By: Caroline Ariail,
on 9/13/2015
On Sunday September 13, the United States will celebrate National Grandparents’ Day. This annual holiday, held on the first Sunday after Labor Day, celebrates our grandmothers and grandfathers. Marian McQuade, grandmother to 43 and great-grandmother of 15, is widely credited with founding the holiday.
The post Grandparents’ Day: A reading list appeared first on OUPblog.
By: flashlightblog,
on 2/29/2012
Silly Frilly Grandma Tillie is written by Laurie Jacobs and illustrated by Anne Jewett.
We are thrilled to announce that our titles featuring grandmas, grandpas, and grandkids, are featured in www.grandparentsdaymagazine.com, an Australian publication. Our five grandparent-themed books are featured on page three of the Autumn 2012 Issue now viewable in pdf.
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/26/2012
Crinkled brows, eyes shifting from side to side, estimating, evaluating; finally a bark of laughter erupts and a lead card is thrown onto the table.
“We have you now,” shrieks a female voice.
“Maybe,” replies a male opponent as a second card meets the first.
A third card, higher ranked, joins the small pile, and a fourth. The trick is taken by the opponent.
“Always expect a holdout,” the man’s voice advises.
Roars of laughter fill the kitchen with raucous sound. Another Saturday night has convened at the kitchen table for the weekly Euchre game between Mom and Dad and Mom’s sister and brother-in-law.
The aroma of strong coffee and one of Mom’s baked wonders tantalizes nostrils and stomachs of those present. It’s always the same group; couple vs. couple or men vs. women. The game might change from Euchre to rummy or to Pitch, but the night would leave everyone relaxed and satisfied.
Mom’s sister had a great deal to do with that feeling of hilarity. She loved playing the fool during card nights and did it very well. Some nights she was more boisterous than on others, but she seldom turned serious when games were in play.
My younger brother and his counterpart cousin generally watched TV during card night and then settled down to sleep. My older cousin and I watched the game in the kitchen as interested by-standers. We didn’t play. If Euchre was being played, we definitely were not allowed to play. In our part of the country, that game was a gambling game, even when not played for stakes. No children need apply.
None would ever consider the two women as not being family. My mom resembled my aunt in coloring and hair style. Their builds were nearly identical. Both were natural artists and could turn almost anything into a piece of art.
My mother worked in paint and clay or metal and findings from the forest. Her sister worked in paint and fabric, for the most part. Both loved antiques, but my aunt could have been a dealer. The knowledge she had was gleaned from years of scouring antique shops, auctions, and estate sales.
Most of all, both women loved the outdoors and nature. They’d grown up in the country. Their mother had taught them a deep love and respect for what grew wild or by design. They each enjoyed growing food for their tables as much as gathering from the wild.
With all of these commonalities, they managed to remain individuals who stood apart from each other.
Auntie was more playful than Mom. Mom had better rapport with children and animals. Auntie desired a house full of antiques and a spotless home. Mom liked things tidy, but she preferred a sense of home and comfort to fill rooms meant for living.
Aunt and Uncle often took Grandma and my cousins on trips away for a weekend to see other relatives. Mom didn’t bother. Her sister took great pleasure in that part of mother-daughter time; leaving Mom to do the Sunday home visits for family time.
Sisters, friends, companions, champions, confidantes; each filled those roles for the other. They talked in person or on the phone every day, without fail. Close didn’t begin to d
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/21/2012
My father’s next youngest sister epitomizes the term “generosity of spirit.” As a young woman she could have modeled for any top agency in the world, with raven hair, laughing eyes, full mouth, and alabaster skin, all in a tall lithesome frame. She had all of this and more.
With marriage to a kind and playful man came responsibilities of farm, home, and family. Two daughters, each unique and talented, kept her busy and focused. Bickering inside the family was unheard of.
By the time the first grandchild came along, this dark beauty had become a matron, happy in her authentic plantation-style house and space enough for the girls to have enough land of their own to build homes next to the big house. Any threatening clouds to her life were as yet unnoticed. Her life was moving along very well to all appearances.
Months rolled by, minor medical issues came into the household for her, but for the first grandchild, the issues were serious and potentially deadly. She dealt with her fears and uncertainty as she dealt with life in general. She faced them, head-on, one step at a time, and helped wherever she could.
The grandson never grew out of his early medical distress. The situation grew more complicated and disconcerting as time wore on. Soon another child entered the picture, and he, too, suffered from the same disabilities.
Soon, the younger daughter had begun building her own family, living on the other side of Mom and Dad. The brood had expanded with another son-in-law and three more grandkids. Over the years serious medical concerns stalked the branches of that family tree, bringing with them sorrows, fortitude, and making do for the family’s members.
My aunt moved ahead through it all, through her own medical troubles, with frequent hospitalizations, treatments, etc. She did what she’d always done. She took care of her family; cooking, cleaning, soothing feverish children, smiling, praying, and loving.
She did all of this, and if she ever complained about her lot in life, I figure only God witnessed it. She has faced her days with gentle resolve to do the best she can, able to laugh at the foolishness and play of both human and animal, and using her indoor voice most of the time. Getting flustered never gets a task done, so she never bothered to use it.
I remember this lady from the time I was five or six years old. I’ve never known her to exhibit rage, prejudice, or ill-will. I’ve seen her cry, rock a sick child for hours in the middle of the night, and work until her fingers bent with arthritis. I know why her family is the way it is.
Those in her immediate family follow hers and my uncle’s example in their generosity and grace. There are no personal complaints about how life isn’t fair. They recognize that truth and work hard with what they have to make their situation—whatever that might be–the best it can be at that moment. They accept their roles in life, without blaming anyone for them.
Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? Always happiness and light, never raw emotion hanging on the clothesline for all to see, no enemies or troubles coming from the outside.
Like most things in this world, happiness is a relative emotion. These lucky people love and respect each other. They work as a team to make it in the world and to move forward as quickly as they can. Their happiness comes from trusting God and knowing that they are safe in the hands of one another. They support one another in all ways.
Sh
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/18/2012
3:00 am on a Saturday morning—Granny in her nightclothes, repeats a welcoming ritual for our family. We’ve just arrived from Indiana to spend the weekend or a holiday. She and Grandpa knew we were coming.
Granny had prepared for our arrival with her usual comfort feast. She knew we’d be famished by the time we stepped through her door. To stave off those awkward growling sounds that would surely keep everyone awake for the rest of the night, she loaded the groaning board with a southern breakfast. It doesn’t seem to matter to her or Grandpa that by the time we finish eating, and unwind enough to go to sleep, they will be preparing for their farm day.
My brother and I sit at that big farm kitchen table, eyeing the platters, bowls, plates, and jars that she arranges down the center of the space. Medium platter supports three different types of fried eggs: hard, soft, and scrambled.
Her infamous small square biscuit pan sits on a handmade potholder near the homemade jams, jellies, and syrup for the golden brown pancakes hoarding their own personal bowl. Sausage patties, country ham, and leftovers from last night’s fried chicken hold court on a large platter on Dad’s end of the table.
Fresh coffee perfumes the room, aided by fresh milk, and rounds out the “impromptu” meal, along with real farm cream to use on cold cereal.
Yep, we’re down home. An hour later, family talk has dwindled enough to expose sleepy eyes and yawns. Bedtime has come at last.
If we’d come during the winter, those upstairs beds would act as ice cube trays waiting to be filled. The upstairs of that house had no heat of its own. Heck, the down stairs only had Warm-Morning stoves that could take wood or coal. Finances determined which fuel was used.
Mom and I would take one bed and Dad, with brother, would get the other one. There were so many of Granny’s homemade quilts on the beds that Mom would have to hold up the covers so that I could position myself. Once I was comfortable, she’d lower the bedclothes.
I had to be very certain of comfort in that position because once those quilts lowered; I wasn’t strong enough to shift my position under them. They were heavy and cold upon first entry to the bed. As a rule, I would try to put my back to my mom’s. Her body heat would keep me from becoming an ice cube until my own body heat took care of warming my space. Sleep was the only refuge until real heat came along.
In the summer, only those floor to ceiling windows gave relief from the sweltering upstairs heat. No quilts were required for that season. The fear then was melting into the feather beds.
Dawn and downstairs activity led to anxious dreams and disrupted, food-induced sleep. Grandpa had milking to do. Granny had to get lunch on the stove so that she could take a bit of socializing time once all the kin arrived for that meal. These things didn’t take care of themselves.
Throughout our visit, for however long it lasted, that lady of the South, cared for the feeding and comfort of her quests. She prided herself in always having enough for anyone who happened to drop by on any given day. No one left he home without taking a meal with them.
A weekend lunch would supply victuals for a minimum of sixteen to twenty people, depending on family sched
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/16/2012
“Don’t touch that bed” must have rang out many times on that drizzly cold day back when I was so small. Mom always contended that my great-grandmother’s bed was a prized and sacrosanct object to be avoided at all costs.
I have only one memory of that great lady of the South. Mother and I were visiting. Baby brother was still “in arms,” as they said back then. I don’t recall who else was there, other than it was a woman; probably Dad’s mother or one of his sisters. The vague memory I have of our matriarch ebbs away further with each passing year.
Her meticulous home with its furnishings reflected who she was as a person. Her bedroom and the backyard are the clearest images I have of that day.
A tall sea of white bed linens fosters an itch in my palms. The sheets and coverlet look so crisp, so pure. I know that under those bedclothes are feather beds half as thick as I am tall. I can imagine well how soft these must be for sleeping because I sleep on my own, thinner, feather-bed at home. I keep my hands clasped behind my back.
Mom told me to touch nothing, and she’d positioned her Shaker chair to watch me through the bedroom door from the living room.
Narrow, multi-paned windows reach from my waist to near the ceiling, swathed in sheer white nylon curtains with their ruffles and frills; very girly. Stark walls resist the need for ornamentation that clutter rather than emphasizes. Shaker chairs in here, too, sit as if waiting for someone to occupy them while putting on socks and shoes.
In one corner a small round table exhibits a Victrola, its horn pointed toward the front window. At near eye-level for me, I can see the arm resting, waiting for the record to spin and for someone to flip the head and place it on the grooves. The crank hangs, unmoving, tempting.
I reach out to feel its smoothness and hear “Don’t touch!”
Questing hand retreats in a snap of muscle and chagrin. Too dangerous. Everything is too dangerous in this room filled with white.
Outside in the narrow backyard, new spring green is taking hold of everything in view. The back fence keeps chickens and other stock from roaming around the house. A fine mist envelopes me as I explore the cistern area, looking for early blossoms. The trees have begun to bud but remain barren to the eye.
Mom will be upset with me. Sunday shoes, wet grass, Great-grandmother’s clean floors. Not good, not good.
No lecture!
I’m the only one left who can attest to this short episode in my life. Perhaps that’s why I try to hang onto it as hard as I do. Great-grandmother died not too long after that day. My Dad’s mother and my own are both gone as well. Only I remember the day of drizzle, white linens, and a silent Victrola.
0 Comments on Shadowed Memories of Bygone Days as of 1/1/1900
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/16/2012
“Don’t touch that bed” must have rang out many times on that drizzly cold day back when I was so small. Mom always contended that my great-grandmother’s bed was a prized and sacrosanct object to be avoided at all costs.
I have only one memory of that great lady of the South. Mother and I were visiting. Baby brother was still “in arms,” as they said back then. I don’t recall who else was there, other than it was a woman; probably Dad’s mother or one of his sisters. The vague memory I have of our matriarch ebbs away further with each passing year.
Her meticulous home with its furnishings reflected who she was as a person. Her bedroom and the backyard are the clearest images I have of that day.
A tall sea of white bed linens fosters an itch in my palms. The sheets and coverlet look so crisp, so pure. I know that under those bedclothes are feather beds half as thick as I am tall. I can imagine well how soft these must be for sleeping because I sleep on my own, thinner, feather-bed at home. I keep my hands clasped behind my back.
Mom told me to touch nothing, and she’d positioned her Shaker chair to watch me through the bedroom door from the living room.
Narrow, multi-paned windows reach from my waist to near the ceiling, swathed in sheer white nylon curtains with their ruffles and frills; very girly. Stark walls resist the need for ornamentation that clutter rather than emphasizes. Shaker chairs in here, too, sit as if waiting for someone to occupy them while putting on socks and shoes.
In one corner a small round table exhibits a Victrola, its horn pointed toward the front window. At near eye-level for me, I can see the arm resting, waiting for the record to spin and for someone to flip the head and place it on the grooves. The crank hangs, unmoving, tempting.
I reach out to feel its smoothness and hear “Don’t touch!”
Questing hand retreats in a snap of muscle and chagrin. Too dangerous. Everything is too dangerous in this room filled with white.
Outside in the narrow backyard, new spring green is taking hold of everything in view. The back fence keeps chickens and other stock from roaming around the house. A fine mist envelopes me as I explore the cistern area, looking for early blossoms. The trees have begun to bud but remain barren to the eye.
Mom will be upset with me. Sunday shoes, wet grass, Great-grandmother’s clean floors. Not good, not good.
No lecture!
I’m the only one left who can attest to this short episode in my life. Perhaps that’s why I try to hang onto it as hard as I do. Great-grandmother died not too long after that day. My Dad’s mother and my own are both gone as well. Only I remember the day of drizzle, white linens, and a silent Victrola.
2 Comments on Shadowed Memories of Bygone Days, last added: 2/17/2012
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/13/2012
Do you remember throwing a temper tantrum as a child? If so, where were you and who calmed you down? Do you remember the reason for the tantrum?
I have one memory of such an event and there’s very little to it. I was at my father’s parents’ house. I stood facing my grandpa, who was trying in vain to placate me. My young five/six year old self was having nothing to do with placation.
My parents had promised to be home soon and they hadn’t come yet. Were they dead and no one had told me? Where were they and why weren’t they here?
Neither Grandpa nor Granny could calm me down. I was furious, terrified that I’d never see my parents again, and I was headed for a complete meltdown. The end of my memory was where I kicked Grandpa in the shin as hard as I could and demanded he produce my parents “right now!”
My mother, many years later, told me that she and Dad had remained in town to visit other relatives while my little brother and I went back to my grandparents’ home. She said that they’d been delayed for a couple of hours because of friends and other relatives taking up their time.
It seems like a simple enough explanation, and one that probably would have worked on an older child who wasn’t terrified that her parents were lying dead somewhere along the road. I never bought it, she said. Their excuse was never accepted by me. I believed, though I didn’t want to, that they’d lied to me when they said they’d be home shortly.
Looking back on it now, from so many years into my own future, I can understand my fears and accusations. I quail to think of my striking out at that most gentle of men, my grandpa, even as I can fathom the depth of my feelings. I can’t remember if I ever apologized for my actions that evening.
There are some fears that take precedence over logic. Fear of abandonment is a child’s worst nightmare. Does a child ever outgrow that tendency to hang on so that the caregiver can’t disappear? Does that fear develop from a toddler’s misperception that a person/thing disappears when no longer in view?
I’m sure I don’t know the answer to that question. I doubt the experts do either. I do know that when I invest my trust and love in a person, I expect them to honor it and not throw me curve balls. I’ve always had that response in relationships, whether within the family or those outside of it.
Perhaps Grandpa’s mistake in dealing with me and my fears was actually two-fold. He tried to speak to me in a reasonable tone and manner, and he didn’t know where my parents were and admitted it to me. Grandpa’s are, after all, supposed to be all-knowing, all seeing, and above all else, always right!
If I ever threw another tantrum, I don’t recall it. Thank God! The recollection of this one has haunted me for enough years already.
4 Comments on Tantrums and Grandparent Woes, last added: 2/15/2012
By: Brimful Curiosities,
on 5/1/2010
Going to my grandparents' farm is always a special treat. Outside we have the chance to experience the wonders of nature with acres and acres to explore, rocks to climb, a winding, mesmerizing creek to splash in and garden full of treats. Inside their home, the kitchen is always full of bustle as grandma whips up sweet rolls, cookies and a rainbow of canned produce and jams.
I have so many wonderful childhood memories of visiting my grandparents and spending summer days watching them and learning their tricks. They grew up in a vastly different time, when TVs and computers did not exist and as children they learned to love nature and its marvels and cherish time together as a family. They made sure to engage their grandchildren in similar experiences. When we visited them we did not sit in front of the TV but instead participated in life-enriching activities, played games and lived in tune with nature.
"When you're sharing nature with a child, you'll find that even a short walk through your backyard will yield a crop of fresh discoveries and questions. Start a tradition of asking, "I wonder what's going on outdoors today?" - Toad Cottages & Shooting Stars by Sharon LovejoyNot all grandparents (or parents) live on a farm, but that doesn't mean that they can't also inspire and create a fun-filled environment for children to explore. Sharon Lovejoy's newest book, Toad Cottages and Shooting Stars: Grandma's Bag of Tricks
is a treasure trove of wonderful ideas, crafts, cooking and gardening activities and the perfect resource to use with young children. The whimsical and beautifully illustrated book is divided into several interesting sections:
I'm always on
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By: [email protected] (Mark Blevis and Andrea ,
on 4/29/2009
Illustrator: Lindsey Gardiner (on JOMB)
Published: 2004 Random House (on JOMB)
ISBN: 0099443880
Happily sloppy artwork and perfectly picked words and pace present the first-person ponderings of a young girl as her once spunky grandmother slips into forgetfulness in this sweet, sad tale of coping and compassion.
More grandmothers on JOMB:
We’d love to hear your thoughts on a favourite children’s book. Leave a voice message on our JOMB listener hotline, +1-206-350-6487.
By: [email protected] (Mark Blevis and Andrea ,
on 4/22/2009
Author: Maxine Trottier (on JOMB)
Illustrator: Paul Morin (on JOMB)
Published: 1999 Fitzhenry and Whiteside (on JOMB)
ISBN: 1550051520
Dazzling light glows against darkening shadow as this warmly told memory of friendship and fortitude peeks into a dim chapter in Canadian history.
Other books mentioned:
For more information about the Japanese Internment of 1942-1945, visit Vanishing British Columbia, Canada: A People’s History, and Canadian Nikkei.
You can read about more of our favourite Canadian, Asian-themed children’s books in this essay by Andrea at Paper Tigers.
We’d love to hear your thoughts on a favourite children’s book. Leave a voice message on our JOMB listener hotline, +1-206-350-6487.
By: [email protected] (Mark Blevis and Andrea ,
on 4/3/2009
Author: Sheree Fitch (on JOMB)
Illustrator: Kim LaFave (on JOMB)
Published: 1994 Doubleday Canada (on JOMB)
ISBN: 0385254555
“My eyes belong only to me, they tell me I’m me and nobody else.
But if I were not inside my body, who would be me?”
Breezy, upbeat illustrations and beautifully worded wonderings give us a stirring glimpse of the fresh and often forgotten preschool perspective in this thought-provoking reminder that, when it comes right down to it, we’re all small.
Pop over to ayuddha.net for today’s full menu of poetry offerings. Poetry Fridays are brought to us by Kelly Herold of Big A, Little A.
HOTLINE VOICES: Thelma Slater, Chair of the Mayor’s Literacy Commission in Canton, Ohio, checks in with her fifty-something son to recall some of his childhood favourites including Dr. Seuss.
We’d love to hear your thoughts on a favourite children’s book. Leave a voice message on our JOMB listener hotline, +1-206-350-6487.
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 9/26/2008
Author: Mike Downs
Illustrator: David Gordon
Published: 2003 Tricycle Press (on JOMB)
ISBN: 1582461570
Whirrrs, roars, thuds, clunks and dings are exposed as the expected soundtrack of a safe and exciting flight in this warm and reassuring, rhyming adventure.
.
This episode is dedicated to our friends and fellow children’s literature authors, illustrators and enthusiasts all over North America who at this very moment are boarding planes, trains and automobiles en route to the Second Annual KidLit Conference in Portland, Oregon. Have a FABULOUS time!
Pop over to The Miss Rumphius Effect for today’s full menu of poetry offerings. Poetry Fridays are brought to us by Kelly Herold of Big A, Little A.
HOTLINE VOICES: Kristen Chase of Motherhood Uncensored and Cool Mom Picks in Atlanta, Georgia shares her thoughts on a Canadian Classic: The Paper Bag Princess (by Robert Munsch and Michael Martchenko). Thanks, Kristen!
We’d love to hear your thoughts on a favourite children’s book. Leave us a voice message on our JOMB listener hotline, +1-206-350-6487.
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 3/6/2008
Author: Michael Bedard (on JOMB)
Illustrator: Les Tait (on JOMB)
Published: 1999 Tundra Books (on JOMB)
ISBN: 0887765734 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
Thoughtful, unhurried narrative and rich, enveloping art capture the clutter and compassion of two celebrated sculptors, a fledgling robin’s rescue and the birth of a life-changing friendship.
You can learn more about sculptors Frances Loring and Florence Wyle here. Read about the recently published adult book, And Beauty Answers: The Life of Frances Loring and Florence Wyle, here.
Aha! I found a photo of their studio church on Glenrose Avenue!
Tags:childrens book, Florence Wyle, Frances Loring, Les Tait, Michael Bedard, Podcast, review, sculpture, The Clay Ladieschildrens book, Florence Wyle, Frances Loring, Les Tait, Michael Bedard, Podcast, review, sculpture, The Clay Ladies
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 2/7/2008
Author: Dorothy Joan Harris
Illustrator: Kim LaFave (on JOMB)
Published: 2004 Scholastic Canada (on JOMB)
ISBN: 0439937183 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
Hazy, gold and red, retro artwork and snappy, all-too-familiar bickering make this simple yet surprisingly stirring tale of rivalry and resilience a memorable reminder of a decided route to happiness.
Other books mentioned:
More Dogs on JOMB:
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 2/5/2008
Author: Deborah Blumenthal
Illustrator: Mary GrandPre
Published: 2007 Pelican Publishing Company (on JOMB)
ISBN: 1589804910 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
Warmth, humour and fond remembrance waft through this beautifully worded and evocatively illustrated exploration of a young girl’s family tree — and the traits, trinkets and togetherness that sustain it.
Other books mentioned:
More family fondness on JOMB:
Tags:Aunt Claires Yellow Beehive Hair, childrens book, Deborah Blumenthal, Mary GrandPre, Podcast, reviewAunt Claires Yellow Beehive Hair, childrens book, Deborah Blumenthal, Mary GrandPre, Podcast, review
By: Jennie,
on 2/3/2008
What a weekend. I totally tried to attend the DC KidLit brunch.
But I overslept. And then when I got there, couldn't find anyone.
This might have been because I had it in my mind that the brunch was THIS morning, but really, it was yesterday. I wore my Kiki Strike shirt and everything.
That's kinda been the story of this whole past week, actually. Oiy.
I'm trying really hard to come up with some writing samples for some stuff. Writing samples ABOUT BOOKS. My brain isn't functioning.
And, when I made my new years resolutions this year, one of the things I promised myself was that I would never be more than a year behind in my reviewing. And here it is, February 3 and I never did get around to reviewing those lonely unreviewed books that I read back in January of 2007, so let's do that today, shall we?
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 2/2/2008
Author: Jacqueline Briggs Martin (on JOMB)
Illustrator: Beth Krommes (on JOMB)
Published: 2001 Houghton Mifflin (on JOMB)
ISBN: 0618548955 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
Soothing speculation, striking details and spellbinding scratchboard art present a gripping account of The Karluk’s last icy voyage and the strength and resourcefulness that beat all odds.
More shipwrecks on JOMB:
Tags:and the Boat Called Fish, Beth Krommes, childrens book, Inupiaq, Jacqueline Briggs Martin, Karluk shipwreck, Podcast, review, the Ice, The Lampand the Boat Called Fish, Beth Krommes, childrens book, Inupiaq, Jacqueline Briggs Martin, Karluk shipwreck, Podcast, review, the Ice, The Lamp
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 1/22/2008
Author: Shirin Yim Bridges
Illustrator: Sophie Blackall (on JOMB)
Published: 2002 Chronicle Books (on JOMB)
ISBN: 0811834905 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
The hush of dependable peaches and greens gently gives way to a crescendo of red in this thoughtfully unfolding, true story of a young girl with a dream — and the patient, respectful cracking of cultural constraints that made her dream come true.
You can help make a dream come true today by joining the effort to provide schooling and stability for autistic children in China. To learn more click here.
Tags:childrens book, chinese new year, education, Podcast, review, Rubys Wish, Shirin Yim Bridges, Sophie Blackallchildrens book, chinese new year, education, Podcast, review, Rubys Wish, Shirin Yim Bridges, Sophie Blackall
By: Jennie,
on 1/11/2008
Ok, before we get started, a quick announcement, I'm blogging over at Geek Buffet about YA lit and that an age range is not a genre.
But, now, a story. It's a funny one.
So, January in Wisconsin is cold and snowy and icy. And one January, 5 years ago today, it was really, really cold. Dan and I went to church with my parents. There was a Saturday evening service.
At some point in the service, a Sunday School (Saturday School?) teacher went to the supply cabinet to get some safety pins. Only, when she opened the door, she found Dan and me, making out and sharing a bottle of Johnny Walker.
When she apologized, I said, "Oh no, it's OK. We're getting married in an hour."
And the ceremony was beautiful. At the end, I have to admit, I wasn't really paying attention, and thought the minister was done speaking, and so I went in to get the kiss, only to have everyone laugh at me, because he wasn't done, just takng a breath to finish his last sentence.
And there was good food and good music and good friends and we danced the night away and at the end of the night, my dad and his friends put the ice swan to swim across the frozen pond out front and all our friends stole the left over wine and had an after party that is now legend and is STILL talked about to this day.
I really can't believe it was 5 years ago. It doesn't seem like that long. So, I've used this poem before, but it was one we had read during the ceremony, so I'm using it again.
Why Marry at All?
Why mar what has grown up between the cracks
and flourished like a weed
that discovers itself to bear rugged
spikes of magneta blossoms in August,
ironweed sturdy and bold,
a perennial that endures winters to persist?
Why register with the state?
Why enlist in the legions of the respectable?
Why risk the whole apparatus of roles
and rules, of laws and liabilities?
Why license our bed at the foot
like our Datsun truck: will the mileage improve?
Why encumber our love with patriarchal
word stones, with the old armor
of husband and the corset stays
and the chains of wife? Marriage
meant buying a breeding womb
and sole claim to enforced sexual service.
Marriage has built boxes in which women
have burst their hearts sooner
than those walls; boxes of private
slow murder and the fading of the bloom
in the blood; boxes in which secret
bruises appear like toadstools in the morning.
But we cannot invent a language
of new grunts. We start where we find
ourselves, at this time and place.
Which is always the crossing of roads
that began beyond the earth's curve
but whose destination we can now alter.
This is a public saying to all our friends
that we want to stay together. We want
to share our lives. We mean to pledge
ourselves through times of broken stone
and seasons of rose and ripe plum;
we have found out, we know, we want to continue.
--Marge Piercy
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 1/1/2008
Author: Lita Judge
Illustrator: Lita Judge
Published: 2007 Hyperion Books (on JOMB)
ISBN: 1423100085 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
Eye-opening scatterings of yellowed newspaper footprints, handwritten lists and aged, intimate snapshots make vivid this beautifully told true story of hardship, generosity and the pulling together of communities torn to opposite sides of war.
Other books mentioned:
More books about generosity on JOMB:
More books about war and peace on JOMB:
Check out the full list of non-fiction picture books nominated for the 2007 Cybils Awards here.
By: Jennie,
on 12/1/2007
In November I... did way too much, essentially. My November included:
1. 2 papers (including a term paper)
2. 1 midterm
3. More homework than I want to think about
4. New doggy
5. 33,000 words of my NaNoWriMo novel (well short of the 50,000 word goal. Ah well.)
6. Hosted Thanksgiving
7. Helped my mom make my sister's Save The Date cards
8. Read13 books.
In December, I'm attempting to do 2 major things:
1. Read the 25 books I have checked out from the library
2. Blog the 15 books that I read in 2006 and haven't blogged yet. (And make a dent in the 41 books that are unblogged from 2007.)
So, stay tuned for (hopefully, probably) multiple posts a day. Because I also have to
1. Do lots of homework
2. Take a final
3. Write a term paper
4. Stop Dog from destroying my kitchen
5. Do my Christmas shopping
6. Go home for Christmas
Speaking of Christmas shopping, here's a plea. There are a lot of links on this blog. A lot of them lead to Amazon. If you click on one, and order from Amazon? Even if you buy something that is different than what you clicked on? I get a wee kickback. How much depends on how much gets ordered (the more items ordered, the bigger the kickback.) And, let's face it. Librarian isn't really a big money career. Plus, I'm a grad student, plus, I have a nasty book habit that I'd really rather not kick... so... if you want to help out, that's a good way to do it. (Or, if you order some of my gear from the "cool book stuff" link in the sidebar, that works, too.)
Anyway, I got tagged for a meme by Hilary.
So, here we go:
1) Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
So, 7 things about myself...
1. The term paper I wrote last week was about CIPA and internet filtering in public libraries. It's something I've been thinking a lot about. On one hand, information wants to be free and filtering is a form of censorship, especially some of the things that get filtered. On the other hand, kids can't spell and often the filter blocks porn they didn't mean to get to. But, filters often block a lot of legitimate, non-porn sites and lets a lot of porn through. In fact, this post will probably be blocked because I said porn so many times. PORN PORN PORN.
2. I use both Napster and iTunes. (Napster is totally legal now guys. I pay for it and everything.) Napster is a vastly superior product, because you pay $10/month and can download and listen to as much music as you want. If you want to burn it onto CD, it's an extra .99 BUT you can buy "track packs" which let you buy credits for a bunch of tracks at a discount. And, if you're buying a full album, it's usually cheaper than buying each track off the album. With iTunes, you can only listen to about 30 seconds of a song before you buy it, and albums cost .99 x # of tracks. I wouldn't use iTunes at all, but it's the only thing that works with my shiny pink iPod.
3. I really hate the use of putting "i" in front of everything information-related. I can understand "e" because it's short for "electronic" and I guess the lower-case "i" can mean information, but, really? You just sound like you're trying to buy into Apple's popularity. My library program is thinking of re-branding itself as an iSchool. It makes me want to scream. Not even getting into my issues with information schools vs library schools but to call us an iSchool?! Ew. Good luck ever getting money from me.
4. I love winter. I hate that it doesn't really snow in the DC area. I miss snow and extreme cold. I know I'm crazy, but I like a day so cold that when you breath in, the cold pierces all the way to the bottom of your lungs and your snot freezes.
5. I've never mailed out Holiday cards. Every year, I say I'm going to do it, and every year, Nada. This year, I have a great idea on cards to make. I know all the supplies I'd need and how to do it. I'm putting lists together in my head, but it won't happen. (As I typed that, I heard Dan saying "no no no no no no no no no" because he knows it would just be one of my projects that didn't go anywhere, and then I heard his giant sigh of relief when I said I wouldn't do it.) So, I'll share my idea with you:
1. Get a bunch of these navy blue cards.
2. Stamp them all over with silver snowflakes. I really like this one and this one.
3. Emboss a few of the snowflakes with this stuff, but I'm not sure which color. One of the silvery/white ones. (Mom and I embossed my sister's save the date cards--awesome and fun and easy once I figured out how to not set stuff on fire.)
4. Using double-sided type, put a bunch of these shiny white cards on the inside (ok, I totally know that they them with scalloped edges, which I'd use.)
5. Then I'd stamp the insides with a greeting. Probably Season's Greetings.
So now you can make them. And mail one to me.
6. I like Christmas carols and the Nutcracker music. My favorite carols are "O Holy Night" and "Psallite." "Psallite" is in Latin and German and is pretty, plus? Two foreign languages in one song? AWESOME.
7. For Christmas, I really want jewelry. Especially necklaces and earrings that I can wear to work. Some great stuff can be found at Tartx (especially the domino necklace with the Red Queen and a monocle necklace with the cards flipping over Alice) and Mytypewriter (especially the snowflake one) or the Cherry Blossom pearl necklace from the Sundance Catalog. (*cough* *cough* *hint* *hint*)
And now I tag Sara, Pam, Miss Erin, HolyKnitter, Kristin, Julie, and Susan and really, anyone else who wants to play.
By: Just One More Book!!,
on 11/27/2007
Author: Rachna Gilmore (on JOMB)
Illustrator: Renne Benoit
Published: 2006 Second Story Press
ISBN: 1897187122 Chapters.ca Amazon.com
They say comparison is the source of all suffering. Yet, while we can usually resist comparing one child to another, most of us are guilty of the occasional contrast between our children and our former — possibly imagined — selves. This hilarious and delightfully ambiguous book allows us to chew on and chuckle at this perennial parental ploy.
By: Jennie,
on 11/9/2007
Me: Holy Cow! Molly's interviewing me for her blog!
Dan: Um, shouldn't you be interviewing her?
Me: Probably, but I'm saving that for when her book comes out and she's all famous and everyone wants a piece of her. Because they will. And then I can be all "Hey Molly! You interviewed me! My turn!"
So, here's my interview over at Bittersweet.
And, now, onto the Poetry Friday portion of our event.
"Luke, you will find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."
-Obi wan KenobiWhen I lived in Manchester, I spent Guy Fawkes day in the Darwin Forest, drinking cider by a large bonfire and pretending I knew the words the various songs being sung around me. Living in the North, Guy Fawkes day was a day to celebrate "The last good man sent to Parliament." Whereas, traditionally, especially in the South, it is a day to celebrate catching a Catholic traitor who tried to blow up Parliament.
Harpers had an interesting article on Guy Fawkes and his modern role in Monday's Harpers.
Literary connections: I'm assuming that Fawkes the Phoenix in Harry Potter is named after Guy Fawkes. Also, the day play a big role in V for Vendetta. (Do I lose all street cred when I mention I haven't read this, but only seen the movie? The movie was pretty awesome!)
So, here I give you:
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, ’twas his intent
To blow up the King and Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow;
By God’s providence he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o’ cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we’ll say ol’ Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!
By: Jennie,
on 10/27/2007
What a long couple of days it's been. Dan and I were going to go out tonight, but I feel asleep while he was looking up movie times. Now I'm up and we're watching the baseball game (bottom of the 7th) and playing Scrabble.
Except we're super-dorks and playing Scrabble on Facebook, which means we're sitting next to each other on the couch, with our laptops in our, um, laps and playing.
Today was Books for the Beast. Gail Giles gave a great talk. You wouldn't know it from her books, but that woman is hilarious. With a most excellent pair of pink shoes.
There were book discussions and then Mark Siegel gave a most excellent talk about his work both as a graphic novelist and as the Editorial Director for :01. You know how obsessed I am with them.
Yesterday I went to the doctor and got my flu shot and so now my arm hurts.
The day before that I went to Kids Are Customers, hosted by the Maryland Library Association. I got to spend some time with Susan of Wizards Wireless and Julie of Reader's Carousel.
There was a lot of great information (I'm already geared up for next summer's Summer Reading Program. Oiy.) and Lulu Delacre. I'm still processing a lot of stuff from both days.
Book reviews and more information will follow.
And with that, the Sox have won the game and Dan has wiped the floor with me Scrabble-wise.
Ah well.
Wow, I love your writing style!
ICLW #6
Thank you, Jessie. Glad you enjoyed it.
Claudsy