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Beach House Written by Deanna Caswell Illustrated by Amy June Bates Chronicle Books 5/12/2015 978-1-4521-2408-7 32 pages Age 4—8
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“A long, long drive. It’s been a year of dreaming, waiting. Summer’s here. “In a funny and moving celebration of family, vacations, and the joy of the sea, Deanna Caswell and Amy June Bates capture the essence of summer—sand castles, tide pools, starry evenings—and the love that warms every moment.” [book jacket]
Review Well, if you are not fond of overcrowded pools or swimming deep within them to find fantasy and fish of questionable species (review of Pool here), then maybe traveling to the ocean, staying in a summer home, and breathing in the salt air is more to your liking. If so, then Beach House is the perfect picture book to kick off your summer.
After a long drive—“Are we there yet?—the family arrives at the beach house for their summer vacation. The sea beckons, but the car needs unloaded, and the suitcases unpacked.
“Doors fly open. End of the road.
“To the beach!” “Not yet—unload.”
So many bags, so much stuff. Amazing one family needs this much for a vacation from daily life. Fun waits as the clothes are hung and shoes arranged. The youngest son and his faithful pal look hopefully out the window at the beach and the water. Then the magic words that get everyone moving. Suits are on, and dad is loaded down with every imaginable beach toy and towels. The family hits the beach. The two kids gleefully run into the water with the puppy right behind them. The toddler plays in the sand, making castles and other sand-filled joys. After a full day of sun, sand, and water, the family cuddles up to a roaring fire for dinner and then the comfort of baths and soft beds. Tomorrow will be another day on the beach. The text, written in rhyme, easily flows off the tongue, fluently rhyming for readers and listeners alike.
I love the illustrations which overflow with intimate detail. The younger boy, pulling his wagon full of sand toys, has the glimpses of a diaper popping out of the top of his swim trunks. He is obviously a toddler. Another favorite scene has the two older kids—a boy and a girl—in the water playing. Dad is tossing the girl up and into the water. The boy has his hands cupped around his mouth, yelling at mom, who is on the beach with the toddler. I can hear him saying, “Hey, Mom! Mom! Look at me!”
The watercolor and pencil illustrations exude summer on a soft, white, sandy beach that keeps the ocean where it belongs, allowing just a wave or two onto its shore. I am reminded of summer vacations with my family. Five of us crammed into a small cottage, swimming all day, eating ice cream bars on the stoop, and watching my older sister wash the paper plates—a joke I was too young to understand, or even remember without photographic evidence. Beach House brings out memories, or maybe, it will give you pause—a small suggestion—to plan that family getaway.
By JiHyeon Lee Chronicle Books 5/01/2015 978-1-4521-4294-4 56 pages Age 3—5
“What happens when two shy children meet at a very crowded pool? Dive in to find out! JiHyeon Lee’s masterful story of a chance encounter takes readers on a journey that reminds us that friendship and imagination have no bounds.” [book jacket]
Review Pool arrives just in time for summer. Pool wordlessly tells the story of one young boy going to a public pool to find it is crowded. Actually, barely an inch exists between swimmers. He sits on the side of the pool, probably contemplating what to do. Then he dives in and goes below the legs of all those swimmers. Down into the depths of the pool, the young boy meets all sorts of curious water-living creatures. Crazy big-eyed fish, long L-shaped fish, and even a fish resembling a toucan exist down below those swimmers.
Most importantly, the young boy meets another swimmer his own age. The two explore all the life below the other swimmers. Schools of bluefish swarm the young boy, who looks uncertain. The brave outlook of the young girl must give him confidence, as they fearlessly swim among fish with many sharp teeth and come eye-to-eye with a huge whale. As the two swim up for air, the fish follow causing a riotous exit from the water by the other swimmers.
I love Pool.Pool exemplifies the power of the imagination and the pull of kindred spirits into friendship. Pool shows the boy’s problem-solving skills as he decides to go below the swimming feet where there would be room to actually swim. Those above him crowd the water too tightly to even move, let alone swim. Below the surface, this resourceful boy meets another young swimmer and the two find ways to enjoy the water and themselves. Are those fish real? It’s anyone’s guess whether those crazy-looking fish are real or the figment of the young swimmers’ imaginations. Last out of the pool is an inner tube wearing young swimmer, who looks back upon the now quiet and still water. If you saw what this youngster saw, you just might believe.
Pool is perfect for any summer day, rain or shine. Lee used oil pastels and colored pencils to create the beautifully crafted spreads. As the young boy swims below the crowded surface, his trunks turn from a dull grey to a dark blue. The further he descends, the brighter the spreads. I think the message is that one must go beyond the ordinary, innertube crowd to see the wonders of the world and, when finding friendship, enjoy the time together in those wonders you share. Staying on the surface, with the crowd, is safe but often lonely. Pool is Lee’s first picture book. I hope she continues to publish. Her work is collector worthy.
Next time you go swimming, try going down to the depths of your imagination. You just might meet your kindred spirit.
Well I guess I'd be remiss if I didn't post at least two bears for the month of March, as bears are the one animal I've drawn professionally more than any other. I like bears so much that my website is even called BigBearIllustration.com.
Star gazing in My Favorite Bear, written & illustrated by Andrea Gabriel, Charlesbridge Publishing.
Front cover for Otter & Bear, still searching for its publishing home...
0 Comments on Otter & Bear as of 3/27/2014 1:15:00 PM
Enter to win a set of all three books in Julie Sternberg's Eleanor series.
Giveaway begins March 13, 2014, at 12:01 A.M. PST and ends April 12, 2014, at 11:59 P.M. PST.
I don't want you to think I really swim a mile - or even half a mile - every day, as I did for a time when I was at school (well, every weekday, pretty much). I still enjoy swimming but my Olympic ambitions did not last long. I got as far as swimming for my (smallish) town, was beaten by the girl from Castleford, and that was pretty much it. Even if I'd had the talent, I don't think I'd ever have had the resolve and determination to do all that training day after day.
Like many others, I'm currently enjoying the Olympic Games and especially the swimming - marvelling at the performances, the dedication, the sportsmanship and the articulate interview responses of these inspirational youngsters.
My swimming ambitions fizzled out long ago but I do still have ambition of a kind, at least where my writing is concerned. In these last few weeks - a time of reflection following the sad and sudden death of my father - I've been trying to work out what ambition means, if anything, when you reach the age of 57. What exactly do I hope to achieve by all this writing I do every day? Is it really just a hobby, like going for an early morning swim or dabbling my feet (when I get the chance) in the sea? No, I think I'm fuelled by something more powerful than that - but what am I pointing myself towards?
I thought I was aiming to earn enough from my books (some hope?) to buy myself a little seaside retreat. But, as it turns out, my wonderful father, who never earned a high salary in his life but never spent much either and invested wisely, has left me enough to make this dream come true. So, all being well, I will have my seaside hideaway, which I hope to share with family and friends. But where does that leave my writing ambitions? Intact, I'm sure of that, but the question remains - why I am working so hard?
It's not for fame, I know that much. I'm old enough to know that fame is not what Rosalies like best (not this one, anyway). Not that I've ever experienced it, but you know what I mean. I hate attention, being stared at, having my photo taken, being expected to behave in certain ways and having things to live up to. Nor is it for money, since I'm also old enough to know that fortunes bring troubles of their own.
I suppose it all boils down to wanting to write the best books I can - and wanting people to read them. I think my deepest ambition is to go on being active, both mentally and physically, for as long as I possibly can. And never to stop trying something new, especially where my writing is concerned.
Alongside that is a wish to be part of something wonderful - something that involves inspiring young people both to read and write. When I hear youngsters enthusing over books - and when I see them having a go at writing for themselves - it makes me happier than just about anything else. Yes, of course it's extra special if they like my books and engage with my characters, but, leaving ego aside, to be part of the tradition (beautifully enacted in that Olympic opening ceremony) of writing for children and YA - is a wonderful privilege. So I guess my ambition has to be to try to find better ways to connect with my readers through my books, and maybe to get some children reading who might not otherwise have thought of it. And to try to support, as well as be supported by, other writers, teachers, librarians, publishers, etc, who are doing the same. Not very original, perhaps, but enough to keep me going for as many years as I have left!
So I will continue to write my daily mile, and try to keep up the swimming too.
9 Comments on Swimming the Daily Mile - Ambition at 57?, last added: 8/4/2012
"my ambition has to be to try to find better ways to connect with my readers through my books, and maybe to get some children reading who might not otherwise have thought of it."
What a lovely ambition, can't think of a better reason for writing. Hope you enjoy your place by the sea when you find it.
This is wonderful. You've thought through what 'ambition' means to you - not one dictated by the media or any false notion of 'celebrity.' There is nothing more important than inspiring children.
Sorry to hear about the death of your Father... but inspired by your thoughts about what you want to achieve now, moving forwards. It reminds me of Elen's post about whether there might be a downside to upping one's sales and profile last week. Wonderful, thought provoking stuff.
That is a wonderful gift your father left you - thank you for posting about him and about ambition - something that we all struggle with. Your clarity of thought is much appreciated!
So sad to lose your father, but he must have known you wanted your seaside place and his spirit will infuse every brick, I am sure. As for you heading -"Ambition at 57". Well - age has nothing to do with it. I want to be published for my children and grandchildren, as well as for my own satisfaction, and I am 68. I would also love to return to UK but that is a lottery dream!
How exciting - to be searching for that perfect hideaway within hearing range of the sea!
You've made me wonder this morning why I write. I think it's because I can't not write - in the nicest possible way, it's a bit like having a bug which keeps coming back!
5 Stars Johnny loves to splash and crash in the ocean waves—naked. Then one day Mom says he’s too old to run around without clothes on. But Johnny thinks being naked is just fine. What will it take for Johnny to start wearing clothes? Three-year-old Johnny, who is really closer to age four, loves to [...]
Our beloved Sunday water aerobics instructor was replaced recently. The class is having a hard time adjusting to the new instructor. She uses a different set of moves and it's hard to hear her instructions. She has dismissed one of my favorite moves, saying that it goes against the guidelines of <insert unknown acronym>.
I've been thinking a lot these past few weeks about what it's like for our students every fall as they adjust to new teachers and what we can do help them start thinking about what to expect and how to deal with the changes. Things we can do this spring while our students are still a part of our close-knit, safe and predictable classroom communities include:
• Talk about changes they've undergone in the past. List the positives of change along with the negatives.
• Think about what they've learned from favorite teachers. Remind them that when you move from teacher to teacher, you carry them all with you -- you never really leave a favorite teacher behind.
We can encourage our students to
• Be patient. Give the new teacher a chance.
• Be an independent learner. (For our children, this might mean reinforcing the importance of the learning they do on their own at home after school and on weekends and holidays. For me, it has meant abandoning the water aerobics class in favor of my own self-styled hour of water exercise. It feels good to swim laps again, and to decide for myself what arm, leg, and core exercises I'll do and for how long.)
In the fall...(I can't believe I just wrote that! We have only 6 days of school left before the much-needed summer break, and I'm thinking about next fall!!!)...In the fall, when I greet a new group of students, I'll try to be even more aware of the adjustments they are going through as we figure each other out. I'll try to remember to
• Ask for their input as we establish routines and norms and make the classroom ours.
• Have them tell me the things they loved about teachers in the past...not that I could make any promises that I would be just like them, but so that we can explore my similarities and differences to their former teachers.
• Be gentle as I guide them in their learning so that I don't completely contradict or disregard what another teacher taught them, but rather show them how learning is layered, and how the new learning they do with me will be added to, but will not replace their previous learning.
5 Comments on Adjusting to a New Teacher, last added: 5/23/2012
What a thought-filled post, Mary Lee. I like that you began comparing this new teacher to you to what students experience each year when they move to the next grade. I like this part: "Remind them that when you move from teacher to teacher, you carry them all with you -- you never really leave a favorite teacher behind." I think students will like hearing that! It's like that Cisneros piece when she celebrated her birthday. She became 10 (or 11?) & felt all the years stacked under her new age. Thanks!
I so needed to read this! We have four weeks to go, and I'm already feeling sad at having to bid goodbye to this year's set of kiddos. Yes, there is much that I can still do to prepare them for what lies ahead...and thank you for the inspiring words to help me do so, Mary Lee.
It is such a challenge to connect so much to a group of people to only have them all dispersed and jumbled up with a new teacher each year. I love how you gave a reassuring message here and a means of reflecting on how good change can be. I too am already thinking of fall, but can smell the beach and have considered sprinkling sand in my shoes!
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My little brother isn’t so little. He stands 6’4”, though lean with long fingers extended from bony hands; pianist’s fingers. I tended to envy him his hands, and his leanness.
Nearly three years younger, he had the same training as I, the same family, and the same mental abilities. He was the one who followed in Dad’s footsteps. He was the one who accidentally tried to kill me.
Oh, yes, he did. I sat on the floor in front of the TV. The Lone Ranger was flickering across the screen, struggling to subdue the bad guy, when my sweet little brother brought his pearl-handled pistola butt down onto the crown of my head with all the force his scrawny three-year-old body could muster. Back then these toy guns were made of metal, not plastic. They were heavy. Excitement at what was happening on-screen had temporarily relieved him of any sense of reality. I was knocked out completely.
I know what you’re thinking. He was just a baby. I’m sure I heard that argument when I came to and tried to throttle him. I know that I heard that argument throughout the years afterwards when the subject and memory came up.
Of course, he did make up for it several years later when he kept me from becoming sow chow. The sow took objection to my being in the stall with her piglets and rushed me when my back was turned. I almost didn’t make the age of nine. Brother dear, who wasn’t supposed to be at the barn, shouted a warning and got me out the gate before sow connected with my backside.
Yep, I did him a favor later. I encouraged his strength training by having him pull me in his little red wagon, between the rows in the corn field, while we were picking up dropped ears after the picker when through. All that loose corn would help fatten up those piglets. My mother wasn’t pleased with my interpretation of a self-improvement course for him. I got punished, I think, for working him too hard. I never knew if my dad knew about that little episode.
As a sidebar, I got to be the one who went to the top of the tulip poplar tree one summer afternoon to bring his happy self down to earth. Mom was not pleased with his antics. For once, I wasn’t the bad guy in the scenario. Dad did find out about that one.
When I learned to swim the summer of my 13th year, I proved that I could retain lessons and excel at trajectory in the water. Mom had us down at one of the local creeks, along with her sister and at least one of my cousins. Brother ran a ways ahead against Mom’s admonition to stay close.
Before anyone could prevent it, he ran into real trouble. Creeks carve out deep holes in bends of the watercourse. He’d run himself off into one of those holes and promptly commenced to drowning.
Mom shouted for me to go save him. ME!? I was a dozen yards behind her and the rest and he was that far or more ahead of her.
Until that day, I didn’t know that I could sprint while running in ankle to knee-deep water. I kept my eyes on the spot I’d last seen his hand come up and dived when I got there. I found him with no difficulty. Getting him to the surface was the tricky part.
He kept trying to drown me until I finally got myself positioned where I could get my feet into the small of his back and kick him toward the shallows. It mi
My little brother isn’t so little. He stands 6’4”, though lean with long fingers extended from bony hands; pianist’s fingers. I tended to envy him his hands, and his leanness.
Nearly three years younger, he had the same training as I, the same family, and the same mental abilities. He was the one who followed in Dad’s footsteps. He was the one who accidentally tried to kill me.
Oh, yes, he did. I sat on the floor in front of the TV. The Lone Ranger was flickering across the screen, struggling to subdue the bad guy, when my sweet little brother brought his pearl-handled pistola butt down onto the crown of my head with all the force his scrawny three-year-old body could muster. Back then these toy guns were made of metal, not plastic. They were heavy. Excitement at what was happening on-screen had temporarily relieved him of any sense of reality. I was knocked out completely.
I know what you’re thinking. He was just a baby. I’m sure I heard that argument when I came to and tried to throttle him. I know that I heard that argument throughout the years afterwards when the subject and memory came up.
Of course, he did make up for it several years later when he kept me from becoming sow chow. The sow took objection to my being in the stall with her piglets and rushed me when my back was turned. I almost didn’t make the age of nine. Brother dear, who wasn’t supposed to be at the barn, shouted a warning and got me out the gate before sow connected with my backside.
Yep, I did him a favor later. I encouraged his strength training by having him pull me in his little red wagon, between the rows in the corn field, while we were picking up dropped ears after the picker when through. All that loose corn would help fatten up those piglets. My mother wasn’t pleased with my interpretation of a self-improvement course for him. I got punished, I think, for working him too hard. I never knew if my dad knew about that little episode.
As a sidebar, I got to be the one who went to the top of the tulip poplar tree one summer afternoon to bring his happy self down to earth. Mom was not pleased with his antics. For once, I wasn’t the bad guy in the scenario. Dad did find out about that one.
When I learned to swim the summer of my 13th year, I proved that I could retain lessons and excel at trajectory in the water. Mom had us down at one of the local creeks, along with her sister and at least one of my cousins. Brother ran a ways ahead against Mom’s admonition to stay close.
Before anyone could prevent it, he ran into real trouble. Creeks carve out deep holes in bends of the watercourse. He’d run himself off into one of those holes and promptly commenced to drowning.
Mom shouted for me to go save him. ME!? I was a dozen yards behind her and the rest and he was that far or more ahead of her.
Until that day, I didn’t know that I could sprint while running in ankle to knee-deep water. I kept my eyes on the spot I’d last seen his hand come up and dived when I got there. I found him with no difficulty. Getting him to the surface was the tricky part.
He kept trying to drown me until I finally got myself positioned where I could get my feet into the small of his back and kick him toward the shallows. It mi
Laughingly good? Not only. Be prepared to snort, guffaw, choke, and get stomach cramps from belly laughing. Swim the Fly describes a teenage boy in every American family! Oh, and let's not forget the sidekicks. In this story the gaggle is comprised of good friends, Matt, Coop and Sean, who set a summer goal each year. And they always accomplish the goal. YES! This summer they topple all past goals: see a girl totally naked. Be sure to click on Don's YouTube below to get a taste for clammato/chocolate, er, the taste of the book.
FYI. . .Beat the Band is the companion book to this. It's not quite as good as this one. . .it doesn't move as quickly, but the lessons learned are just as profound. :)
It's been said before (a million-million times) but it bears repeating: time is a river that does not (cannot) stand still and wait for me.
--I remember the exact moment I learned to float on my back in the cold blue water of the swimming pool. I lay there looking up at the cloudless sky, sun on my face, roar of water in my ears. Floating. I floated until someone came and stood me up and told me that swimming lessons were over.--
Today I will try floating on the river of time instead of thrashing my arms and legs against the never ending current, instead of racing to beat it to some place where no finish line exists.
It's good to be back, after two weeks in Belgium. Simultaneously, it's hard to be back, after two weeks in Belgium.
It's impossible not to think about time when you're in a place where the 1800's are recent history. The image above is the remaining fragment of the original city wall of Brussels. The river of time has clearly moved on and stranded it there in the midst of modern life.
It's impossible not to think about time when the new school year wakes you up and leaves you sleepless in the cricket-dark of the early morning.
Karen is hosting today's Poetry Friday round up at Karen Edmisten: The Blog With The Shockingly Clever Title. (I love writing that!) Many thanks to Kate and Libby for rounding up my scheduled PF posts the past two weeks while I was away!
11 Comments on Poetry Friday -- Time Does Not Stand Still, last added: 8/14/2011
What I like is how that chunk of wall floats on its patch of green grass between the other buildings, moving on, moving on--just like young Mary Lee floats between the banks of the river of time...nice one! How did you spend your two weeks in Belgium? And what's your moules frites count? : )
LOVE that poem....especially since I have been at swim lessons every morning this week with my son, watching him learn to float for the first time....I’ll never watch him do that again without thinking of your poem...lovely, indeed!
I enjoyed that poem - reminds me of the power of standing still for a moment, the wind on your hair, eyes raised heavenwards. Thank you for sharing that beautiful beautiful poem. You must have enjoyed Belgium! =)
Welcome home! My nephew was there this summer. This weekend my family is visiting St. Augustine Beach(we love it down here) and this afternoon I treated myself to floating on my back out in the big ol' ocean. Then, to read your beautiful poetry today - ahh. Perfect.
Hooray for coming home and hooray for Belgium! What a cool trip!
I love your poem. Your description of the exhilarating sensation of learning to float is spot on...the water "roaring in your ears" is especially lovely. I want to learn to float in Time too.
The Life of Duke Kahanamoku
by Ellie Crowe
illustrations by Richard Waldrep
Lee and Low 2007
A bit of bait-and-switch on this picture book biography of the father of modern surfing as it focuses more on his accomplishments as a swimmer.
As a kid, "Duke" wasn't much for school, but he loved the water. He loved swimming and surfing, riding the waves at Waikiki Beach on 100-plus
1 Comments on Surfer of the Century, last added: 3/28/2011
Effie Maloney is dying to go to camp! Ever since her big sister Maxey had come home from her end of 4th grade experience at Camp Wickitawa, Effie has been excited. She can’t imagine anything better than a week away from home, her sister and her family with her 2 best friends Nit (short for Trinity) and Aurora at camp! She is super happy that the Principal of her school is letting one of her bffs Aurora go to camp with them, since Aurora doesn’t even go to St. Dom’s anymore!
Effie has been planning and planning, but there are a couple of things that she definitely is not ready for. The first is that big sister Maxey will be at camp with her. Sure she will be working in the kitchen, but still…Effie really wanted this to be her year at camp. Secondly, she is stunned when she finds she doesn’t even want to get off the bus! All the planning, all of the reading of the camp handbook, all of the anticipation seems to have evaporated.
Effie is beside herself. Here she is at Camp Wickitawa with Aurora and Nit and Effie can tell that there is something terribly wrong. She feels like she can’t breathe and she’s cold all over. She is trying to be excited, but she’s finding it incredibly difficult. Add the fact that everyone else seems to be finding their place with ease, and Effie is feeling more like an outcast than ever! She’s not liking the food, she’s not connecting with her friends, she’s the only 4th grader who can’t swim, and the only thing that she seems to be good at is walking her bunkmates to the biffy in the middle of the night.
Effie’s CIT Cricket says that soon she’ll be so busy that her mind will be off of feeling badly. Effie’s not sure she believes Cricket, but since her mom is away from home at a well deserved retreat, there’s not much she can do about it but try.
The funny thing is, things do get a bit better without Effie even noticing.First, there is Chica who lives at the camp and decides that Effie is going to be her friend. Next, there is the cute boy Swat who works in the kitchen and always remembers that she likes to drink iced tea. Then there is the fact that her friends are rallying behind her when they realize that she is uncomfortable. There is nothing like having 2 best friends!
This is the third book featuring Effie Maloney, but readers will have no problem picking it up if they have not read the first two (Effie Maloney: My Big Sister is So Bossy She Says You Can’t Read This Book and 10 Lucky Things That Have Happened to Me Since I Nearly Got Hit by Lightning). Effie is a super likable, if somewhat worry filled, character who readers will root for. This installment sees her getting a little deeper in her judging of other people as well as her understanding of herself.
Mary Hershey writes with a truly hilarious voice that had me laughing out loud several times during my read (starting with one of the funniest first lines I have come across in a long time)! Effie and her friends are heartfelt and believable, and most readers will see themselves somewhere in these pages.
0 Comments on Love and Pollywogs from Camp Calamity, by Mary Hershey as of 1/1/1900
I believe there’s a gene for competition and some people just don’t have it. It doesn’t mean they aren’t skilled, maybe more so considering their motivation is more intrinsically noble, simply that besting some arbitrary benchmark or talented rival doesn’t light their fire. Having been genetically pre-determined to overachieving, I get a strange sensation when I encounter folk who do stuff just because they enjoy it rather than to prove something. I think it’s called bewilderment and I’ve experienced it with my oldest daughter since she got here. Since Keilana’s paternal line if full of water-dominating merpeople, she was born a natural swimmer. She was good. I mean really good. My competitive instincts kicked in something fierce and I couldn’t wait to get her on the local swim team. I knew she would rock their world. Promptly after her fifth birthday, we showed up poolside to claim our victory, but only one of us was on board. After effusively praising Keilana’s swimming prowess, I stepped back to let them see for themselves. And we all watched Keilana pretend to drown for the next thirty minutes. Back in the car, I asked the child who could swim the length of an Olympic-sized pool at four what happened. Her answer was simple: she only wanted to swim for fun. Such an option never occurred to me. In Erica Silverman’s Don’t Fidget A Feather, Gander and Duck go mano y mano and friendship wins. I didn’t know there was a trophy for that…
We had a wonderful vacation. I always feel like I'm home when I'm in St. Louis. The kids feel it too. They love being surrounded by cousins.
The city pools are amazing in the counties. Part water park, part swimming pools. We spent a lot of time at the two near my aunt's place.
One Friday night, we swam for a few hours, went home for dinner, & came back for a poolside showing of Madagascar 2. Such fun. Swimming at night isn't possible in Northern California (too cold at night), but in St. Louis that's not a problem.
I had the pleasure of meeting another Twitter friend, Lynn Alpert aka @RedStepchild. We had a great lunch and talk. Gotta love Twitter.
My kids got their first taste of driving at my cousin's farm in Illinois. I'm in trouble now.
They also got into golf there. I'm hopin
1 Comments on Summer Swimming in St. Louis & Bass Pro in Springfield, last added: 7/7/2010
Eleven-year-old Riley Liston isn’t exactly a jock. Don’t get me wrong, he is good at some sports. Especially the kinds that involve distance and endurance like cross-country and swimming, but he’s not standard fare for sport’s camp.
Camp Olympia turns out not to be quite like the brochure. The “arena” was nothing more than an old barn with a cement floor and the “stadium” a plain old field with the chain link backstop. “The Camp Olympia Institute for Sports and Nutrition” was a smoky, greasy cafeteria that serves food that the kids don’t even want to eat! (They stock up on snacks at the Trading Post to survive.)
But Riley figures out a way to get by. Since all of the campers have to participate in the team sports, Riley simply tries not to screw up. All during the two weeks of camp the bunks are earning points to try to win the Big Joe Trophy, and Riley doesn’t want to be the camper who costs Cabin 3 the cup.
Rich Wallace has written a summer camp story that will snare sports enthusiasts and non-sports enthusiasts as well. The camp setting is familiar to many kids, and if not, readers will take their first journey along side of Riley. Since the sports in the camp are varied, readers will get a glimpse of softball, basket ball, water polo, cross country, and even hot dog eating contests. Readers get to see Riley’s confidence grow as the days go by. All of the trappings of summer camp are in the mix as well, including ghost stories, a famously huge and famously unseen resident snapping turtle, and cabin trashing shenanigans.
Pack this in the bag of a camp going guy you know this summer!
0 Comments on Sports Camp, by Rich Wallace as of 1/1/1900
Okay, so I promised I'd fill you all in on the summer family reunion. True to my word, I did not write this summer, but still the story wove in and out as our family gathered here in my creaky old house with old plumbing. They came from Berlin, Germany, from Santa Fe, from San Anselmo, from Tucson, from Texas. And as we gathered, events began to unfold.
We had a wasp invasion, right through the living room wall one memorable Sunday morning. We had a major plumbing blow-out (tree roots in the pipes). We had a record heat wave, 103 degrees, and no air-conditioning.
But we also had a great wedding reception, welcomed the newest baby, Anika Faith (see picture) and celebrated the first birthday of our Berlin baby Ceci, along with that of her Daddy, Michael, (my eldest son.) We had lots of late breakfasts on the deck, a trip to the zoo, lakeside swimming parties at my daughter Laura's home (oh hooray for that lake when the temp soared to 103).
And each day, no matter what the joy or catastrophe (usually some of each) I journalled, just a bit, before I went to bed. Just bits, but the story was weaving, in and out, flashes of character, bits of dialogue, scenes to remember, some dramatic, some funny.
Will these come into the new book I'm beginning? Maybe. But for sure they are woven now into the fabric of my life, part of the bigger Story. The story of family that undergirds everything else I write. I'll share next time some of the smaller bits, those colors and textures that stand out, the pieces of that bigger story.
1 Comments on Putting the pieces together to make a Story, last added: 11/10/2009
right behind you by Gail Giles Publisher: Little, Brown Release date: September 2007 REVIEW FROM ARC
Overview: Kip McFarland was nine when he set his neighbor on fire. The little boy died and Kip ended up in the state mental ward. After years of therapy and interaction with other dangerous juveniles, Kip is released into the real world. Kip changes his name to Wade and he, his dad and his dad’s new wife move to Indiana. At first, things go well and the family seems to blend in with its new surroundings. But, despite his new name and new life, Wade can not let go of the past and he self-destructs one night by spilling his history to his friends. Wade and his parents are forced to move again and it is in this new home that Wade attempts to deal with his demons and face his guilt.
I think most of us have experienced listening/watching/reading the news and hearing of a child who destroyed another child’s life. My first reaction to these stories is horror, dread and disbelief. Then, I generally jump to the conclusion that the offending child has a deficiency – perhaps in his upbringing or personality - that would cause him to snap and harm another person. Giles’ story, though, causes me to rethink my reaction.
Our friends at Harris Interactive (a Ypulse Research sponsor) just sent out their latest Trends & Tudes Newsletter featuring research on youth and sports. As I've blogged here before, I pretty much gave up on structured physical activity in 9th... Read the rest of this post
Hours of swimming, diving, gymnastics, beach volleyball, track and field, basketball, soccer. Heck! I even got engrossed in a badminton match! (Is that what it’s called? A match?)
I love the Olympics! Always have. Guess I come by it naturally since my dad was such a fan.
If the opening ceremonies are any indication, these Olympics should be among the best. I’ve heard many commentators say that they don’t expect to ever see another live display to equal what was witnessed last Friday night in Beijing. It was pretty darn good on TV, too!
The swimming competition has been phenomenal! I sure enjoyed the U.S. “crushing” the French swimmers in the 4 X 100 men’s relay! And, how about Cullen Jones!
(From the official Olympic website) When Jones was five years old, his parents took him to a water park. Before he went down a big slide on an inner tube, his dad made him promise not to let go of the tube, no matter what. When he got to the bottom, the tube flipped over, leaving him trapped underwater but clinging to the tube. Jones actually lost consciousness before his father spotted him and pulled him out of the water. Lifeguards performed CPR, and Jones coughed up a pint of water before taking his first breath. But Jones had no idea at the time that his life had been in danger -- he immediately asked his parents what the next ride was.
We should be so grateful that this talented swimmer didn’t develop a fear of water. A good lesson for us all. Too many times, we let fear paralyze us. One bad experience and it’s our excuse to avoid getting into a particular situation for the rest of our lives. Not Cullen Jones. He got right back on the horse...er, into the water!
Got me thinking that, just because my brother used to stuff me in a footstool and sit on the lid is no excuse to avoid elevators and closed spaces! Right? Right??
Sorry. Will finish this later. Gotta go open a window!
4 Comments on Olympic Fever, last added: 8/15/2008
yesterday was a BIG DAY for Germany, too! at breakfast my husband was so sad that Germany only had a bronze so far. I said WAIT, today are equestrian events - and - lo and behold, 2 golds! more to come with dressage,i´m sure. Not to mention the marvelous gold for our kajaker from Augsburg. Lucky me, I get to cheer for two countries! Go USA! I cheer for everybody, actually. When I saw the opening ceremonies i though, just MAYBE this will be a turning point in Chinese history...when millions (billions?) of Chinese witness their magnificent history and become curious to delve beyond...into their own great taoistic religious tradition which would bring peace and respect for all living beings on this planet. I can hope, can´t I? Every 7th human being is a Chinese peasant... think about that! THanks for your commentary Mary, I´m right with you!
Great comment, kimberly. I cheer for everyone, too. Even watching the women's gymnastics last night, I simply couldn't wish mistakes on the Chinese team.
Someone told me the other day that they're boycotting the Olympics because of China's human rights record. I certainly respect that.
I have a different pov, however. This "grand stage" may work to change that. At the very least, it will expose them to the world.
I LOVE the Olympics and have been watching the swimming and gynastics. I've always loved the gynmastics events. In fact I remember when I was a kid, after watching the gymnists, we'd head out to the back yard and work on our cartwheels. Surely we were destined for greatness.
The swimming events are a new love for me. I never really got "into" those prior to my daughter joining the swim team this summer. Now I have quite an appreciation for the sport. How anyone can do a butterfly is beyond me. Amazing to watch.
AND one more comment about why I love the Olympics.
Bret Favre.
Being from Wisconsin, one can not avoid the whole Bret Favre drama. Quite honestly I was disgusted by the whole thing.
The Olympics remind me of what is good and pure about sports and competition.
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Summer time fun!
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Admirable ambitions, and enjoy that special place by the sea when you meet it.
"my ambition has to be to try to find better ways to connect with my readers through my books, and maybe to get some children reading who might not otherwise have thought of it."
What a lovely ambition, can't think of a better reason for writing. Hope you enjoy your place by the sea when you find it.
This is wonderful. You've thought through what 'ambition' means to you - not one dictated by the media or any false notion of 'celebrity.' There is nothing more important than inspiring children.
Sorry to hear about the death of your Father... but inspired by your thoughts about what you want to achieve now, moving forwards. It reminds me of Elen's post about whether there might be a downside to upping one's sales and profile last week. Wonderful, thought provoking stuff.
That is a wonderful gift your father left you - thank you for posting about him and about ambition - something that we all struggle with. Your clarity of thought is much appreciated!
So sad to lose your father, but he must have known you wanted your seaside place and his spirit will infuse every brick, I am sure.
As for you heading -"Ambition at 57". Well - age has nothing to do with it. I want to be published for my children and grandchildren, as well as for my own satisfaction, and I am 68. I would also love to return to UK but that is a lottery dream!
Thank you, everyone, for your kind and supportive comments. Good luck to you all with your own ambitions of every kind.
How exciting - to be searching for that perfect hideaway within hearing range of the sea!
You've made me wonder this morning why I write. I think it's because I can't not write - in the nicest possible way, it's a bit like having a bug which keeps coming back!
You're right, Tam. A bug, an itch - something that can't be 'cured' any other way...