maple syrup in her sandal or the cake that flipped out of the fridge.  I could tell you either of those stories, and you'd barely crack a smile, but being there for them . . . I wouldn't trade them for anything.  All the stories aren't funny, but we still love them.  If I remind my moma of the summer that I officially learned to cook and took on the project of keeping the refrigerator clean and organized, she'll do that squinty smile and say, "didn't we have fun?"

There's one story that was seriously un-funny at the time but sort of illustrates what our life was like (and which has long since become just another funny thing we say).  One summer day, after a weekend where the other kids had been home to visit, my moma told me that I was less funny when the other kids were around.  In her words, it was like I wasn't even trying.  I got my feelings hurt big-time, and it's probably one of the maddest and meanest times I've had with her.  She hadn't meant it as the insult I took it as--she really was wondering why I didn't entertain the troops in the same way that I tickled her and the Popster.  It was practically a compliment to how hilarious and fun she found me on my own, but it still stung (because I'm a giant baby) that she thought I was less hilarious and fun when the siblings were around.  And to be honest with ten years' worth of maturity, I can probably say that I wasn't as funny when the other kids were home because I was jealous and selfish and probably just wanted them to leave me alone with my happy family of three (but of course, I don't feel that way now and everyone adores me and thinks I'm hilarious without even trying).

So now that you know the ridiculously long and unnecessary history of my life as an only child, let me get to the point (or at least nearer the point).  Although it happens rarely these days, I love to go home when no one else is going to be there, so that I can get the olds to myself and soak up all the spoiling attention.  Since Grams moved to Arkansas last year, my moma and the Popster have made the trip to see us all down here so much more frequently that it's been harder to find a weekend when they're actually at home.  Last fall, I was hungry for my old Kentucky home but between their trips here, Pointer's birthday in Virginia and teaching my four-year-olds on Sundays, we just couldn't make it work, but I vowed then that the second I was done teaching after the winter quarter, I was coming home for a weekend for just me.  As it approached, I felt too selfish to actually go through with that, so I invited the sibs and their crews to meet me there, but luckily, no one did.

So nearly two weeks ago now, I spent a lazy, agenda-less weekend with my two favorite people in the world.  Friday night as I was making my way to them, they were coming home from Frankfort where my moma had a work training all day.  I had talked to her during our drives, and because they had to stop by the grocery somewhere along their way, it seemed like I might actually beat them there by a few minutes, but as I've never given back my key to the house, that wasn't going to be a deal.  I don't know if the Popster sped up or I slowed down, but as I was pulling up to the house and preparing to make the left turn in the driveway, I saw I would have to wait for a car to go by first.  Then as the car slowed down, I realized that it was them, and that we basically arrived at the driveway at the exact same time.  We couldn't have planned that or repeated it in a million tries.  And I think it was a sign of great things to come. 

When I went upstairs to bed on Friday night, I wasn't quite ready for sleep, so I thought I needed to read for just a few minutes to make me tired.  I have, over the years, stored tons of books under the bed in my old room.  We've gone through and weeded before, and they're mostly things that both my moma and I have read and reread over the years, so I chose something I hadn't read since high school probably and read at least two pages before I fell asleep.  Saturday morning I told her that I was finally ready to let go of at least part of the books taking up all that space, so we vaguely said we'd go through them sometime.

But that was too much like work for the Saturday we had planned.  Instead we watched movies and forced the Popster to endure as many girly ones as he could stand.  We worked on putting together the hardest jigsaw puzzle ever--in the shape of a dolphin, no less.  And we talked and talked and talked some more.  I love hearing about the goings-on in our little town.  I love that it's a small enough place that even though I haven't lived there for ten years, I can still remember who she's talking about.  She had been to the funeral home earlier that week, which is always the place to go to see folks you haven't in a while.  Thanks to facebook, I keep tabs on more people from high school than I used to, so I sometimes know the gossip before she does these days, but talking to my moma about the latest Clinton news will always be one of the best things about being home.

The movie/puzzle marathon stretched into the evening, when we finally took a break to eat dinner.  I hadn't wanted my moma to fuss over cooking the whole time I was home, but she still managed to ensure that we had one of my all-time favorites:  pork chops from Nicky's, the oldest and most legendary barbecue establishment in town (and yes, our town of roughly 1600 people supports at least three barbecue restaurants--don't ask me how).  Nicky's pork chops are huge and delicious and perfect, and I had been craving one for months.  Also she made me a pie--one that wouldn't completely derail all my healthy-eating choices.

On Sunday afternoon, we finally got around to that book-purge.  I was overwhelmed to discover that she had started a book annex under Joshua's bed because mine was full.  I couldn't let go of everything, but we got rid of over half of them, so we're back to just storing them just under my bed.  There were a few that I couldn't remember well enough to know if I wanted to send them away or not, so I came home with five or six books that I devoured in about four days, and that little kick of obsessive behavior helped me to figure out Lent, as faithful readers may recall.

In the book-purging process, I was reminded of what else lives under my bed:  the four plastic tubs that contain our baby afghans and baby books and special outfits and mementos of our childhoods.  So we went through my box and oohed and aahed over tiny clothes that I remember only from pictures, the afghan that my moma knitted for me (that's prettier than the other kids' afghans), and the baby book that was more filled-in than my moma feared.  There were cards that had accompanied gifts from my birth and first couple of birthdays.  I especially loved two different letters written by one of my great-aunts, who I generally consider both from stories I've heard and my own memories to be one of the meanest women ever.  The letters were both so sweet and full of little snippets about my beloved great-grandmother that for a moment anyway, I could concede that the lady wasn't pure evil.  My box also contained report cards and school awards and a few saved art projects and stories, which I found both charming and embarrassing.  One of the funniest moments was when I came across a certificate I had gotten for honor roll or perfect attendance or something that entitled me to a free kids' meal at Druther's, which went out of business so long ago I'd all but forgotten it existed. (Special note to Shane:  the Druther's certificate was the story I wanted to tell you last night.)

Eventually I had to tear myself away from my moma and the Popster (and the dolphin puzzle that we didn't have time to finish) to come back to the dreary reality of work, but everyday, ordinary perfection of spending relaxing, uninterrupted time with them has been a balm that makes the days a little easier.  That's just the nature of our relationship.  I'm a better person for how they raised me, but I'm a happier person just because they exist.  Just imagine what a rotten grump I would be without them.

is this our meet cute?

My first post back after a longer absence than I intended was supposed to be all about the perfect weekend I just spent with my moma and the Popster.  I'm sort of pleased to have a new, more immediate blogging need crop up (though I'll get back to my moma, the Popster, and perfection one day soon).

About forty-five minutes from the end of my drive home tonight, I got a text from my blogging brother saying the first thing I had to do upon arriving home was read FHDM's latest blog post.  (Yes, I read the text while driving.  I'm sorry.)  I couldn't imagine anything short of an engagement announcement would create such an immediate need, so I was in a bit of a wondering state for the last leg of my drive, but it very handily kept me more awake and alert than my recent audio-book-love revival could.

I was relieved and excited to discover that the post, rather than dashing my future marital prospects, gave me an opportunity to win a copy of one of FHDM's books.  My first thought was that I already owned that book and that I might be too sleepy to post something just to get a free book.  My second thought was that receiving gifts is not my love language so it wouldn't really matter if FHDM gave me a book for free, but it's FHDM we're talking about here, imaginary readers.  I'm pretty sure any respectable soulmate would never allow fatigue or a mild obsession with love languages to stand in the way of future happiness, so here I am posting a video and providing an amazon link to the freshly released paperback version of the only of FHDM's books that I haven't read.  Never mind that I already own a hardback copy.  Never mind that I've owned said copy for more than a year and still not read it.

Maybe I'll give my copy away.  Maybe I'll keep the paperback for sentimental reasons and let someone have my very unused hardback.  I secretly prefer paperbacks anyway.  Maybe I'll take so long getting the video embedded and correcting my spelling mistakes that I won't be among the first thirty anyway.  But in soulmate affairs (no, not that kind of affair), one must always try.  So here goes:


What story are you telling? from Rhetorik Creative on Vimeo.

I'd also like to add that my admiration for FHDM (obviously) goes much deeper than the physical, but I do think he's kind of adorable in this video.  He has crinkly eyes, and I love that about him.  I'd still want to be his FWES without the eye crinkles, but I'm considering them the icing on the cake.

a guest post from flat stanley

There was a largish envelope in my mailbox when I got home Monday night.  Inside I found Stanley, who came from Bird by way of Nana.  So far he's been a delightful houseguest, and we've had such fun together, that I asked him if he'd share with my imaginary readers here all of our adventures.  He very politely accepted.  Take it away, Stanley:

Thanks, Aunt Ellen, it's great to be here with the loyal fans of the opinions.  And of course, I can't say enough nice things about the good time you've been showing me.

Monday night I came out of the mailbox so late I thought we'd probably just introduce ourselves and turn in for the night, but apparently Aunt Ellen keeps much later hours than Nana and Popa because she hadn't even had dinner yet.  She let me cut up some vegetables for a salad, and we even had an apple dumpling for dessert. 

 
Aunt Ellen has new bedding, and I got to be one of the first people to see it.  She even had a small pillow just right for me, but she still wasn't ready for sleep.

We read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for a while.  We were very close to the end, so it was really exciting even if I didn't know exactly what was going on having missed the first 750 pages or so.

Her roommate Jess came home from work while we were reading, so I got to meet her.  She said I could call her Reginald, but I'm not sure why.

The next morning, I got to go to work with Aunt Ellen at the library.  Right off the bat, she got me set up with my own library card!  (I think she had to bend a few library rules to do that.  I hope she doesn't get in trouble.)







I got to play on the computer a bit--this cool computer has lots of games, and a touchscreen, but the headphones were really heavy for me.

I also got to meet the snowman I'd heard so much about.  What a nice guy!

 She let me pick out a book and showed me several books about my own adventures.

 

 I decided to read about the time I went to space, and Aunt Ellen helped me check the book out.

Back at her desk, she introduced me to some friends who were just my size.

Aunt Ellen does a lot of work at her computer, so I mostly just hung out and read.  She did have a class of kids come in to check out books from a nearby school, but she was so busy with them that I just stayed out of the way.

When we finally got home, I was worn out, so Aunt Ellen cooked dinner without me.  She let me have free rein of the remote while she was busy.  I watched the Disney channel, of course.









All day at work folks were talking about a big snowstorm that was supposed to hit on Wednesday morning, and we found out before bedtime that lots of schools and even the library had already decided to call a snow day, so we were excited to get to stay at home and have fun the next day.

Aunt Ellen says that she woke up and couldn't go back to sleep at 5:40 this morning, but she let me sleep in.  She woke me up around nine so we could have breakfast burritos.  I ate mine so fast she didn't even get a picture.  I promised I'd help her do dishes later if we could go out and play in the snow.  She was worried about me being too cold.  Nana made me a coat when I was in Kentucky because it was so cold, but I still needed some warmer gear, so Aunt Ellen made me a hat, scarf, boots, and mittens!  Isn't she a great aunt?

She was still a little worried about me, so she also wrapped me in plastic wrap.  It was a bit hard to breathe, but at least I stayed dry. 

 We set to work working on a snowman, and I wanted to make him flat like me.

 

Didn't we do a great job?  Aunt Ellen helped a lot, but Reginald just stood around mostly.

I also made a snow angel, which is harder to do you than you might think when you're flat.  It was still snowing and getting heavier.

Aunt Ellen and Reginald decided to take a walk up the street just to look around, but since the snow was nearly as tall as me in most places, Aunt Ellen left me to play safely on the porch.

It was really coming down out there!  We were soon ready to come inside, take off our wet things and warm up.  Aunt Ellen let me have hot chocolate with as many marshmallows as I wanted--and I wanted lots.

 We decided to spend the rest of the afternoon inside, so first we played some games of Uno.  I was just about to win when Aunt Ellen played the draw 4 wild card, but I was a good sport.

Later I wanted to do something crafty, so Aunt Ellen tried to teach me how to knit.  I started out doing all right, but then something went wrong.

Luckily Aunt Ellen managed to get me untangled.  She started getting sleepy in the afternoon.  I guess her early morning was catching up with her, so she let me play spider solitaire while she took a nap.  I think I improved her win percentage by quite a bit.  She needed the help for sure.

That's what we've been up to here.  I was worried that this post would be too boring compared to the clever, sophisticated posts that Aunt Ellen's readers are used to, but she assured me that people kept reading through those boring vacation diaries back in the fall, so I think we're safe.  It's been great to be here.  I secretly hope we get another snow day tomorrow, so Aunt Ellen and I can have even more fun together!  If the roads clear up, she's threatening to take me to Uncle Shane's.  Thanks for reading!

And thank you, Flat Stanley for your guest appearance.  Good luck in your travels.

if my yahoo account were an archaeological dig . . .

I got my first email account back in 1996.  It was a hotmail account that I let lapse during an era when I didn't have internet at home, and I didn't want to maintain both work and personal email accounts.  But right before I left that job in 2003, I realized how dumb it was to have let my personal account go, and I signed up for a yahoo account and forwarded a few emails I didn't want to lose from my work account to the yahoo account.

In real life I have definite packratish tendencies.  I still have a collection of letters and cards I exchanged with long distance friends during high school, and in that same file are a few printed emails from my college account that I didn't want to leave behind.  Sometimes when I think about that hotmail account I lament that I let some good things slip into the internet void, but I still have a fairly long-reaching anecdotal history of the past nine years in my yahoo account.  No, I don't save every email.  In fact these days, it has to be pretty dang special to earn a spot in the "keeper" folder, but things do make the cut.  Sometimes when I need to be reminded of a particular fact from my history or if I just need to read something special, I can turn to the keeper folder for some heart-warming nostalgia--or occasionally some heart-breaking memories. 

I've been rereading Harry Potter lately, and yesterday I started Order of the Phoenix.  I can never think about year 5 at Hogwarts without remembering my initial reading experience and the email that it generated.  Because I came late to the Harry Potter love-fest, Order was the first book on whose release I actually had to wait, and I unknowingly started a tradition that I would maintain through the book 7.  This morning when I was in the shower (where I do my best thinking), I thought it would be a hoot to publish that eight-year-old email (one of the earliest in my keepers folder) and share with my imaginary readers my very first thoughts on the book. 

I originally sent this message to family members and Peeps, and it was written so near the release of the book, I assumed people wouldn't have had a chance to finish it yet, so it is virtually spoiler-free.  It comes from a time in my emailing history when I was staunchly opposed to capital letters.  In the same vein, I used brackets instead of parentheses because they don't require the use of the shift key.  In my youthful exuberance, I also made sort of a disorganized mess of this email.  I considered correcting that for your viewing pleasure here, but it wouldn't be a true snapshot of  twenty-four-year-old me.  And what kind of archaeologist would I be if I prettied up the details of the dig? 

let me begin by saying that i couldn't exactly remember who all were harry potter addicted, so if you haven't read the books, this might be a little boring for you [actually, might be boring even if you do read the books].  my point is, my feelings won't be hurt if you get bored and stop reading.

so here's the run-down on the last twenty-four-ish hours of my life.  i got to books a million at about 11 last night.  even with my advance purchase voucher, i knew there'd be a line.  i ended up with a pretty good spot and had the good sense to grab a dave barry book off the shelf to read in line so that i could avoid making eye contact with the crazies and have a buffer for the cranky kids--it was approaching midnight after all.  so i was out the door of b-a-m by three minutes after midnight, which i thought spoke very highly of the faithful employees who were snatching and scanning vouchers and bagging those books with a speed that was impressive given the hour and the fact that they had been there with tv camera crews and all the crazies and cranky kids for way longer than i was.  anyway by the time i drove through at backyard burgers [a person with goals and a thick book and who hadn't had supper needs sustenance after all] and got home and got myself focused, it was at least 12:30 when i removed the book jacket [i hate book jackets, by the way] and hugged [yes, hugged] the 870 page volume to me.  then i dove in with both feet [no, i haven't touched the book with my feet].  sometime after three, my master plan broke down, and i convinced myself that the book would not disapparate [ha] if i slept for a while.  when i woke again it was almost nine, and i blinked once and picked it up again.  so anyway my point is this:  i read all day.  at one point i tried to eat ice cream [the only food i could find in my home that required no preparation], but it wasn't easy to do one-handed, so i sacrificed it for the good of the cause.  i was successful in drinking mt. dew as that is generally a one-handed task.  i finished the book at approximately 10:40 p.m. and embraced it again after a solid thirteen and a half hours of continuous reading, and about sixteen and a half of total time.  

so here are my reactions that in no way give away any plotlines in case you are worried:  i love harry potter, not just the books--harry himself.  i actually stopped periodically through the story and thought to myself that i have a crush on a fictional character.  anyway before i sat down to write this email, i tried to decide how this book held up against the other four, and i had to agree once again that at least for me, they get better as the years go by in that the more this story develops, the more i get drawn in and the more i love it, but is the order of the phoenix a better book than any of the others?  not exactly.  i have always known when i read harry potter that it's just one piece of a seven book story, so i know that when i get to the end of the book, it's not the end, so i'm okay with the fact that not all the loose ends get tied up in neat little bows, but that doesn't mean i don't like bows.  ultimately the last three books [especially goblet, and now, order] to me suffer from empire strikes back syndrome.  i'm wrapped up in the story, i know and love the characters, i know the relevant history, so reading the books and seeing more of that story develop is a joy, but getting to the end of what is available for me to read at this point and not having a happily ever after is always kind of a bummer.  luke's just found out darth vader is his father and had his hand cut off, and han solo is frozen in carbonite and on his way to jabba the hut.  it's a dark point in the story, and you know it's going to have to get better, but you don't have the benefit of being able to sit down and watch jedi [for those of you who aren't star wars fans, i apologize for the extended analogy].  still i love it, and i'm wondering how long i'll make myself wait before i read it again. 

now if you'd like to know in very vague generalities what i thought about specific aspects of the book, i'll get to that.  first i'm sure you all know that in this one, somebody important dies.  no, i'm not telling who, but let me say that it's a big deal, and i hated it, but if you've talked harry potter with me before, you know that there was no one important that i felt was expendable.  still in retrospect, after i stopped crying, i think that if someone had to go, this was the best choice.  in other news, there's the usual frustration of harry not telling some big person everything that's wrong so they can help fix it, though there are extenuating circustances that make it a little more bearable this time around, and frankly, the idea of him being able to handle things on his own at fifteen is much more plausible than it was when he was eleven.  my urge to keep him safe and protected is not so strong anymore, so i can handle the scooby gang not running to a real wizard this go around.  at the end of goblet i sobbed for harry because he was just a little boy, and he didn't have a mom to hug him up and baby him, and admittedly part of my sobs at the end of order were for the same reason, but book five really mans harry up.  he's not a baby anymore, and that came through in a big way for me in this book.  and i think if i go on anymore, it will ruin aspects for you, so i'll stop.

here's my final plea:  if you've read the book, write me back!  i'm dying to talk to someone about it.  if you haven't read the book, get off your butt and do something about it--i'm dying to talk to someone about it.

love to all, ellen

I can say that almost eight years later, I have the same intensity of feeling for this book and this particular reading experience.

I have a few more gems in my keepers folder (perhaps even some that don't pertain to Harry Potter) that I'll look at sharing in the future.

an open letter to martha

Dear Martha,

Have you had those babies yet?  Seriously, I fully expect to hear that you're headed to the hospital any second now.  I'm excited about their arrival.  And while I worry that they maybe won't have names when they're born, I know they'll be well taken care of in every other respect.

Do you remember, Martha, back when these twins were much, much tinier, you asked me about children's books?  You told me that you have loads of the books that you grew up reading that your librarian mother has saved, but that there were a couple of decades worth of children's lit that about which you knew little.  So you came to the expert, or perhaps more accurately, to the slacker who promised to put a list together for you and then prompty forgot and put it off and generally dropped the ball.  Sorry, Martha. (If it helps, you're not the first parent/person choosing books for a young child whom I've let down in this way.  I fail.  Often.)

I'm trying to catch up with lots of my failings lately, so just in time for the arrival of Baby A and Baby B, I'm going to give a partially annotated list of some children's books that bear mentioning.  And since I know many of my loyal readers are parents and educators, I fully expect the comment section to light up with better suggestions than I offer here.

Let's begin at the beginning:

Board books:
Board books are for babies.  They're much less likely to be ripped, and they can withstand a certain amount of drool, gumming, and chewing--more than paper pages at least.  They're also shorter and smaller (usually).  There are loads of picture books that are also available in board book format--though they are sometimes shortened, so beware.  I have mixed feelings about the shortened board book versions.  If you read them over and over and over again--and you will--you'll soon have them memorized, and if you later graduate to the full version, it can really throw off your reading rhythm.  I can't ever quite handle There's a Wocket in My Pocket because Pointer had the board book, and that's the way I know it.  Even if it's not shortened, you'll eventually have to deal with the situation of owning two copies of the same books.  It's dangerous ground.  Be careful.

Fortunately, there are loads of books that are published strictly as board books.  You already own some, and based on what I've seen of your growing collection, you're headed in the right direction.  There's really only one name you need to know when it comes to board books:

Sandra Boynton.  She's the best.  My all-time favorite is probably But Not the Hippopotamus.  It's cute and funny and has a great cadence to it.  And those selling points are true in most everything of hers I've ever read.  Other titles that bear special mention are Doggies (a counting book where you get to do ten different dog sounds), The Going to Bed Book, Horns to Toes and in Between, Moo Baa LaLaLa, and Barnyard Dance.  Those are the best ones, I think.  But you really can't go wrong with anything she's done.


I will give DK board books an honorable mention here.  They're not story books, but they have colorful photographs.  They're good for short attention spans because if little hands turn pages before you're done reading, it doesn't really matter.  You can just start pointing out the photos on the next page.  They have them for loads of topics:  animals, colors, toys, vehicles.  You need a couple.  They'll come in handy.





There's a series of board books that's only come to my attention lately.  None of my babies ever had them, but we've got them at the library, and they're very cute.  The first in the series is called Urban Babies Wear Black, but there are lots of other babies:  Winter Babies Wear Layers, Rocker Babies Wear Jeans, Country Babies Wear Plaid, Sporty Babies Wear Sweats, Beach Babies Wear Shades, Foodie Babies Wear Bibs.  You get the idea.  I recommend them conditionally in that I've never actually tried them out on kids.


Picture books:
Here's the secret to children's books.  Don't read books that you don't like.  Until your kids are capable of sustained, silent reading, you'll be reading every book they do.  (And I'd suggest sticking with that even after they read to themselves.)  Don't buy things or check things out unless you enjoy them.  Choose illustrators who appeal to you.  Don't put up with substandard writing.  There's plenty of great stuff out there, so don't waste your time on the junk.

So here are some things I consider the good stuff:


John Butler draws very cute animals, and he's got a couple of great books with very few words.  Who Says Woof? has animal sounds and precious little baby animals.  If You See a Kitten is similar is style.  They're both really good for wee ones.  Back when I did baby storytime, I used both of these a ton.





Kevin Henkes is probably my favorite picture book author.  He won the Caldecott for Kitten's First Full Moon a few years ago, but it's probably my least favorite of his.  He's written several books with mice for characters.  Lily, the star of Lily's Purple Plastic Purse, gets the most attention, but she got her start in Chester's Way, which is maybe my favorite.  Lots of them have storylines that deal with anxiety or making friends or teasing or people who are different or sibling rivalry, but they're not preachy.  They've got a very subtle wit about them.  They're not great for big group storytimes because the illustrations are smallish and have details that are better up close.  Wemberley Worried and Owen are probably my other two favorites.  They're quite nice.

Doreen Cronin is another author  I like.  Her farm books are cute, though a typewriter factors heavily into the first one, and while that's charmingly outdated to adult readers, it's completely lost on kiddos.  I know kids that still like it, but it is definitely one of those deals where you choosing the book for your enjoyment just as much as your kids.  Click Clack Moo, Giggle Giggle Quack, and Duck for President have been around for a while, and there are a couple more recent ones about the same farm.  She also has done three books that are diaries of various animals.  Diary of a Worm came first, I think, but Spider is my favorite.  Harry Bliss, who illustrated the diary books did the SRC illustrations the year we had the bug theme.  I love all the little details in these books.  They're funny and very well done.

Mo Willems is another funny author of picture books.  The Pigeon books are his best.  It started with Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus.  The illustrations are very simple, and they're not too wordy, but they convey a lot of silliness in their simplicity. Willems is capable of being wordier.  Leonardo the Terrible Monster is a good one, and Knuffle Bunny:  A Cautionary Tale and its sequel are both great.  I'm pretty sure one of them is a Caldecott Honor book too.



I'll declare those my top picture book authors, but I have a few more books I want to list if you'll allow me:

Bear Snores On by Karma Wilson.  Bear and his friends have some sequels, but none are as good as this one with it's sing-song refrain.

The Napping House by Audrey Wood.  It's a cumulative tale, and I've just always liked it.

The Quiet Book by Deborah Underwood. This is a fairly new book, that talks about all the different kinds of quiet.  I love the illustrations.

There Was an Old Lady by Pam Adams.  There are so many versions of this nursery rhyme, but this one has a die cut hole in the pages that expands as she swallows more and more.  It's my favorite version.
Go Away, Big Green Monster by Ed Emberley.  Speaking of die-cuts, this book builds and then unbuilds a monster, talks about colors and some shapes, and is a great non-scary monster book.

The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf.  I can remember loving this book as a kid, and it's still one I really love.  The pictures are pretty much all black and white, in case that's a deal breaker for you.

Good Night, Gorilla by Peggy Rathmann.  Another old book, but I love this little gorilla and his night-time zoo hijinks.

Scaredy Squirrel and sequels by Melanie Watt.  Scaredy is this hilarious OCD squirrel.  They're probably better for bigger kids, but they're a hoot.

I could continue listing books all day, but since I'm working on a deadline, I'll save more picture book recommendations for another day.

I'm tempted to start a discussion of chapter book read-alouds, because that is all the rage among preschoolers I know, but we've got a few years to work our way up to that, and I'll be better at making those recommendations once I've met the little circumstances. 

I'm sure you've been sternly telling those twin babies that they couldn't be born until you had their library all fixed up, so now that I've finally held up my end of the bargain, you can go ahead and have our two newest weeps.  I'm ready to meet them!

Your book-loving peep,

Ellen