I can't believe I haven't blogged for a week. I'm so sorry. That doesn't fit at all with my New Year's resolution to blog five days a week. But then again, I'm also not following my New Year's resolution to lose 20 pounds and I've already missed three days of flossing so apparently since my resolutions are shot to hell for '09 I can just skip blogging and feel OK about it.
So, as you know, I'm in Ohio. Eating. I can't blog because my fingers are too fat.
Just kidding. Just because my rings will not longer slide off and on easily doesn't mean cause for too much alarm. Or does it?
Anyway, we've been having a great time and one thing I've been doing here is reading and continuing to work on my Summer of Juvenile Literature. I have discovered that I'm a much slower reader than in bygone years. Either that or my children don't actually want me to be literate any longer because they constantly want me to pay attention to them versus reading.
What a pain.
So I discovered something last week. If I take the kids to the park when there are likely to be many other children there, they begin playing with said children and sometimes I can read for stretches of two and even three minutes without having someone scream, "Mooooooommmmmyyyyy!"
It's very excellent.
And so, with the park strategy in place, I was able to finish Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
I never read these books growing up. Frankly, I thought they were about a prissy English girl. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found that Anne was from Canada, eh? Prince Edward Island to be exact.
Basically, I want to live there now.
I had trouble getting started. Anne is an incessant talker so the book is written in a stream of consciousness style that follows Anne's thoughts, which are all over the place. I found this annoying. But then I realized you all put up reading my stream of consciousness style on a daily basis so I decided to cut Anne some slack and keep reading. Also, my cousin, Cinda, said Anne would grow on me and to keep reading.
I did. Because I try to obey orders.
And I'll be darned if Wednesday afternoon didn't find me sitting at Orange Township Park, the park near our old house that the boys loved (they call it the Orange Fish Park) and crying, yes people, crying, over the ending of Anne of Green Gables.
I know, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. But there I was, nonetheless.
I won't spoil the ending because I know there are. . .I don't know. . .like, maybe one of you who will now race out and read Anne of Green Gables and it's such a bummer if the ending is ruined by some plot spoiler like myself.
The short version of the story though is that Anne is an orphan who is adopted by a very unlikely twosome--spinster Marilla Cuthbert, and her also unmarried brother, Matthew (And, I would like to ask here, why is there not an equally unattractive name for a never-married man like there is for a never-married woman? Spinster? It's so hideous.). Marilla and Matthew are actually expecting to adopt a boy and by mistake, a girl, Anne, arrives. But they decide to keep Anne and the story follows their lives for five years, focusing on the crazy predicaments Anne tends to get herself into. Which made me laugh out loud several times. It was kind of like reading about Finn (and occasionally myself), in many respects.
The "old fashionedness" of the book really appealed to me. Although I'm convinced I should have been born in Jane Austen's time (all those empire waists hide big thighs), I could also picture myself in this early 1900s time period. The entertainment was all about socializing, putting on programs at the town halls, sleigh rides, going to town, etc. OK, so I actually hate socializing and I'd be more like Marilla and sit home and then hear the details when the young 'uns returned, but I liked reading about it. I imagined my grandparents' youths being much like this.
So, there you have it. I loved it. It was just a sweet, sweet book. And the same day I finished it I made Mom drive me to the library to get the second book: Anne of Avonlea.
Nancy Drew has taken a backseat for the time being.
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Friday, August 7, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Overwhelming Consumerism
I hate to sound like some country bumpkin, but I'm finding suburbia overwhelming. On two occasions this week, I've driven up near where we used to live here in Ohio and about freaked out. Did it look like this when we lived here? My Dad says yes. My Mom says yes--sort of.
I can't believe how many restaurants and shops have opened since we moved. And, I also can't believe how many people are at these shops and restaurants. I thought we were in a recession. And I also thought that Ohio was one of the states on the worst end of the recession. I've nearly snapped my neck a million times already looking around at all of the "stuff."
I don't know what to make of all of it.
On another note, today I took the boys to one of our favorite parks near my Mom's house--Selby Park. This is a park I have loved since "I was a girl," and then took the boys to when we lived here. Lots of big shade trees, huge play area on one of those spongy surfaces, and it's located in the neighborhood where my Mom used to teach school so I feel very at home there. We spent several hours there while the boys played Hide 'n Seek with some random kids. I played with them for awhile, but then when my quadriceps were screaming because I chose to crouch behind some low object, I felt it was time to bow out gracefully before I maimed myself at my favorite park, thus ruining whatever good memories I have of it.
So I sat and read my latest juvenile fiction for the summer: Anne of Green Gables. (Cinda, I'm about a third of the way through it in case you're wondering.)
And finally, a story which no one but my Dad, Erin and I will find amusing, but I feel like recounting it here.
Near Worthington is a little bookshop called the Village Bookstore. It's housed in an old church and carries a combination of new and used books. It's a crazy jumble. They have no catalog of their inventory and they carry lots of stuff on consignment. If you buy a consignment book, you'll open it to find there's just a piece of paper clipped inside saying who should get payment for this book. It's really quite hilarious in its disorganization, but it's also a great place to spend an afternoon browsing around.
So last night I stopped in there with my Dad who wanted to find a used copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Of course, the man working hadn't the faintest idea whether or not this book was in the store, but he told us in which room we might find the book. Room. A huge room with thousands of books. And my Dad couldn't remember who wrote the book (it's John Berendt for those of you aching to know). We trekked upstairs to the appropriate room and Dad started looking book by book.
In a very loyal fashion, I got sidetracked by the Nancy Drew books. Dad wanted to buy my niece some Nancy Drews, so I called Erin to see which books Ellie has. During the course of the phone call, I realized it was probably rude to stand talking on my phone in a bookstore (even though I didn't see anyone else, there are a zillion little rooms, like honeycomb, and I didn't know if someone was going to pop out and make angry eyes at me for chatting). So I stepped into one of the many used books rooms and talked to Erin about Nancy. During the course of our conversation, I got lazy and leaned up against the bookshelves, resting my hand on a bunch of books. A few seconds later, I glanced at the books on which I was leaning (Erin must have been saying something boring and my mind wandered).
I did a double take.
And then a triple take.
And then I screamed.
I had put my hand down on the very book my Dad was looking for. And I wasn't even in the room where the man had told us to look. It totally freaked me out.
Freaky stuff like that makes my whole day.
I can't believe how many restaurants and shops have opened since we moved. And, I also can't believe how many people are at these shops and restaurants. I thought we were in a recession. And I also thought that Ohio was one of the states on the worst end of the recession. I've nearly snapped my neck a million times already looking around at all of the "stuff."
I don't know what to make of all of it.
On another note, today I took the boys to one of our favorite parks near my Mom's house--Selby Park. This is a park I have loved since "I was a girl," and then took the boys to when we lived here. Lots of big shade trees, huge play area on one of those spongy surfaces, and it's located in the neighborhood where my Mom used to teach school so I feel very at home there. We spent several hours there while the boys played Hide 'n Seek with some random kids. I played with them for awhile, but then when my quadriceps were screaming because I chose to crouch behind some low object, I felt it was time to bow out gracefully before I maimed myself at my favorite park, thus ruining whatever good memories I have of it.
So I sat and read my latest juvenile fiction for the summer: Anne of Green Gables. (Cinda, I'm about a third of the way through it in case you're wondering.)
And finally, a story which no one but my Dad, Erin and I will find amusing, but I feel like recounting it here.
Near Worthington is a little bookshop called the Village Bookstore. It's housed in an old church and carries a combination of new and used books. It's a crazy jumble. They have no catalog of their inventory and they carry lots of stuff on consignment. If you buy a consignment book, you'll open it to find there's just a piece of paper clipped inside saying who should get payment for this book. It's really quite hilarious in its disorganization, but it's also a great place to spend an afternoon browsing around.
So last night I stopped in there with my Dad who wanted to find a used copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Of course, the man working hadn't the faintest idea whether or not this book was in the store, but he told us in which room we might find the book. Room. A huge room with thousands of books. And my Dad couldn't remember who wrote the book (it's John Berendt for those of you aching to know). We trekked upstairs to the appropriate room and Dad started looking book by book.
In a very loyal fashion, I got sidetracked by the Nancy Drew books. Dad wanted to buy my niece some Nancy Drews, so I called Erin to see which books Ellie has. During the course of the phone call, I realized it was probably rude to stand talking on my phone in a bookstore (even though I didn't see anyone else, there are a zillion little rooms, like honeycomb, and I didn't know if someone was going to pop out and make angry eyes at me for chatting). So I stepped into one of the many used books rooms and talked to Erin about Nancy. During the course of our conversation, I got lazy and leaned up against the bookshelves, resting my hand on a bunch of books. A few seconds later, I glanced at the books on which I was leaning (Erin must have been saying something boring and my mind wandered).
I did a double take.
And then a triple take.
And then I screamed.
I had put my hand down on the very book my Dad was looking for. And I wasn't even in the room where the man had told us to look. It totally freaked me out.
Freaky stuff like that makes my whole day.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Book Report: Caddie Woodlawn
I finally finished a book in my Summer of Reading Juvenile Literature. Good grief. I thought I'd be whipping through a book every three days or so and instead it has taken me 3 1/2 weeks to get through Caddie Freaking Woodlawn. This doesn't bode well for my list of at least 100 books this summer. I might have to extend the Summer of Reading Juvenile Literature to become the Decade of Reading Juvenile Literature at this rate.
Basically, I found that I'd hop into bed each night, get myself all propped up on my pillows, water cup at the ready, settled in comfortably in my jammies. . .and then I'd read about three sentences before falling asleep with the book usually falling forward and whacking me on the bridge of my nose. I don't know how people sit down and read giant books in one sitting. A) I'd never stay awake, or B) The small residents of this house wouldn't allow giant chunks of time whereby a Long Reading could actually take place.
But I'm finished with a book, and that's the important thing.
And here is my best attempt at a book report as I recall writing them in elementary school.
Title: Caddie Woodlawn
Author: Carol Ryrie Brink
Illustrated by: Trina Schart Hyman
Awards: John Newberry medal in 1936
Set in the 1860s, Caddie Woodlawn is the story of an 11-year-old girl (who is quite a tomboy)--Caroline "Caddie" Woodlawn. Caddie lives with her family in Wisconsin. The book talks about her rural life with her family, including interactions with the local Indian tribe. It's a sweet book and I really enjoyed it. I really like all of that pioneer stuff. The author was Caddie's granddaughter who wrote down the stories as her grandmother recited them to her growing up.
Of course, I couldn't help comparing this book with the Little House series. They were written about the same time, although the Little House books begin a decade or so after Caddie's story.
Brink's writing style is very different from Laura Ingalls Wilder's writing style. Brink uses more dialogue where Wilder's is more of a narrative (at least that's what I remember. I might be pulling that out of my. . .hair. Heck, I don't even know what a narrative style is. I just made that up. And supposedly I'm a writer. I'm just trying to say Laura Ingalls Wilder writes without a lot of dialogue. Doesn't she? Maybe I'm hallucinating.)
Bottom line: I liked Caddie Woodlawn. Wikipedia says there's a sequel, but I think I'll wait to read it until the Second Summer of Reading Juvenile Literature. I estimate that will take place when I'm 83 at this rate.
Next book: Nancy Drew--The Secret of the Old Clock. And Cinda, you'll be happy to know that after Nancy Drew, I have Anne of Green Gables all ready to go.
Basically, I found that I'd hop into bed each night, get myself all propped up on my pillows, water cup at the ready, settled in comfortably in my jammies. . .and then I'd read about three sentences before falling asleep with the book usually falling forward and whacking me on the bridge of my nose. I don't know how people sit down and read giant books in one sitting. A) I'd never stay awake, or B) The small residents of this house wouldn't allow giant chunks of time whereby a Long Reading could actually take place.
But I'm finished with a book, and that's the important thing.
And here is my best attempt at a book report as I recall writing them in elementary school.
Title: Caddie Woodlawn
Author: Carol Ryrie Brink
Illustrated by: Trina Schart Hyman
Awards: John Newberry medal in 1936
Set in the 1860s, Caddie Woodlawn is the story of an 11-year-old girl (who is quite a tomboy)--Caroline "Caddie" Woodlawn. Caddie lives with her family in Wisconsin. The book talks about her rural life with her family, including interactions with the local Indian tribe. It's a sweet book and I really enjoyed it. I really like all of that pioneer stuff. The author was Caddie's granddaughter who wrote down the stories as her grandmother recited them to her growing up.
Of course, I couldn't help comparing this book with the Little House series. They were written about the same time, although the Little House books begin a decade or so after Caddie's story.
Brink's writing style is very different from Laura Ingalls Wilder's writing style. Brink uses more dialogue where Wilder's is more of a narrative (at least that's what I remember. I might be pulling that out of my. . .hair. Heck, I don't even know what a narrative style is. I just made that up. And supposedly I'm a writer. I'm just trying to say Laura Ingalls Wilder writes without a lot of dialogue. Doesn't she? Maybe I'm hallucinating.)
Bottom line: I liked Caddie Woodlawn. Wikipedia says there's a sequel, but I think I'll wait to read it until the Second Summer of Reading Juvenile Literature. I estimate that will take place when I'm 83 at this rate.
Next book: Nancy Drew--The Secret of the Old Clock. And Cinda, you'll be happy to know that after Nancy Drew, I have Anne of Green Gables all ready to go.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Some Light Summer Reading
A week or so ago I checked this huge book about WWII out of the library. I find WWII very interesting and I had seen the first two books of this trilogy at Barnes & Noble in Denver last fall. The third book isn't even published yet, but I figured I'd better get started on the first two.
So I checked this doorstop of a book out. And it has been sitting untouched next to my bed ever since. I'm not sure what I was thinking because a) I have so many other books sitting by/under/on/next to my bed that I have planned to read, and b) this book is so darn huge I have no chance of finishing it in the next 12 months.
So I've decided to return the book and simplify my life for the summer. Recently we've been reading or listening to a bunch of books from "when I was a girl," or even before, I might add. And I've really enjoyed it. Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, the Ramona series, the Bobbsey Twins, the Hardy Boys. And yes, I've even enjoyed Judy Blume, her Santa outing incidents aside. We just finished listening to Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great without any major catastrophes.
And each week as we go to the library, I've been trolling around the juvenile fiction shelves, passing books and thinking, "Oh, I loved that book! I read it a million times!" over and over again. So I decided that just because I am a grown up (making big air quotes here), doesn't mean that I always have to be reading great big grown up books. It was a very freeing decision. And then I promptly checked out a Nancy Drew book. This summer I'm going to read easy, fun stuff that brings back memories.
On my stroll through the shelves this afternoon, I made a mental list. Obviously, I won't get close to reading all of these. It's just a list of stuff I read and enjoyed when I was a girl, wished I'd read, or should have read. But I am wondering if I can stay awake to read a book a week.
Today I checked out Nancy Drew Message in the Hollow Oak (I wanted to start right off with the first one, but it wasn't in, darn it) and Caddie Woodlawn, which I never read in my youth, but remembered hearing about.
Other memory makers. . .
Anne of Green Gables (Can you believe I never read these? Cinda just fell off her chair in shock.)
The Black Stallion series
Harriet the Spy
More Ramona
More Judy Blume
The Little House books
A Wrinkle in Time (I confess, despite several attempts, I have never finished this)
The Charlie Bone Series (OK, this is a modern day one, but it sounds fun)
Where the Red Fern Grows
The Red Badge of Courage
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry (My Grandma Moffitt gave me this in elementary school. I never read it, but have moved it all over creation, so it's high time)
The Chronicle of Narnia (I've never read all of them)
Call of the Wild
Homer Price
Where the Lillies Bloom
I can't stop. . .
Misty of Chincoteague
Witch of Blackbird Pond
Sounder
Old Yeller
The Diary of Anne Frank
From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
Island of the Blue Dolphins
Julie of the Wolves
Stuart Little
Charlotte's Web
The Trumpet of the Swan
Bridge to Terabithia
The Outsiders
Good grief. I could go on all night.
These were just part of a pass around the library. I reserve the right to add to or delete from this list at any time. Or stop completely and just read Trixie Belden books all summer.
Got a fave I need to add to my list? Let me know.
So I checked this doorstop of a book out. And it has been sitting untouched next to my bed ever since. I'm not sure what I was thinking because a) I have so many other books sitting by/under/on/next to my bed that I have planned to read, and b) this book is so darn huge I have no chance of finishing it in the next 12 months.
So I've decided to return the book and simplify my life for the summer. Recently we've been reading or listening to a bunch of books from "when I was a girl," or even before, I might add. And I've really enjoyed it. Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, the Ramona series, the Bobbsey Twins, the Hardy Boys. And yes, I've even enjoyed Judy Blume, her Santa outing incidents aside. We just finished listening to Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great without any major catastrophes.
And each week as we go to the library, I've been trolling around the juvenile fiction shelves, passing books and thinking, "Oh, I loved that book! I read it a million times!" over and over again. So I decided that just because I am a grown up (making big air quotes here), doesn't mean that I always have to be reading great big grown up books. It was a very freeing decision. And then I promptly checked out a Nancy Drew book. This summer I'm going to read easy, fun stuff that brings back memories.
On my stroll through the shelves this afternoon, I made a mental list. Obviously, I won't get close to reading all of these. It's just a list of stuff I read and enjoyed when I was a girl, wished I'd read, or should have read. But I am wondering if I can stay awake to read a book a week.
Today I checked out Nancy Drew Message in the Hollow Oak (I wanted to start right off with the first one, but it wasn't in, darn it) and Caddie Woodlawn, which I never read in my youth, but remembered hearing about.
Other memory makers. . .
Anne of Green Gables (Can you believe I never read these? Cinda just fell off her chair in shock.)
The Black Stallion series
Harriet the Spy
More Ramona
More Judy Blume
The Little House books
A Wrinkle in Time (I confess, despite several attempts, I have never finished this)
The Charlie Bone Series (OK, this is a modern day one, but it sounds fun)
Where the Red Fern Grows
The Red Badge of Courage
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry (My Grandma Moffitt gave me this in elementary school. I never read it, but have moved it all over creation, so it's high time)
The Chronicle of Narnia (I've never read all of them)
Call of the Wild
Homer Price
Where the Lillies Bloom
I can't stop. . .
Misty of Chincoteague
Witch of Blackbird Pond
Sounder
Old Yeller
The Diary of Anne Frank
From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
Island of the Blue Dolphins
Julie of the Wolves
Stuart Little
Charlotte's Web
The Trumpet of the Swan
Bridge to Terabithia
The Outsiders
Good grief. I could go on all night.
These were just part of a pass around the library. I reserve the right to add to or delete from this list at any time. Or stop completely and just read Trixie Belden books all summer.
Got a fave I need to add to my list? Let me know.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
What the Hell, Judy Blume?
As a girl growing up in the 70s, Judy Blume was an integral part of my late elementary and middle school life.
I distinctly remember reading:
-Blubber--As a chubby kid, I totally identified.
-It's Not the End of the World--Divorce 70s-style. Again, I identified.
-Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret--I couldn't figure out WHY this girl wanted to start her period so badly. Still don't get it.
-Deenie--I'm still terrified I'll get scoliosis.
I think every middle-school girl identified with an aspect of her books.
Judy also wrote a whole series of books for younger kids, but I had never really read them because I was older when they came out. Of course, I had heard of books like, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, and the Pain and the Great One series, but had never read them.
No, I was too busy sneaking around with my friends reading Forever in 6th grade, so I pretty much shot right past the Fourth Grade Nothing.
Often when we take car trips, even just up valley or to Glenwood, we listen to books on CD in the car. A few weeks ago we got a batch of books on CD in preparation for trips to out of town soccer games. We recently finished Hoot, which the boys loved, and then started Judy Blume's Superfudge. Even Eamonn and I enjoy listening to the kids' books--we get a good laugh.
Anyway, as I said, we've been listening to Superfudge. It's a comical story about Peter, who is starting sixth grade and his whole world is changing. His four-year-old brother, Fudge, is a pain, his mother is having a new baby, and the family is moving from New York City to Princeton for a year. So the book is mostly about the family's year in Princeton and it follows them chronologically through the year. It's all funny and good until Christmas.
Now, both of my boys still believe in Santa Claus although I'm sure that Declan has his suspicions. I think I found out in 3rd grade that there was no Santa and I have no doubt that some of the kids in Declan's grade with older brothers and sisters have spilled the beans. Anyway, Finn still full on believes--no doubt about it. And frankly, I'm not ready for it to end. I love their excitement about Santa.
So back to the book and my beef with Judy. The other day we get to the section of the book about Christmas and Fudge is asking Santa for a bike. Peter tells Fudge that it might be too expensive. Fudge insists it doesn't matter to Santa. So Peter goes to his mother and is telling her that Fudge should be told that there is no Santa Claus. At least that's where I think it was going. As soon as Peter said something to the effect of, "You should tell him Santa Claus isn't. . ." I frantically starting slapping at the controls on the car's CD player to skip past whatever Peter was about to say.
The boys asked what happened because we skipped ahead to springtime. I told them the CD was skipping and I was trying to fix it (big liar). I went back as far as I could on the CD to make sure the story still made sense, steering clear of the Christmas track.
But seriously, Judy, do we need to out Santa Claus in a book for kids? Maybe she thought that particular book would never be read by kids who still believed in Santa? Was I getting carried away letting a kindergartner listen to Superfudge?
Heck, I don't know. But I guess I'd better go read all of Judy Blume's books, even for the elementary set before I unwittingly expose the boys to something else. Like the fact that there is no Easter Bunny.
I distinctly remember reading:
-Blubber--As a chubby kid, I totally identified.
-It's Not the End of the World--Divorce 70s-style. Again, I identified.
-Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret--I couldn't figure out WHY this girl wanted to start her period so badly. Still don't get it.
-Deenie--I'm still terrified I'll get scoliosis.
I think every middle-school girl identified with an aspect of her books.
Judy also wrote a whole series of books for younger kids, but I had never really read them because I was older when they came out. Of course, I had heard of books like, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, and the Pain and the Great One series, but had never read them.
No, I was too busy sneaking around with my friends reading Forever in 6th grade, so I pretty much shot right past the Fourth Grade Nothing.
Often when we take car trips, even just up valley or to Glenwood, we listen to books on CD in the car. A few weeks ago we got a batch of books on CD in preparation for trips to out of town soccer games. We recently finished Hoot, which the boys loved, and then started Judy Blume's Superfudge. Even Eamonn and I enjoy listening to the kids' books--we get a good laugh.
Anyway, as I said, we've been listening to Superfudge. It's a comical story about Peter, who is starting sixth grade and his whole world is changing. His four-year-old brother, Fudge, is a pain, his mother is having a new baby, and the family is moving from New York City to Princeton for a year. So the book is mostly about the family's year in Princeton and it follows them chronologically through the year. It's all funny and good until Christmas.
Now, both of my boys still believe in Santa Claus although I'm sure that Declan has his suspicions. I think I found out in 3rd grade that there was no Santa and I have no doubt that some of the kids in Declan's grade with older brothers and sisters have spilled the beans. Anyway, Finn still full on believes--no doubt about it. And frankly, I'm not ready for it to end. I love their excitement about Santa.
So back to the book and my beef with Judy. The other day we get to the section of the book about Christmas and Fudge is asking Santa for a bike. Peter tells Fudge that it might be too expensive. Fudge insists it doesn't matter to Santa. So Peter goes to his mother and is telling her that Fudge should be told that there is no Santa Claus. At least that's where I think it was going. As soon as Peter said something to the effect of, "You should tell him Santa Claus isn't. . ." I frantically starting slapping at the controls on the car's CD player to skip past whatever Peter was about to say.
The boys asked what happened because we skipped ahead to springtime. I told them the CD was skipping and I was trying to fix it (big liar). I went back as far as I could on the CD to make sure the story still made sense, steering clear of the Christmas track.
But seriously, Judy, do we need to out Santa Claus in a book for kids? Maybe she thought that particular book would never be read by kids who still believed in Santa? Was I getting carried away letting a kindergartner listen to Superfudge?
Heck, I don't know. But I guess I'd better go read all of Judy Blume's books, even for the elementary set before I unwittingly expose the boys to something else. Like the fact that there is no Easter Bunny.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Book Jam
My nightstand, the area next to the nightstand, and under my bed have all become a book repository. I love to read, but I'm apparently pretty schizophrenic with my reading habits.
Occasionally I get a book and read it straight through and return it to the library or whoever loaned it to me, but more often than not I have multiple books going at once. I was curious as to what the ongoing book list looks like in black and white.
I'm actively reading:
Scarpetta, by Patricia Cornwell
A Breath of Snow and Ashes, by Diana Gabaldon (for the second time, getting ready for her next book because there are so many characters I can't remember them all)
Love and Respect, by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs
I started reading, but have temporarily stopped reading:
Sensational Kids, by Lucy Jane Miller--I did get through most of it
Trinity, by Leon Uris--good grief, what was I thinking?
A History of London, by Stephen Inwood--I was all into reading about it before one of our trips and so Tara gave it to me for Christmas. I got to page xvi in the forward and became overwhelmed.
Nights of Rain and Stars, by Maeve Binchy--one of my fave authors so I don't know why it's taking me so long
I keep meaning to read (some of these are books people have loaned me and I've kept them for a rudely long time):
The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant
Natural Cures They Don't Want You to Know About, Kevin Trudeau
More Natural Cures They Don't Want You to Know About, Kevin Trudeau
London, by Edward Rutherford--Theresa loaned this to me years ago
Finn MacCool, by Morgan Llywelyn--also from Theresa
The Trouble With Boys, by Peg Tyre
Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach
Portrait of a Killer, Patricia Cornwell (I might be too scared to read that)
Parenting with Love & Logic, probably too late for that one
Between Parent and Child, ditto
On Becoming Childwise, we did Babywise and apparently I never read the sequel
Diana, by Andrew Morton (Melaney, have you been looking for it?)
How Israel Was Won, by Baylis Thomas--my dad says this will help me understand the conflict in the Middle East. . .if possible.
What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Premenopause, by John R. Lee, M.D.--because it's about that time.
An Irish Country Doctor, by Patrick Taylor--yet another one I have from Theresa who is probably going to turn me in to the book police.
Mistress of the Sun, by Sandra Gulland--Eamonn got it at a silent auction and I was all like, "Hey, I can't wait to read that. . ."
The Melaleuca Wellness Guide, came free, I think, with an order, but like all things, I can't just shelve it.
Boyhood and Beyond, by Bob Schultz. Came free with a Timberdoodle order when I ordered a bunch of games to teach logic. I can't figure out any of the games to teach the boys.
Then I have a whole bag of magazines from nearly years ago that require actual reading vs. scanning, like I can do with People. No, these are magazines like Cooking Light, which I don't get anymore because I became overwhelmed by trying to keep up with them. For a year I received it, but never had time to read it. But I can't seem to get rid of them. So, I have this plan that one day I'll have a Reading Day and go through them all, cut out the recipes I want to keep and then just recycle the mags. Then my conscience will be clear.
I had thought Reading Day would be this spring. Now I'm targeting fall. And as for all of the unread books? I'm guessing 2020.
Occasionally I get a book and read it straight through and return it to the library or whoever loaned it to me, but more often than not I have multiple books going at once. I was curious as to what the ongoing book list looks like in black and white.
I'm actively reading:
Scarpetta, by Patricia Cornwell
A Breath of Snow and Ashes, by Diana Gabaldon (for the second time, getting ready for her next book because there are so many characters I can't remember them all)
Love and Respect, by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs
I started reading, but have temporarily stopped reading:
Sensational Kids, by Lucy Jane Miller--I did get through most of it
Trinity, by Leon Uris--good grief, what was I thinking?
A History of London, by Stephen Inwood--I was all into reading about it before one of our trips and so Tara gave it to me for Christmas. I got to page xvi in the forward and became overwhelmed.
Nights of Rain and Stars, by Maeve Binchy--one of my fave authors so I don't know why it's taking me so long
I keep meaning to read (some of these are books people have loaned me and I've kept them for a rudely long time):
The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant
Natural Cures They Don't Want You to Know About, Kevin Trudeau
More Natural Cures They Don't Want You to Know About, Kevin Trudeau
London, by Edward Rutherford--Theresa loaned this to me years ago
Finn MacCool, by Morgan Llywelyn--also from Theresa
The Trouble With Boys, by Peg Tyre
Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach
Portrait of a Killer, Patricia Cornwell (I might be too scared to read that)
Parenting with Love & Logic, probably too late for that one
Between Parent and Child, ditto
On Becoming Childwise, we did Babywise and apparently I never read the sequel
Diana, by Andrew Morton (Melaney, have you been looking for it?)
How Israel Was Won, by Baylis Thomas--my dad says this will help me understand the conflict in the Middle East. . .if possible.
What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Premenopause, by John R. Lee, M.D.--because it's about that time.
An Irish Country Doctor, by Patrick Taylor--yet another one I have from Theresa who is probably going to turn me in to the book police.
Mistress of the Sun, by Sandra Gulland--Eamonn got it at a silent auction and I was all like, "Hey, I can't wait to read that. . ."
The Melaleuca Wellness Guide, came free, I think, with an order, but like all things, I can't just shelve it.
Boyhood and Beyond, by Bob Schultz. Came free with a Timberdoodle order when I ordered a bunch of games to teach logic. I can't figure out any of the games to teach the boys.
Then I have a whole bag of magazines from nearly years ago that require actual reading vs. scanning, like I can do with People. No, these are magazines like Cooking Light, which I don't get anymore because I became overwhelmed by trying to keep up with them. For a year I received it, but never had time to read it. But I can't seem to get rid of them. So, I have this plan that one day I'll have a Reading Day and go through them all, cut out the recipes I want to keep and then just recycle the mags. Then my conscience will be clear.
I had thought Reading Day would be this spring. Now I'm targeting fall. And as for all of the unread books? I'm guessing 2020.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Murder & Mayhem
Ever since I was a little girl, I've always loved mystery stories, movies and TV shows. Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Cherry Ames, the Bobbsey Twins. And then as I got older I liked all of those true-life murder stories like on 48 Hours and stuff. I got hooked on Mystery! and all sorts of other English murder mysteries. No one can murder better than the English. Their penchant for it is actually quite frightening.
But what might be more frightening is that I became hooked on Patricia Cornwell's books. Her main character, Kay Scarpetta, is a medical examiner who is always in danger because she tries to solve the murders of the people who come through her morgue. She's like a female Quincy (I loved that show, too). But these books are so grossly graphic in their murders that sometimes I read them with one eye closed, and yet I get sucked in and can't put the books down even when they get really disturbing.
I remember once when we still lived in Ohio, I stayed up really, really late reading one of the books. Eamonn had long since fallen asleep, but I was so freaked out by the book I woke him up at 2am. I don't know why. I probably made some excuse like,
Me: "Did you remember to put the cat out?"
Eamonn: "We don't have a cat."
(Name that movie)
I tend to have the occasional night terror anyway so why I read these books and terrorize myself more, I have no idea.
When I was in high school, one year around Halloween time, one of the local TV stations was showing a bunch of Anthony Perkins movies and I was telling one of my friend's parents how I was going home to watch it. So that night, right at the end of the movie, the phone rang. I picked it up and this voice said, "Natalie, this is Norman Bates and I'm coming to get you!" I slept with the light on for a week.
In later years I went with my cousins to see Silence of the Lambs. When I got home from that experience, I went in and woke my mother up. And then slept with the light on for a month. I had already graduated college and was working.
Anyway, I hadn't read a Scarpetta book for several years--probably since that last time I scared myself so badly--and I realized she had two books out that I hadn't read. I got one from the library and instantly regretted it. It was so hideously disturbing. And yet, I continued to read.
Last night I was about 100 pages from the end and I really wanted to finish it, but I was exhausted and missed my goal. Eamonn was already asleep when I turned off the light. I drifted off, but then kept having nightmares about Scarpetta and how she was in my room trying to perform an autopsy on me.
Why am I telling you this? Probably to explain the fact that I'm 41 years old and last night I had to get up and turn on a nightlight in order to get to sleep. And I intend to do the same tonight because I'm about to go and read the rest of the book.
But what might be more frightening is that I became hooked on Patricia Cornwell's books. Her main character, Kay Scarpetta, is a medical examiner who is always in danger because she tries to solve the murders of the people who come through her morgue. She's like a female Quincy (I loved that show, too). But these books are so grossly graphic in their murders that sometimes I read them with one eye closed, and yet I get sucked in and can't put the books down even when they get really disturbing.
I remember once when we still lived in Ohio, I stayed up really, really late reading one of the books. Eamonn had long since fallen asleep, but I was so freaked out by the book I woke him up at 2am. I don't know why. I probably made some excuse like,
Me: "Did you remember to put the cat out?"
Eamonn: "We don't have a cat."
(Name that movie)
I tend to have the occasional night terror anyway so why I read these books and terrorize myself more, I have no idea.
When I was in high school, one year around Halloween time, one of the local TV stations was showing a bunch of Anthony Perkins movies and I was telling one of my friend's parents how I was going home to watch it. So that night, right at the end of the movie, the phone rang. I picked it up and this voice said, "Natalie, this is Norman Bates and I'm coming to get you!" I slept with the light on for a week.
In later years I went with my cousins to see Silence of the Lambs. When I got home from that experience, I went in and woke my mother up. And then slept with the light on for a month. I had already graduated college and was working.
Anyway, I hadn't read a Scarpetta book for several years--probably since that last time I scared myself so badly--and I realized she had two books out that I hadn't read. I got one from the library and instantly regretted it. It was so hideously disturbing. And yet, I continued to read.
Last night I was about 100 pages from the end and I really wanted to finish it, but I was exhausted and missed my goal. Eamonn was already asleep when I turned off the light. I drifted off, but then kept having nightmares about Scarpetta and how she was in my room trying to perform an autopsy on me.
Why am I telling you this? Probably to explain the fact that I'm 41 years old and last night I had to get up and turn on a nightlight in order to get to sleep. And I intend to do the same tonight because I'm about to go and read the rest of the book.
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