Stacked

From the top:
Clive Barker’s Mister B. Gone
Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little Town on the Prairie
Janet Evanovich’s Plum Lucky
Cormac McCarthy’s No Country For Old Men
Michael Pollan’s Botany of Desire
James Burkes’ The Pinball Effect: How Renaissance Water Gardens Made the Carburetor Possible
J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Mercer Mayer’s What a Bad Dream
Jarrett J. Krosoczka’s Punk Farm on Tour
Lila Prap’s Daddies

Not Pictured:
Fred Rogers’ The World According to Mister Rogers: Important Things to Remember
Alison Hansel’s Charmed Knits
Debbie Stoller’s Son of Stitch and Bitch

This is the stack of books I am reading or will soon read.

HP6 and Little Town are being read to the Sonars a few pages at a time at bedtime. We’ve read all of the HP’s so far, and we started this one back in December sometime. I marvel that I have chosen, as a parent to read such complex and sometimes horrifying books (bone white, dead bodies floating under inky black water, anyone?) to children age 3, 4, and 7, at BEDTIME no less. And I further marvel at the way they sit, completely absorbed and emotionally engaged with these books, yet somehow capable of leaving their feelings in the book when it’s time to sleep (if not when it’s time to play).

The three picture books on the bottom are Sonar X3’s to choose from for a bedtime story. Punk Farm is really fun (“Peace Out Colorado!”). I could add here another picture book that we have recently loved and read at least a dozen times: Woolbur by Leslie Kelakoski (“‘I know!’ said Woolbur. ‘Isn’t it great!”)

Mister B and Plum Lucky are pure escapism for me. I read and loved in a slightly twisted way, a couple of Barker’s books as a teen, and have perused his books for younger readers recently. This is his return to fully adult literature, and I was curious. It’s… ok so far. I am intrigued by the use of Gutenburg’s development of the printing press as a locus for an epic battle between heaven and hell. I accidentally discovered Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books a year or so ago. And while I’m not normally ‘mystery’ kind of reader, I quickly fell in love with this quirky heroine and quickly devoured all twelve novels and two novellas that were available at the time (seriously, I think I read them all in less than three weeks, which is amazing considering the complete lack of free reading time that I have). Plum Lucky is the third of the so-called Between-the-Numbers stories (the regular novels all have a number in the title: One For the Money, Lean Mean Thirteen, etc.) that let’s Stephanie explore the not so down-to-earth potential of her life in the Burg. Really fun, funny, and sexy, even if they are a teensy bit predictable sometimes.

Partner is actually reading No Country right now, but I plan to steal it sometime soon. He’s read a few passages to me, and we’re both taken with the bizarre prose, though it is sometimes challenging to tease the meaning out from the unpunctuated passages. Not for the weak of stomach, this one.

The Pinball Effect is one that I pick up from time to time and read a few passages. It works that way. Letting us all be dilettantes of cultural history. Anyone familiar with Burke’s television show, Connections, will recognize the format here. Burke’s approach to history illuminates the fact that there was a world-wide-web of culture and influence well before the internet was even imagined.

Michael Pollan’s book is another that I want to get to. His writing never fails to remind me why I *want* to eat the way we do most of the time, providing many and varied reasons for thoughtful consumption of food.

In the background of the picture you can also see a tissue box, a pile of pink something, a domed plastic Krispy Kreme cup, and maybe the corner of the backup drive.

The pink something is the sweater I’ve finally sewn together, only to discover that it’s too short for me. I’ve embarked on an epic quest to Make It Fit, which I will blog another day.

The Krispy Kreme donut hole cup, purchased in a moment of weakness embedded in another moment of weakness (donuts, during a rare trip to Walmart), and now devoid of donut holes, is now a micro-greenhouse where we are trying to sprout Banyan seeds. (We like to watch It’s a Big Big World sometimes) Awesome, really, that a tree that big comes from something the size of a poppy seed.

The knitting books will soon be responsible for three small owls and one very large sweater.

And as for Mister Rogers. *happy sigh* Well, let’s just say he holds a special, if not schlocky place in my heart. The fortieth anniversary of Mister Rogers Neighborhood passed last week, and what would have been Fred Rogers’ 80th birthday is coming up next month. See more on this when I talk about Sweater Day.

Overheard

Sonar X7 talking to Sonar X4 about yesterday’s recess activities.

Well, we were playing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, At The Ministry of Magic, when Harry is fighting the Death Eaters. Mixed with Indiana Jones (I was Harry and D—- was Indiana Jones). Then N—- came over and started growling and stomping and told us he was a T-Rex and that none of our spells would work on him. (exasperated sigh with eye roll) *THEN* E—- wanted to play Harry Potter, Book 5 too, but he just didn’t get it. (shrug) But D—- is really obsessed with Star Wars, so he wanted to play that instead. (disappointed head shake) Sometimes it seems like no one really wants to play the games I want to play.

(Looking up hopefully) So, do you think we could play hide-and-seek?

Imagine a Steamy Bathroom

So steamy that you can’t clearly see the walls of the room. It’s not too hot, rather, just on the warm side of comfortable, but with a slight draft of cooler air now and then, stirring around the foggy air.

That’s what my Thursday run was like. My familiar town, along my familiar route, but shrouded in a thick veil of evening fog. The cool and the warm air seemed to compete with one another. Occasionally the fog would thin a bit, and I could see a house or a building, but it would quickly be swallowed by another wave of fog.

The moist air was really good for my waning chest cold. Like a steamy shower, the moisture seemed to penetrate and loosen some of the remaining congestion.

The really creepy horror show moment came on my way back, when a very loud, disembodied voice shouted out just a few feet in front of me: “Ooooooh! It’s a strike for #23.” It scared the hell out of me. Especially since I knew I was a good quarter of a mile from the ballpark where the high school softball game was underway. Luckily no one could see me flinch like mad, and I didn’t scream.

I guess the fog’ll do that to a sound.

Happy to say though, that I made it home without interdimensional monsters sucking my soul.

It's the President on line 1

Last week, Hillary Clinton. This week, Ted Kennedy and Joseph Kennedy (stumping for Obama), then Barack Obama himself, followed very closely by Bill Clinton (stumping for, well, you know, his wife). All in or around little old Corpus Christi, Texas in a matter of days.

And the other night, Michelle Obama called (stumping for, well, you know, her husband). OK, she didn’t just call me since it was a prerecorded message.

But all the attention might start going to my head.

Do you think they’ll still love me after March 4?

Maybe I ought to hold off on the speech accepting that cabinet position, just in case.

Stupid Mango Tricks, or Things to Entertain and Amaze Your Kids

Half a ripe mango, scored inside and then turned inside out

Sonar X4: “It looks like hair!”
Sonar X7: “Can I put it on my head?”
Sonar X3: “It’s Mango Hair!”

Later, to facilitate the fair-sharing of a pint of Ben and Jerry’s “Fossil Fuel”, I cut the ice cream, carton and all, into four pieces with a big knife. That was also met with delight by all three Sonars.

Teaching them to scoop small bites, suck the ice cream off the fudge dinosaurs, and spit them into their hands for species identification: Probably not such a good idea.