Steven and continued our long-distance reading over the telephone throughout most of of the month of February. But as the month drew to a close, I detected a lack of interest on his part to giving his attention to books or conversation for more than a minute or two. Story time was becoming a chore to him (and to me).

I still call him every day, but our future progress through picture books may be very slow, if it exists at all. In February we read:

1. Do You Know Which Ones Will Grow? written and illustrated by Susan A. Shea

2. Chicka Chcka Boom Boom by Bill Martin, Jr. and John Archambault, illustrated by Lois Ehlert

3. Madeline written and illustrated by Ludwig Bemelmans

4. There Were Monkeys in My Kitchen by Sheree Fitch, illustrated by Sydney Smith

5. Fuddles written and illustrated by Frans Vischer

6. One Winter Night by Jennifer Lloyd, illustrated by Lynn Ray

7. Curious George by Margret Rey, illustrated by H.A. Rey

Do You Know Which Ones Will Grow? by Susan A. Shea is simply the most delightful picture book I’ve read so far this year.

In snappy rhyme, the book compares objects that grow with those that “rust, fade or break.”

If an owlet grows to be an owl, will a washcloth grow to be a towel?

Each double spread asks a similar question and the right side page opens in some way to reveal that the “non-growable” object did indeed grow. Even young children will recognize the silliness and be amused.

There were several new words for Steven: (fox) kit, (goat) kid, calf, and so on. The rhyming was catchy and moved quickly, the book was interactive on each page as Steven answered each question, growing more emphatic with each passing “NO!”

But the pictures are what clinch my five star praise for this book. Some were downright ingenious.

Highest recommendation for reading to children 2 – 5.

For Canadian readers:
Do You Know Which Ones Will Grow?

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault, illustrated by Lois Ehlert was originally published in 1989 and has been re-released in a twentieth anniversary edition.

It’s a great abcs teaching tool for young children: small letters climb the coconut tree in alphabetical order until the tree collapses. Parents (capital letters) come to collect them and sort out their injuries (again, listed alphabetically (stubbed-toe E, black-eyed P).

The rhyme is extremely catchy and has had me pounding out a beat around the house for weeks:
Chicka chicka boom boom
Will there be enough room?
Up, at the top
Of the coconut tree?

The illustrations are simple, bold and colorful.

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom is hard to resist! Four & one-half stars.

For Canadian readers:
Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

The children’s classic, Madeline, written and illustrated by Ludwig Bemelmans, was first published in 1939. The story of the “twelve little girls in two straight lines” proved to be a success, and Bemelmans wrote many sequels to the original during the 1940s and 1950s. The series continues to this day, written by Bemelmans’ grandson.

Steven and I read the very first Madeline in which we’re introduced the feisty little girl in the Paris “sleep-over” school in the “old house in Paris that was covered with vines.” We both found this book charming: Steven because of the poetry and I for the delightful depictions of 1930s Paris.

Steven learned some new phrases (‘broke their bread’, ‘rain or shine’) as well as about appendicitis, and seemed to really enjoy the story. The illustrations, of course, are mostly the black & white & yellow of the first publication. When more color was/is used, it makes a marvelous impact (Paris in rain and sunshine or at night during the ambulance ride).

This enchanting book rates a solid four and one-half stars.

For Canadian readers:
Madeline

“First published in 1992, There Were Monkeys in My Kitchen won the Mr. Christie Award for Best Canadian Children’s book. With hilarious new illustrations by Sydney Smith and Sheree Fitch’s zany rhymes, this edition will introduce the bestselling book to a whole new generation.”

I was delighted with this book, but Steven, at three, not so much. He liked the rhymes which are catchy and change meter often. But some of the terms went too far over his head.

Monkeys of every kind in every room: gorillas in a grand ballet – pirouette, arabesque, plié, sauté, monkeys square dancing — promenade, lemonade, do-si-do, orangutans tangoing and so on. There lots of subtle and not-so-subtle humour that’s meant, I’m sure for 4 – 9 year-olds.

Both the rhyme and the illustrations clearly convey the mayhem in Willa Wellowby’s house and there’s such detail in the pictures that an older (than three) child could pore over these for hours. There’s a lot of story packed into this slim volume.

Despite Steven’s reserved reaction (I really think he’s just too young to appreciate this), I’m giving There Were Monkeys in My Kitchen four and one-half stars.

If you’d like to hear a little more of the rhyme in this book, check out my February poetry post.

For Canadian readers:
There Were Monkeys in My Kitchen

I’m always a bit impressed with children’s books that are written and illustrated by the same person. Frans Vischer works as an animator at Disney and Fuddles, intended for children ages four to seven, is his first picture book. He has modeled Fuddles after his own pet.

Fuddles is a spoiled house cat who dreams of being a great adventurer and so sneaks out of the house one Sunday afternoon. He soon finds that the great outdoors isn’t at all as he imagined it would be and as darkness settles, he finds himself lost and scared.

Vischer’s illustrations have an almost water-color quality about them. During Fuddles’ time indoors, the cat—he is a BIG cat—dominates the pictures. Outdoors, the spaces are bigger and, by nightfall, we know Fuddles is good and lost.

This story is a valuable moral lesson for young children in the importance of ‘listening to mom’ and being happy where you are. Four stars.

For Canadian readers:
Fuddles

One Winter Night by Jennifer Lloyd and illustrated by Lynn Ray seemed like a highly appropriate book to read during our long Canadian winter.

The story centers on ten little mice who go skating “under moonlight”, and one by one scurry off into their warm nest as they meet larger animals. As the group of mice decreased in number, Steven delighted in the backwards counting from 10 to 1. At the end of the book, we revisit all of the mice sleeping safely in the nest and can count again from 1 to 10.

Steven also enjoyed seeing the various “predatory” animals such as a squirrel and a skunk skate along with the mice. It was also pleasing to me to see the mole and the fox joining in typically Canadian winter games of ice hockey and curling.

While it doesn’t paint a realistic picture as to the laws of nature, this is a fast, rhyming read and suitable for cozying up together in the warm indoors. Three and one-half stars plus an extra half for Canadian content for a total of four stars.

For Canadian readers:
One Winter Night

Curious George, first published in English in 1941, was written by Margret Rey and illustrated by her husband Hans (H.A.) Rey. They wrote an additional six Curious George titles published between 1947 and 1966. These are often called the ‘original adventures’, and have been reissued in a 70th anniversary edition.

A second (1984-1993) and third series (1998-present) followed, as well as numerous animated television films, feature length movies and the current PBS TV series.

What can one say about a classic that spawned an entire industry and yet left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable?

When the story was written, it had been little more than half a century since Henry Stanley found David Livingstone in ‘deepest, darkest’ Africa. Much of the continent was still colonized – chiefly by the British, but also by the French, Germans and Portuguese. Movies were still made in which white men were addressed as “bwana” or ‘big boss’.

So the explorer figure of the man in the yellow hat who captures George and takes him aboard ship against his will was a cultural fit. But it made me uneasy.

After George’s adventures in the city, he’s captured again and put into the zoo. “What a nice place for George to live!” I certainly have enjoyed visiting zoos – and still do, and I recognize the role that the world’s zoos have played in protecting some endangered species. Yet, I couldn’t help but think that George had a perfectly ‘nice place to live’ before the man in the yellow hat came along.

Granted, this is the first story, and subsequent adventures (especially those being written today) won’t include the capture, but just the antics of a curious monkey, with whom curious children can no doubt identify. And perhaps it’s not fair to judge yesterday’s stories with today’s sensibilities. Nonetheless, for this first story, beloved classic or not, I’m awarding only three and one-half stars.

For Canadian readers:
Curious George

Kailana at The Written World and Lu at Regular Rumination have started a monthly poetry blog-along. On the last Tuesday of every month, I’m going to join in and blog (very) informally about some of the poetry that I’ve read over the past month.

In January, I posted some of Shakespeare’s thoughts from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This month, I thought I’d lighten the academic aspect of poetry by sharing some rhyme from the children’s book, There Were Monkeys in My Kitchen by Sherrie Fitch (illustrated by Sydney Smith.

The opening page features a picture of monkey bedlam and reads:

There were monkeys / In my kitchen
They were climbing / Up the walls
They were dancing / On the ceiling
They were bouncing / Basketballs

BUT…
Let me tell you
It was terrible
Hardest day
I ever had
So believe me / It was bad
IT WAS BAD.

So begins a wild tale of monkeys of all sorts throughout the house. And lest you forget that it’s Canadian:

I called the police / I called the RCMP
I was extra polite / I said “Pretty, pretty please”
As I shouted out, / “HELP!
Ch-ch-ch-Chimpanzees!”

Lots of fun!

How about you? When was the last time you read children’s rhymes?

For Canadian readers:
There Were Monkeys in My Kitchen

Yesterday afternoon we took a run into the city and, of course, had to stop at Starbucks for our ‘city coffee’ fix. While the others sipped their mocha white hot chocolate, I stepped over into the Chapters store (which had been my intended destination all along) and checked out the $5 and under table.

I found this beautiful copy of Jane Eyre.

This book is on my 2012 reading list and I already had a paperback copy of it in my TBR stack. But when I walked away from that copy with the leather-like cover, color spreads of Bronte Country, the Bronte family tree, Bronte timelines, principal characters and so on, I knew I would regret not spending the $5. So, of course, I had to go back and get the book.

And so now I have two Jane Eyres, although one is going in the garage sale in July. I love the way the black copy feels in my hand – it’s 100 pages shorter than the paperback which is chunky and feels awkward. Plus, there’s a built-on elastic to mark my spot while I’m reading.

I had been dreading tackling this classic despite everyone’s raves about it, but now I’m looking forward to it.

Which one would you prefer to read?

I intended to post one short story each month this year to keep up with the Short Story Challenge hosted by Dead Book Darling. This then, is January’s entry, just a shade late.

Stephen Leacock was an English-born Canadian who early in his career as a school teacher, turned to writing fiction, humour, and short reports to supplement his regular income. His stories first published in magazines in Canada and the U.S., became extremely popular around the world. The Canadian Encyclopedia asserts that it was said in 1911 that more people had heard of Stephen Leacock than had heard of Canada.

His short story A Lesson on the Links: The Application of Mathematics to Golf is included in the book My Financial Career and Other Follies which I will be reviewing in the next couple of weeks. In it, Leacock pokes his usual gentle fun at the duffers of the day (this was first published in 1928).

An excerpt:
Here is a very interesting calculation in regard to “allowing for the wind.”
I have noticed that a great many golf players of my own particular class are always preoccupied with the question of “allowing for the wind.” My friend, Amphibius Jones, for example, just before driving always murmurs something, as if in prayer, about “allowing for the wind.” After driving he says with a sigh, “I didn’t allow for the wind.” In fact, all through my class there is a general feeling that our game is practically ruined by the wind(…)

It occurred to me that it might be interesting to reduce to a formulae the effect exercised by the resistance of the wind on a moving golf ball. For example, in our game last Wednesday, Jones in his drive struck the ball with what he assures me was his full force, hitting it with absolute accuracy, as he himself admits, fair in the center, and he himself feeling, on his own assertion, absolutely fit, his eye being (a very necessary thing with Jones), absolutely “in,” and he also having on his proper sweater, — a further condition of first-class play. Under all the favorable circumstances the ball only advanced fifty yards! It was evident at once that it was a simple matter of the wind, which was of that treacherous character which blows over the links unnoticed, had impinged full upon the ball, pressed it backward and forced it to the earth.

Leacock then applies various mathematical formulae, factual or specious is beyond me, although they sound convincing and concludes:
(T)aking Jones’s statements at their face value the ball would have traveled, had it not been for the wind, no less than 6½ miles.

If this makes you chuckle, be sure to check out the whole story, and more of Leacock.

If you’re Canadian, what’s been your exposure to Stephen Leacock? If you’re not Canadian, is your reaction “Stephen who?”

For Canadian readers:
My Financial Career and Other Follies

This is my first time participating in the Saturday Snapshot meme, hosted by Alyce of At Home With Books. Visit her blog to see more great photos or add your own.

We woke up this morning to a winter wonderland. The whole world seemed silent and clean. The tree house isn’t quite finished (and not quite in a tree anymore since a storm took it down).

What’s it like where you are?

In the sweet Arkansas summer of 1956, preacher Samuel Lake brings his family to his wife Willadee’s ancestral home for an annual get-together.

Samuel is a man of principle, and that principle has cost him his job. Samuel was not to be swayed. He had a way of looking at the world that worked for him, and he was convinced that it would work for all mankind. At his church’s annual conference, he is assigned no new parish.

Add to his sudden umemployment, the untimely death of Willadee’s father, and eleven-year-old Swan’s (yes, that’s right: Swan Lake) friendship with a traumatized eight-year-old neighbor boy and you have the foundation of this story.

There are several sub-plots: Willadee’s sister-in-law’s pursuit of Samuel; the emotional emergence of Willadee’s eldest brother, Toy; the horror brewing in the neighbors’ house; and the childhood games of Swan & her brothers.
“Mama”, (Willadee) said, “It doesn’t matter what Bernice does. It’s what Samuel does that counts. And he’s too good a man to let go of his principles.”

These story lines all weave together, and then into the main plot, seamlessly.

But the over-arching theme of The Homecoming of Samuel Lake is the battle between good and evil. This appears in the main plot as well as the sub-plots. In the end, good does prevail but not before tragedy strikes, as is often the case in real life.

Jenny Wingfield has told a beautiful story about one man’s faith in humankind. She intersperses her story with common sense wisdom such as:

“We always ask for what we get, boy. One way or another, we ask for it. And one way or another, we get it.”

“There’s a lot in my life that’s not the way I’d like, but every bit of it is just what I’ve signed up for. You decide what you want, you get what goes with it.”

She has provided an immensely readable novel that will restore your faith in the concept of a “good man”. Swan Lake and her daddy will capture your heart.

Recommended for lovers of women’s fiction, and those who believe in the fundamental good in people.

This books is the first I’ve read for The Southern Literature Reading Challenge. I’m also counting it as the North American selection for The Global Reading Challenge as I don’t recall ever reading anything before that was set in Arkansas. It was also a book win that arrived prior to December 31st, so it qualifies for the Books Won Challenge while at the same time keeping me within the rules for the TBR Double Dare.

For Canadian readers:
The Homecoming of Samuel Lake
Swan Lake

WINTER STORM COMING. HUNKER DOWN. READ!

Want to join the 6WS club? Describe what is going on in your life in 6 words and then link up with Cate at Showmyface.com

This year, I’m reading one play each month to participate in the Read Shakespeare Challenge hosted by Risa at Breadcrumb Reads. The plays were chosen by poll and then assigned to months by Risa. Thus, in January I read A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a play I likely would not have chosen to read otherwise.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of Shakespeare’s earlier plays, probably written around 1594. Because it is bookended by the wedding of the nobles Theseus and Hippolyta, some scholars have suggested that it may have been written as entertainment for a great wedding, just as Quince’s play was written for the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta. The wedding most favored in this hypothesis is that of William Stanley, Earl of Derby, whose father and brother had been patrons of Shakespeare’s company. Those nuptials in January, 1595 point to the 1594 composition date.

Most of you already know the basic plot of this play, wherein four young people in various states of requited and unrequited love repair to a wood near Athens one midsummer’s evening. There, complications arise with the fairies, a love potion, mistaken identities – in fact, quite a farce. In the end, of course, all is sorted out, everyone loves the right person and the nobles’ wedding becomes triple nuptials, at which Quince’s tradesmen perform an unwitting parody of a play.

I’m not fond of the fairies/supernatural aspect of the plot; I have limited patience for a farce; and I am uncomfortable with a marriage in which one of the partners is only there because he has been bewitched. Certainly, Shakespeare did a large disservice to women in his portrayal of the groveling Helena.

That said, I admire how Shakespeare wove these stories together and presented Quince’s play within a play.

I was amused at the cat-fight between Helena and Hermia:
How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak!
How low am I? I am not yet so low
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

I laughed out loud at Lysander remark at Quince’s Prologue:
He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.

I loved some of the poetry. It was truly beautiful.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

And I appreciated that Shakespeare could write bad poetry deliberately to make a point (as in Quince’s play).
What dreadful dole is here?
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
O dainty duck, O dear!

These are rather brief thoughts on the play but as a bonus I’ll comment on the 1999 movie with Kevin Kline, Rupert Everett, and Michelle Pfeiffer, that I watched to continue my research. Here’s my advice on that: give it a pass. Although I enjoyed watching Stanley Tucci as Puck (proving that I can enjoy watching Stanley Tucci in just about anything), the movie left me cold. It was set at the “turn of the nineteenth century” (which I understood to be 1799-1800), but which is evidently the 1890s. The director couldn’t seem to decide if he was dealing with fairies or with satyrs, complete with orgies and naked (albeit in chest-deep water) nymphs; the classy cat-fight degenerated into a mud wrestling match; and somehow all four human lovers shed every stitch of clothing before awakening the next morning and being told by Theseus (act IV, scene i) to stand up (giving that statement a completely different shade of meaning from the original play.) Note: There are other versions of the movie you could try. It’s popular fodder for Hollywood and was also produced in 1996, 1968 and 1935.

All told, I’m glad I’m finished with A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

What about you? Did you love it?

For Canadian readers:
A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Kindle edition:
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (with notes and detailed explanations for students)

How do I begin to convey the horror that was the Halifax Explosion of 1917?

The largest man-made explosion up to the atomic bomb. Two thousand dead, more than six thousand wounded & blinded, and a fifth of the city left homeless.

How did I grow up in central Canada without having been taught about this? Why is this tragedy—worse in many respects than the sinking of the Titanic five years earlier—virtually unknown and unremembered outside Atlantic Canada?

Let me start getting you acquainted: In December 1917, World War I had been raging for three years and Halifax, Nova Scotia was well established as the major port city on the North American side of the Atlantic. From Halifax, left troops and supplies that were delivered all over Europe. It has a deep & generous harbour, and the added bonus of Bedford Basin, just north of the Harbour, fully protected by land. The Harbour and the Basin are connected by a slender strait known as The Narrows. At its narrowest, the passage is less than 500 yards across.

The French ship Mont-Blanc was loaded in New York City in early December with nearly 3,000 tons of explosives headed for the war in Europe: picric acid, TNT, and gun cotton, as well as barrels of benzene stacked three deep on the decks.

“The weight of the cargo, plus the weight of more than a million pounds of coal needed to power Mont-Blanc’s steam engine, slowed the ship’s speed so much that she would be unable to keep up with a convoy of ships crossing back to Europe from New York. Recognizing that traveling with a convoy with give Mont-Blanc the best protection from German U-boats, harbor authorities advised (Captain) Le Médec to travel up the coast to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Larger convoys, arranged by Canada’s Royal Navy, departed from Halifax’s protected harbor. Perhaps one of them could accommodate the slow-moving Mont-Blanc. If not, the authorities in Halifax could give Le Médec instructions on the safest routes across the Atlantic.”

While travelling through The Narrows in Halifax at 9 am on December 6th, the Mont-Blanc was rammed broadside by a Norwegian ship that was leaving empty from Bedford Basin, and the contents of the Mont-Blanc caught fire and erupted. The resulting explosion created a shock wave that travelled out from the ship at about 5,000 feet per second, a force strong enough to crush the internal organs of any living thing in its path, and a temperature at the core of over 9,000 degrees Fahrenheit. It toppled train cars, cracked hulls of ships, leveled buildings and smashed windows.

“As devastating as the destruction already was, more was yet to come as the outward-spreading shock wave gradually dissipated. During the initial blast, the tremendous pressure of the shock wave so completely pushed air molecules away from the blast site that it created an almost airless condition, like a vacuum, in the area surrounding the explosion site. Unless air is prevented from doing so, it always flows into a vacuum. So, as soon as the outward movement of the air wave slowed, a new gust of air rushed back to fill the partial vacuum around the explosion site. “

Truly, a blizzard of glass.

“Then for ten minutes the gigantic cloud pelted the devastated area with a black rain made thick with benzene residue. The slick liquid coated everything and everyone with greasy soot that penetrated clothing and stained people’s skin black. Along with the rain, debris, including boulders and broken pieces of the Mont-Blanc that had been flung into the air by the explosion plummeted to the ground.”

But that’s not all: the force of the explosion created a tsunami, the crest of which was 40 – 45 feet high that swept homes, factories, businesses and people away.

In a matter of minutes, nearly 2,000 people died, over 6,000 were wounded, and over 9,000 left homeless. Seventy children were orphaned and two hundred more left with only one surviving parent. For some, that parent was a father serving in the trenches of France.

Then: the rescue work began.

[C]ries for help and screams of pain filled the air. Injured people, thousands of them, were everywhere: walking or lying in the streets, crouched outside the wreckage of buildings, trapped aboard ships, buried inside collapsed buildings. (M)any of the survivors who had been outside found that their jackets, coats, and shoes were missing, blown off by the force of the shock wave.

Wounded had to be attended to, the dead laid out for claim by relatives, injured animals had to be humanely destroyed. The following day, a blizzard, this time of snow, hit the city and made it next to impossible for additional relief supplies and personnel to reach the devastated city for 48 hours.

Help to deal with the effects of the explosion, when it could come, originated not only from Atlantic Canada and other Canadian cities, but from the U.S., particularly the state of Massachusetts and the city of Boston. In fact, “every year since 1971, in Boston, Massachusetts, the city lights a freshly cut Christmas tree that towers above Boston Common. Each year’s tree is a gift of thanks from Nova Scotia to the people of Massachusetts, in remembrance of the help they gave to a suffering city.”

I realize that I haven’t yet commented on the book Blizzard of Glass: The Halifax Explosion of 1917 but I think the fact that I felt compelled to convey the horror of the story it presents is telling of its quality. It’s written for middle grades, simply and powerfully presenting the tragedy. Several real-life families are followed through the morning and subsequent days. There are many photographs and archival materials. Walker has carefully researched and presents the material in a factual way that allows readers to draw their own conclusions about why the ships collided.

If you’re interested in learning more about the Halifax explosion of 1917, I highly recommend Blizzard of Glass: The Halifax Explosion of 1917

For Canadian readers:
Blizzard of Glass: The Halifax Explosion of 1917

This book is the first I’ve read for The War Through the Generations Reading Challenge. It also qualifies for my 12 in’12 Challenge, What’s In a Name Challenge, Mix-It-Up Reading Challenge, Non-fiction non-memoir Challenge, the New Authors Challenge, and the Dewey Decimal Challenge. I’ve also used it to fill the “B” slot in both the Eh-Zed Challenge and the A-Z Double Whammy, as well as in the Read Your Name Challenge. Whew!

And last, but not least, this is a stop on the Literary Road Trip.

Witness what happens when a blogger ventures outside her usual reading genres and takes on a REAL challenge – and then tries to write an intelligent review of the book involved. That’s my situation with The Carpet People by Terry Pratchett.

What can tell you about this fantasy novel? It contains the story of tribes of very little people who live in a carpet, amid the dust balls, and above Underlay. One of their major landmarks is Achairleg from which they mine varnish. Metal is obtained from a dropped and forgotten penny, and wood from dropped matches.

There’s the requisite battle between good and evil, and the added dimension of an inner struggle among the good guys as to whether tradition should rule the day.

I must say I admired Pratchett’s sense of humor as evidenced in this quip:
It only cheered him up a bit when one of the wights gave Glurk an axe. It was his grandfather’s, although the handle and the blade had been replaced a few times.

Or in this dialogue between the clan leader and his wife, upon discovering that their tribe advisor has another name:
“And Pismire’s a philosopher, he says.”
“I never knew that. What’s a philosopher?”
“Someone who thinks, he says,” said Glurk.
“Well, you think. I’ve often seen you sitting and thinking.”
“I don’t always think,” said Glurk conscientiously. “Sometimes I just sits.” He sighed. “Anyway, it’s not just thinking. You’ve got to be able to talk about it entertainingly afterwards.”

In a forward to the 1991 edition of this book, Pratchett acknowledged that he wrote the first edition when he was 17 and, when his publisher decided to reissue it, majorly “tweaked” the story. He says: “It’s not exactly the book I wrote then. It’s not exactly the book I’d write now.” So I can’t even say for certain how reflective of his other works this book is.

Wikipedia tells me that The Carpet People has been described as “The Lord of the Rings on a Rug”. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of either the statement or its meaning. Brace yourself for this revelation: I have never read Tolkien, never seen one of the movies, and have never had a desire to do either.

I did, however, read Pierre Berton’s The Secret World of Og when I was an adolescent (and again as a young mother along with my daughter) and found it delightful. As I read The Carpet People, I often thought that my ten-year-old self would have enjoyed it immensely. But I’m done with my fantasy days (I know – my loss) and, having read “at least one” Terry Pratchett, have met the terms of the Terry Pratchett Reading Challenge and hereby pronounce it completed.

P.S. This had got me thinking, though, about hidden life forms in my carpets. Maybe it’s not such a kind idea to be doing any vacuuming. Hmmm….whatever works.

For Canadian readers:
The Carpet People
The Secret World of Og (A Canadian classic)

One of the pitfalls of moving to the country is the same for moving anywhere – you leave family. Nearly all of our family is in Ontario (where we spent our first five decades), about a 1,700 km (1,000 miles) drive. Visiting can be expensive and there’s only so many vacation days available in a year.

So when I saw this idea in Real Simple Magazine a couple of years ago, I jumped on it. I took a large shoe box, covered it in old maps, and lined it with fabric. Then I filled it with small gifts that I had picked up in my day to day travels, and sent it to my sister.

We call it our “sister safe” and it travels back and forth between us at erratic intervals. When I got a parcel notice in my mail box last week, I had no idea what was waiting for me at the post office. It was surprise gifts from my little sis.

Here’s what was in the box, all individually wrapped in tissue paper. Delightful! Thanks, Jul!

When I was 9 or 10 and confined to bed with some common childhood illness, my mother brought me a book from the library to read. It happened to be These Happy Golden Years by Laura Ingalls Wilder, the last in the Little House series of books.

I was immediately charmed by and lost in this story of a young girl in the American West nearly one hundred years earlier than I was living. Perhaps I was drawn to that little girl because she thought “If I could live this way always, I’d never want anything more”. Maybe I just liked the glimpse into homemaking in the past. Whatever, for a kid who hated history in high school, I was captivated by Laura’s life and quickly sought out the rest of series.

At that time, Michael Landon was still cutting his teeth riding the range on Bonanza, and a long way from bringing Laura to the television prairies. The books alone were what taught me and enchanted me, so I picked this up for the Books That Made Me Love Reading Challenge.

Rereading as an adult, I’m stuck with the images of Melissa Gilbert and the rest of the TV cast in my head. But that didn’t diminish my enjoyment of this book since the show was particularly well cast. How could I not revel in passages like this one:
Before (the blackboard) stood the teacher’s desk, a boughten desk, smoothly varnished. It gleamed honey-colored in the sunlight, and on its flat top lay a large Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary.

As an adult, I can appreciate more that the author was actually speaking of herself; I don’t remember being aware of that as a child. I can also understand that Wilder didn’t write these stories until she was in her seventies. Of course, that would tend to lead to a romanticizing of her circumstances when she young, but even so, I think she had a genuinely happy childhood.

I know, too, that Laura’s father had what he called an “itchy foot” and uprooted the family several times moving westward. In fact, in this book, on the claim in the Dakota territory where Pa & Ma did eventually settle, Pa still says “I would like to go West. A fellow doesn’t have room to breathe here anymore.” He had seen as Almanzo had that “This country is settling up fast. We have driven only forty miles and we must have seen as many as six houses.” He must have been a hard one to put up with, that Charles Ingalls. As an adult, I have a greater appreciation for Laura’s mother.

Yes, I’ve read the controversy about whether the books were actually written by Laura’s daughter Rose Wilder Lane who was in journalism, but they are Laura’s stories, and if she needed help getting them through the publishing process, then fine. But they are still her stories.

And I still love them as much as ever.

For Canadian readers:
These Happy Golden Years
The Little House Collection Box Set

From Amazon.com: “Griffin: It’s good to get in touch with you at last. Could I have one of your fish postcards? I think you were right — the wine glass has more impact than the cup.” –Sabine
But Griffin had never met a woman named Sabine. How did she know him? How did she know his artwork? Who is she? Thus begins the strange and intriguing correspondence of Griffin and Sabine. And since each letter must be pulled from its own envelope, the reader has the delightful, forbidden sensation of reading someone else’s mail.”

An illustrated novel, Griffin & Sabine: An Extraordinary Correspondence is a beautiful book. I don’t think I really give anything away by telling you that Sabine somehow “shares (Griffin’s) sight” and can see his paintings as he creates them. Sabine is also an artist, and the artwork of the two adorns the postcards and envelopes that they exchange.

As the first book opens, Sabine contacts Griffin for the first time. The artwork (particularly Sabine’s) starts out with jewel like colors and items from nature: parrots, salamanders and goldfish.

But as the book progresses and Sabine tells Griffin more and more of the things she has seen so that he cannot deny the truth of what she is telling him, Griffin seems to lose his grip on sanity and paints increasingly darker subjects: sightless naked baby birds and apocalyptic landscapes.

In Sabine’s Notebook: In Which the Extraordinary Correspondence of Griffin & Sabine Continues, Sabine travels to London to Griffin’s studio but, faced with the terrifying prospect of meeting his own fictional character, Griffin flees and, as he travels the world, corresponds with Sabine at home in his house. The art reflects his travels and his new found determination that Sabine is real. Initially anyway, the countries he visits take him backward in history—Rome, Greece, Egypt.

Once again, the story is told in strangely beautiful postcards and richly decorated letters that must actually be removed from their envelopes to read. But Sabine’s Notebook is also a sketchbook and a diary.

The lovers agree to meet in London but their plans go awry. Sabine travels back to her South Sea home without making face-to-face contact with Griffin.

As The Golden Mean: In Which the Extraordinary Correspondence of Griffin & Sabine Concludes opens, the lovers realize that it seems that neither can exist in the presence of the other. Yet neither can continue without the presence of the other. Their search for the golden mean—that mystical point of harmony—dominates this third book.

The story continues in the same epistolary manner as the first two. The art work reflects their love and longing for each other.

You’ll read all three of these books in less than an hour and then spend many more hours poring over the artwork. The Griffin & Sabine Trilogy Set is a feast for the eyes and fun to read besides.