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Blog: Hazel Mitchell (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: Hazel Mitchell, childhood, hospital, children's illustration, illness, illustration, sketch for today, childhood memories, look back in candour, Add a tag
Blog: Stone Arch Books (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: Childhood memories, picture books, Add a tag
You've probably heard that November is Picture Book Month. For many of us, our earliest reading memories involved a favorite story read by a parent, grandparent, or school librarian. Books that became favorites were requested over and over, until the grown-ups in our lives finally memorized the words.
Blog: Maria Madonna Davidoff - Artist Blog (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: cartoons, Childhood Memories, Illustration Friday, Add a tag
Blog: Christy's Creative Space (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: through the eyes of the past, childhood memories, Add a tag
This was my clock. OK. Maybe not the EXACT clock. But this was my clock when I was 4 years old, maybe younger. Now someone is selling it for a ton of $$$ on e-bay. Anyway . . . when the alarm went off it said, "Andy, Andy, please wake up, it's time to start our day." (or something like that.) If there's any more to it, I don't remember.
I remember this clock because my mom was at work and my dad and brother were outside shoveling the Chicago snow. I was in the house all by myself. Sure. My dad and brother were technically "there" but in a 4 year old mind, I was in the house . . . ALONE!!!!! I remember grabbing this clock and a few tomatoes from the refrigerator and hiding under my bed.
Cartoons had taught me well. The clock told me when mom should be home. The tomatoes were to throw at an intruder. I was set!!!
I love this memory! I'm even contemplating buying this stupid clock!
Can anyone else remember their irrational childhood moments? I'd love to hear them!
Blog: Stone Arch Books (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: early childhood, Childhood memories, design, Add a tag
I am currently reading this fascinating book called, How To Think Like A Great Graphic Designer. The title is somewhat misleading because the book is not loaded with tips and tricks on how to become a design wonder, but instead, it is a collection of interviews with some of the best designers in the industry. The first question asked of each designer is, what was your first creative memory, which got me thinking about my own life and what some of my first creative experiences were.
My mom always had a card table set up in our basement that my dad had somehow shortened so it was my height, where an assortment of crayons, paper, watercolors, etc, were out and available for me to use. So much of my young life was spent around that table either by myself or with my friends. We made paper dolls, valentines, (which were a HUGE deal, we would start making them the day after Christmas!) and I also remember giving my friend a hair cut at that table. I think the scissors were removed for a while after that incident!
Anyway, it's interesting to think that such a simple thing like a table with some markers on it could have such an impact on my life and create such fond memories. I love these types of stories so now I would like to know, what are some of your first creative memories? We would love to hear about them!
Blog: My Clean Book Reviews (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: M, Religious, Adult, Book Review, childhood memories, Add a tag
Author, Ian Morgan Cron, tells his life in a personable and off-hand manner, knowing he has lived this life, but not totally believing all the players in his game.
As a young boy, he had many questions concerning his father and their lifestyle. His father was very mysterious and would often be gone for long periods of time or have to stop what he was doing and head off into the unknown. When Ian found pictures of his dad playing golf with the president, he questions his mother, who is just as enigmatic as his father.
All through his life, Ian is left with more questions than answers and he must struggle with his own inner demons to become the man he was meant to be.
The reader is taken on a journey that seems almost fantastical in places and heart-wrenching in others. We learn of Ian's fathers addiction to alcohol and how it eventually removes him from the game. We learn of Ian's struggle with his father's love, always left wondering if his father did, in fact, love him and he wasn't just a "tool" of the trade.
We learn of Ian's struggles with Jesus and God and their intentions for his life. How he embraces their lessons and applies them to his life. We watch as he walks the path less traveled to come to a point in his life where everything seems to fall into place and his message is clear.
This was a very engaging book by Ian Morgan Cron, who also authored, Chasing Francis: A Pilgrim's Tale, which was also an exceptional read. You can read my review here. I thought the insights into his life were written in an enjoyable and thought-provoking method. I enjoyed reading his thoughts and worries and his projections for the future.
I thought his grip on reality was an interesting one and I enjoyed his sharing it with me. The writing is engaging, interesting and easily read. The reader will find minor to mild expletives, which might surprise the average person, especially when you read that the author is an Episcopalian minister. It is that honest, "average-joe", writing style that will submerge the reader into the author's realm of life and leave you with a well-blended tale of one man's life and the choices he makes.
I would give this a four out of five stars, while I thought the book was a great read and I am sure anyone who reads it would agree with such, I just found there was a certain something lacking from its pages that would have made it exceptional, maybe a degree of warmth that was lacking or maybe it was the introduction of his faith, the people that surrounded him, cajoling him into their fold, it kind of gave me a creepy feeling and I am unsure how I would handled the situation. If it wasn't for the good-looking girl coming into the picture, who knows where Ian Morgan Cron's life may have ended, it was certainly looking like he was heading down a path of destruction.
When he was sixteen years old, Ian Morgan Cron was told about his fathers clandestine work with the CIA. This astonishing revelation, coupled with his fathers dark struggles with chronic alcoholism and depression, upended the world of a boy struggling to become a man. Decades later, as he faces his own personal demons, Ian realizes the only way to find peace is to voyage back through a painful childhood marked by extremes-pr Add a Comment
Blog: The Bookshop Blog (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: Books & Mags, ALA, Childhood Memories, Children’s Books, Collectors, Illustrated Books, Krauss, Sherman, Add a tag
The early 20th Century saw the first of what can be considered the modern children’s picture book. The books were short, the words relatively few, and the illustrations advanced the story instead of merely illustrating the text. Whether it was Peter Rabbit squeezing himself under Mr. McGregor’s fence or poor Pooh being thumped on the stairs by Christopher Robin, the best of these books also reflected a change of viewpoint: the change from the vantage point of an adult to more of a child’s eye view of the world.
While it’s fairly easy to identify and value the children’s classics like Peter Rabbit or Winnie the Pooh and the ALA website is a good resource for Caldecott Award and Caldecott Honor Books, there are a large number of modern children’s illustrated books which are widely sought that can’t be quantified in terms of edition or merits of the art and text. These books are not usually being sought by traditional book collectors, they are being sought by non collectors looking to revisit, and usually pass on, a specific childhood moment. The one thing that is almost impossible to predict with children’s books is which books will resonate enough in a persons childhood to make it sought, sometimes frantically, when that person becomes and adult.
These books are in such demand, that even after 15 years as a children’s bookseller, I rarely, if ever, have handled any copies. The advent of the internet has made tracking down these books somewhat easier but that fact is usually offset by the large number of non traditional collectors looking for these titles. Two examples of books that I’ve had multiple requests for over that years, and that I’ve never had a copy of are: The Boy Who Ate Flowers by Nancy Sherman and illustrated by Nancy Carroll, and The Christmas Cookie Sprinkle Snitcher written by Robert Krauss and Illustrated by VIP.
And the conversation which is most dreaded by all out of print children’s booksellers everywhere usually starts with; “I’m looking for this book I had when I was little, I don’t remember the title or the author…..”
I wrote the following on my rants and rambles blog after an especially difficult day of hunting for unnamed books, (and probably after one too many glasses of wine).
“I remember a book I had when I was 4 or 5 or maybe 6
It was blue or green or maybe yellow
And had a picture of a duck or frog or puppy dog
The duck was lost but found his way home
The frog was bad but her family loved her anyway
And the puppy was hardly ever afraid of the dark or being alone
It’s gone now, lost when we moved
or in the basement flood of ‘78
or the garage sale the year I left for college…
That’s the book I want to buy, do you have it?”
Posted By Dana Richardson of Windy Hill BooksAdd a Comment
Blog: Tara Lazar (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: Creative Writing, New Jersey, Short Stories, Writing, Writing for Children, Apple Pie, Baking, Childhood Memories, Contests, Food, Memoir, Pie Contests, Pies, Pumpkin Pie, Recipes, Add a tag
My mother did not bake ordinary pies. Creating a pie was a day’s event, begun with two knives cutting butter and shortening into flour until it resembled sand, a forgotten summer sight until its culinary resurrection. She floated from cupboard to bowl, bowl to oven with a grace befitting a ballerina. She sliced. She whipped. She dolloped. She made the house smell better than Willy Wonka’s factory.
And so, when I was nine years old, I thought my mother finally deserved public acknowledgement of her pie prowess. When I saw a poster announcing our library’s fall pie contest, I entered her name. When I returned home and told her, she was more excited than I was.
Which pie shall it be? The apple-cranberry? No, too predictable. The three-berry pie? No, out of season. Ahh, I know. The chocolate-amaretto chiffon pie.
Children aren’t supposed to have a taste for amaretto. I was the exception. The almond-flavored liquor enhanced the chocolate flavor so well, I thought I might faint. Her creation began with homemade chocolate pudding, then a tall dome of whipped cream, onto which she drizzled an amaretto-chocolate reduction. Slivered almonds and chocolate shavings dusted the top with such even precision, you might think she arranged each piece with tweezers. I do not know how we transported the pie unscathed, but we arrived and unveiled the masterpiece to such gasps of amazement, the librarians had to shush us.
The event boasted eight pies, but zero competition. An apple pie with a rustic crust appeared soggy and deflated. Mom’s hand-fluted crust would have made Martha envious. My teeth stuck together just looking at the shoo-fly pie. The chocolate-amaretto pie melted on the tongue.
A librarian instructed three judges to score the pies on a scale of 1 to 3 according to three criteria: appearance, taste and originality. Yes, yes and yes. She would win all three. I would be so proud. She would remember that it was I, her eldest daughter, who launched her pie celebrity.
The first sign that this would be a real contest was when one judge glanced at another’s appearance score for Mom’s pie. “Wow, you’re a tough cookie!” she said. Translation: Mom probably received a 1 from the Russian Judge instead of a well-deserved 3.
Tasting came next. The judges took one bite of each pie. There was tongue swishing, water gulping, and lip pursing. A gentle scribble, scribble on their note cards.
Finally, originality. With pumpkin, pecan, and plain ol’ lemon meringue, Mom’s fusion of almond and chocolate would take that category for certain.
Our entire family waited nervously for the awards to be announced.
“Third place: the shoo-fly pie!” A tiny, elderly woman shuffled to the front of the room and accepted a ribbon and a cookbook. She posed for the town photographer.
If Mom did not take second, then I knew first prize would be hers.
“Second place: the pumpkin pie!” A young mother smiled as she received a ceramic pie plate.
Hooray! Victory! A pie for the record books! A pie to launch a career! My mother, the world’s best baker! (Or, at least the best baker in this town of 20,000!)
“And the winner is…and we have to say, this was a unanimous decision…the apple pie!”
What? That sorry-looking blob? It’s just APPLE! Anyone can make an apple pie! It takes a creative genius to pair chocolate with amaretto (especially in 1979)!
The worst part of the defeat was that the woman who won was not even present. Yep, it was a drop-off pie.
Once the prizes were announced, the pies were cut and plates distributed. And which pie do you think disappeared first? Mom’s chocolate-amaretto chiffon. Our family snubbed the other pies and dug into our favorite.
In the end, I learned that public accolades aren’t important. After all, there’s really no accounting for taste.