Ah, the award season is upon us. And I don't mean the Golden Globes, Academy Awards, or any other silly low profile affairs like those. I am of course referring to the children's book award season that begins with the announcement of the Newbery and Caldecott and other ALA awards and culminates with the prestigious Bluebonnet award presented at the TLA conference in late March. For those of you who have possibly not lived in Texas (or The Center of the World as we think of it here), you may not be familiar with the Bluebonnet Award. You can familiarize yourself here.
This morning the feeding frenzy began when ALA announced the winner of all of their major awards. Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! Voices from a Medieval Village, a book I've never heard of, won the Newberry. White Darkness won the Printz, and in what I'm sure will be a controversial move, ALA awarded the Caldecott for "most distinguished American picture book for children" to The Invention of Hugo Cabret, a mid-grade novel. Personally, I feel a picture book award should go to a picture book, but no one asked me.
And, that, I have decided, is the problem. Yet again I am unable to participate in all the non-stop discussions on these books because I haven't read a single one of them. I tried to read Hugo Cabret, but didn't make it past the first set of pictures. The other 2 don't really sound all that interesting to me, so I doubt I'll be reading them. I have read some of the Honor books, but that's not as fun as discussing the actual winners. So if one of the books has disturbing imagery, or controversial plots, or even uses taboo words like booby, I know nothing about it. I'm spending another year in the dark concerning the winners.
But, I'm determined not to miss out on award mania entirely. Since I can't join the talks about the "official" award winners, I just decided to present some awards of my own. So, presenting the first 1st annual 2008 Slushie Awards. (Play suitable theme music here.) From now until I lose interest, I will periodically be presenting a Slushie to a book I think worthy of notice and attention. I will be taking nominations for both book and category ideas. And since no award is complete without a seal, I made one of those too:
So as to not take away from the other award winners' special day, I will not announce the first of the Slushies until tomorrow. You'll just have to wait in hair pulling anticipation until then.
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By: Madeline Smoot,
on 1/14/2008
Blog: Buried in the Slush Pile (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: Slushie award, Newberry award, White Darkness, Invention of Hugo Cabret, Printz award, Good Masters, Caldecott award, ALA, children's books, Invention of Hugo Cabret, Caldecott award, Printz award, Newberry award, White Darkness, Good Masters, Slushie award, Add a tag
By: Paintgranny,
on 5/26/2007
Blog: Middle of Nowhere (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: birds, rain, elderflower blossom, home baked bread, common lizard, roe fawn, Matthew flour, BBC nature site, woodland walk, Add a tag
before and after
But, with our British climate being a bit unreliable, it's all change again - we are forecast rain. Lots of it. So like everyone else in the village I was up and down to the little supermarket this morning, to get my 'Times' before the heavens opened. It was a bright but cloudy morning and the shop was bustling. I was at the back of the queue with a couple of ladies I know. 'It's like the Pear Tree roundabout in here' I remarked; they laughed and agreed. (trivia note for Inspector Morse fans - you will hear the PTR mentioned in some episodes, as it is a notorious Oxford traffic jam area, used by locals and Lewis everywhere as a genuine - or not - excuse for being late) Naturally we discussed the weather. I remarked that I was going for a walk that morning so I hoped the rain would hold off. It was generally agreed that rain was a pesky nuisance. Now, one of the ladies has recently suffered the loss of her closest friend. They went everywhere together and even wore outfits which complimented or matched the other's. Let's call this lady Peggy and her friend, Ivy. Peggy leaned over her trolly, her eyes shining with memory. She had a story.
"But walking in the rain is lovely" she said. "Me and Ivy, we were walking in the fields across the way once, and we were wearing no more then this" - she plucked at her light knitted top, which seems to be de rigeur for elderly women in the country. "And then there was this cloudburst! We was drenched! And Ivy, she didn't care, she just laughed. And we went on with our walk, even though my glasses were running with rain. And do you know - we didn't even catch a cold! "
I smiled at the thought of the two feisty old ladies striding across the wet fields in their summerwear. Laughing. And realised that after all there are worse things than getting wet.
So I hurried home and dragged Hercules off to the woods, parking him under his favourite hawthorn tree.
It being Saturday there was no one around but myself, the birds and a thousand fat squirrels. The birds were having a jamboree and didn't seem to mind me too much. I trod softly and cautiously, delighted when a blackcap warbled its bubbling song from a nearby holly bush. (the link has an audio clip of this modest little creature, singing its heart out). The woodpeckers were still thrumming away and cuckoos were - well, cuckooing. As they do. The elderflower is blossoming now, its wizened grey fingers offering the most delicate of posies. Winding round the slender limbs of the birch trees, the honeysuckle (always a bit of a strumpet I think) is blasting out a sensuous perfume from lascivious horns. It is almost-summer. But not quite. I was so close to some of the birds that I got rather frustrated with my poor old camera. It does its best, but by the time it has cranked itself up and puttered forth its puny zoom, the most I ever catch is a blob.
It's a robin. Really.
Despite expecting a drenching, the sun was now out and dappling the woodlands. Crossing a wooden bridge, I just caught sight of a basking Common Lizard, before it whisked into the grass. These little fellows belie their name. they are not at all common and I have seen very few in my life. Ruminating on this, I almost missed the still but alert form of a roe fawn in a clearing. Past the gangly cute stage, it stood quivering, unsure of what to do. Just a few metres away, I have never been this close to a deer. Such a soft, buff coat and such dark, liquid eyes. We watched each other for a few seconds before instinct took over and it fled through the undergrowth. I was quite overwhelmed with this abundance of wildlife encounters - all it wanted now, I thought greedily, was to see a fox or a badger. And then a lithe form sprang up from the bracken, almost under my feet and charged into the woodlands, leaping into the air like the Babycham character. Yet another fawn. Seconds later, a strange barking noise echoed from beyond and I wondered if it was the mother calling her young, somehow sensing that they were frightened.
I returned to Hercules with a fragment of eggshell and a handful of elderflower blossom. The rain clouds were sliding in like fat slugs, and it was time for home and tea. It hadn't rained on me. But I wouldn't have minded if it had.
While writing this I have been watching live-streaming webcams of birds nests from the BBC nature site - the buzzards are incredible. There are microphones too, so turn your speakers on.
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By: Madeline Smoot,
on 1/14/2008
Blog: Buried in the Slush Pile (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: Slushie award, Newberry award, White Darkness, Invention of Hugo Cabret, Printz award, Good Masters, Caldecott award, ALA, children's books, Invention of Hugo Cabret, Caldecott award, Printz award, Newberry award, White Darkness, Good Masters, Slushie award, Add a tag
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By: Paintgranny,
on 5/26/2007
Blog: Middle of Nowhere (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: birds, rain, elderflower blossom, home baked bread, common lizard, roe fawn, Matthew flour, BBC nature site, woodland walk, Add a tag
I haven't baked much bread recently - it's too much of a battle when the weather is cold. The tiny Hovel kitchen is draughty and the dough sulks. But now the temperatures are picking up I've been getting my kneading hands back in action and it is wonderful to have a decent loaf again. Even the deli bread is not as good as this baby made with flour from Matthews Mill down the road.
before and afterBut, with our British climate being a bit unreliable, it's all change again - we are forecast rain. Lots of it. So like everyone else in the village I was up and down to the little supermarket this morning, to get my 'Times' before the heavens opened. It was a bright but cloudy morning and the shop was bustling. I was at the back of the queue with a couple of ladies I know. 'It's like the Pear Tree roundabout in here' I remarked; they laughed and agreed. (trivia note for Inspector Morse fans - you will hear the PTR mentioned in some episodes, as it is a notorious Oxford traffic jam area, used by locals and Lewis everywhere as a genuine - or not - excuse for being late) Naturally we discussed the weather. I remarked that I was going for a walk that morning so I hoped the rain would hold off. It was generally agreed that rain was a pesky nuisance. Now, one of the ladies has recently suffered the loss of her closest friend. They went everywhere together and even wore outfits which complimented or matched the other's. Let's call this lady Peggy and her friend, Ivy. Peggy leaned over her trolly, her eyes shining with memory. She had a story.
"But walking in the rain is lovely" she said. "Me and Ivy, we were walking in the fields across the way once, and we were wearing no more then this" - she plucked at her light knitted top, which seems to be de rigeur for elderly women in the country. "And then there was this cloudburst! We was drenched! And Ivy, she didn't care, she just laughed. And we went on with our walk, even though my glasses were running with rain. And do you know - we didn't even catch a cold! "
I smiled at the thought of the two feisty old ladies striding across the wet fields in their summerwear. Laughing. And realised that after all there are worse things than getting wet.
So I hurried home and dragged Hercules off to the woods, parking him under his favourite hawthorn tree.
It being Saturday there was no one around but myself, the birds and a thousand fat squirrels. The birds were having a jamboree and didn't seem to mind me too much. I trod softly and cautiously, delighted when a blackcap warbled its bubbling song from a nearby holly bush. (the link has an audio clip of this modest little creature, singing its heart out). The woodpeckers were still thrumming away and cuckoos were - well, cuckooing. As they do. The elderflower is blossoming now, its wizened grey fingers offering the most delicate of posies. Winding round the slender limbs of the birch trees, the honeysuckle (always a bit of a strumpet I think) is blasting out a sensuous perfume from lascivious horns. It is almost-summer. But not quite. I was so close to some of the birds that I got rather frustrated with my poor old camera. It does its best, but by the time it has cranked itself up and puttered forth its puny zoom, the most I ever catch is a blob.
It's a robin. Really.Despite expecting a drenching, the sun was now out and dappling the woodlands. Crossing a wooden bridge, I just caught sight of a basking Common Lizard, before it whisked into the grass. These little fellows belie their name. they are not at all common and I have seen very few in my life. Ruminating on this, I almost missed the still but alert form of a roe fawn in a clearing. Past the gangly cute stage, it stood quivering, unsure of what to do. Just a few metres away, I have never been this close to a deer. Such a soft, buff coat and such dark, liquid eyes. We watched each other for a few seconds before instinct took over and it fled through the undergrowth. I was quite overwhelmed with this abundance of wildlife encounters - all it wanted now, I thought greedily, was to see a fox or a badger. And then a lithe form sprang up from the bracken, almost under my feet and charged into the woodlands, leaping into the air like the Babycham character. Yet another fawn. Seconds later, a strange barking noise echoed from beyond and I wondered if it was the mother calling her young, somehow sensing that they were frightened.
I returned to Hercules with a fragment of eggshell and a handful of elderflower blossom. The rain clouds were sliding in like fat slugs, and it was time for home and tea. It hadn't rained on me. But I wouldn't have minded if it had.
While writing this I have been watching live-streaming webcams of birds nests from the BBC nature site - the buzzards are incredible. There are microphones too, so turn your speakers on.
10 Comments on It doesn't matter if it rains, last added: 6/23/2007
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I'll be up all night wondering what it will be.