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Making a bucket list turns out to be a good idea! Everything I put on that list has stayed on my mind. So, when a close friend called to discuss a play that we both saw -- not together -- we also checked in. Turns out she is taking a class in beginning Italian. She is also fluent in Spanish, so she's learning Italian quickly. Aha! an opportunity for me to refresh my Italian, and have a friend with whom to converse. I asked if I could join her class (in mid-session), she said of course, so I am. We can practice together, and soon I will actually have a second language. Va bene!

I’m obsessed with being a kid. Not with being childish, but with that pre-K excitement that only a shiny “Great Job” sticker can bring. I try to equate this kind of obsession to a mid-teen crisis of sorts, or a childhood “Bucket List”, considering I have barely six months of legal childhood left.

But, in reality, it is actually a very healthy thing I have grown to appreciate, something I try to playfully flick at others in my life.

It is simply a child’s view of the world.

Now I don’t mean we should all throw tantrums in the cereal aisle at WalMart. I mean that we should appreciate everything in life with a pristine and slightly impractical enthusiasm. So what if a broccoli casserole just exploded in your oven? Did you have fun making it? Are you mature enough to order pizza and clean up the mess?

I hope so.

Are you enough of a child to laugh it off, smear a little of it on your nose, take a goofy picture, and giggle every time you open the file on your desktop?

That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

At a time in my life when being “grown up” is no longer encouraged, but mandated, I find myself clutching at old, familiar things while contemplating new wisdoms like a seven-year-old contemplates his new, “big kid” bike. It’s a strange type of growing, no longer upward toward the sky but inward toward the heart, no longer wishing for more trees to climb, but wondering at how many I have climbed, and at how many I have yet to discover.

Being a grown-up is a tough responsibility, and sometimes we scribble right on top of it, never realizing that it came and wondering later where it went. The most important thing to do, then, is never to grow so old that we forget to grow up and remember to retain the innocence of childhood. A child wishes to be older, appreciates his youth, and cherishes the smallest details of life.

When you can truly view life like a child, you are able to see, hear, and feel life as it’s happening, and experience true generosity.

Of course, there can be a few side effects.

Thinking like a kid can lead to extensive coloring book collections, Disney Princess lunch boxes, and pink painted tiaras made from soda bottles and hot glue. But I’m okay with this. It’s a cushion of sorts, absorbing the new discoveries of my shiny new adult mind with a gentle cuddle, covering them with “Finding Nemo” rub-on tattoos, and tucking them safely away.

It’s a pretty nifty thing. I like it.

So I have learned to smile for no reason, to hum “Under the Sea” while doing laundry, and to make every day of growing up a special adventure.

Relax. Laugh. Enjoy.

Because every minute is important. Live it with fervor. Live it genuinely.

Live it like a kid.

The life of the adult male Shadfly (or Mayfly) is, sadly for him, fleeting.  Depending on the species, the male’s adult lifespan can be measured in minutes or up to only a day. So if Mr. Shadfly was to make a “bucket list”, what might it look like? I imagine it would look very much like [...]

...is an incredibly exciting moment.

It’s a huge relief that it’s actually finally actually finished. It’s also terrifying. I can’t bear to actually read any of it, in case I find a bit where James is called Jack (he was in an earlier draft) or Molly “closes her eyes” (she only has one).

More terrifying is that people are actually going to go and read it now. What if they hate it? What if they find typos? What if they get bored and never finish it?

Anyway. It’ll be on shelves in a month. There’ll be a launch. I’ll let you know.

I promise I won't do this for every review. Just the ones that use the word "brilliant".

(from the Sydney Morning Herald)


Equally brilliant, but quite different again, is Scatterheart by Lili Wilkinson, children's literature critic, author and blogger (see, thinkingsofalili.blogspot.com). This epic tale begins in 1814 London, where 15-year-old Hannah Cheshire awaits trial for a crime she did not commit.
The descriptions of the prison itself, and of those imprisoned alongside Hannah, are vivid and gruesome. Hannah is convicted and sent to Australia on the convict ship the Derby Ram, another wonderfully realised setting. The hopelessness and injustice of the situation is palpable but Hannah proves surprisingly resilient, finding strength in new friendships and the possibility of a rediscovering old ones.
Wilkinson weaves the narrative together with great skill - from Hannah's present situation, back to when she led a life of wealth and privilege - revealing bit-by-bit how the naive young woman has ended up in such awful circumstances.
Also entwined with Hannah's story is a fairytale, Scatterheart, which bears many similarities to what's happening to Hannah, and allows the reader to hope that she will find her "happily ever after". The fairytale shares the same epic qualities as the novel, as well as creating a strong contrast between fantasy and gritty realism.

Pro: singing karaoke with my peeps til the wee hours of the morning.