Inquiring minds want to know which blogs I busy myself with (did someone say procrastinate??) besides the usual suspects (i.e. children’s authors, librarians and reviewers…)
Well, ahem:
My swankio designer chums, Shannon Lowry of Round Robin Press and Kathie Sever of Ramonsterwear both post blogs that are more visual than verbal. Feast yer eyes….
I like stopping in to read the latest commentary on MOMbo (broadcasting the everyday truth about motherhood in order to save the world) and, since February, MOMbo host Nanci Oelsen’s been blogging, too.
Facing Inward — my favorite yoga blog because it’s also about motherhood and marriage, making it accessible for yogamamas like me.
World Nomads Adventure, if I’m feeling restless. Lotta lotta lotta travel blogs. Yearning, lusting, checking the balance on our frequent flier accounts…
And for all my other daily nutritional needs, Salon. Not technically a blog, I know, but gimme a break here.
Just a few bitty blurbs on our local book scene this morning:
1. Since I had no choice but to spend the week bouncing from bed to bath and back again — tissue and lozenges in hand — what better way to spend a day than reading Tantalize, by Cynthia Leitich Smith? She gifted us with beautiful hardbook copies at her book launch party a few weeks back — and mine’s been sitting here, tempting me. Now I know why I saved it!
First, a disclaimer. This is sooo not my genre. I never went through an Anne Rice stage. Or a Bram Stoker stage. And I’ve even had to switch from a red wine drinker to a white because of headaches. But, whoa Betty, was this a fun ride! I won’t be doing any spoiling here, but suffice it to say that you’re gonna be looking askance at folks out there for a few days after reading this. Ca-REEEEPY. Now, lay in some seriously sensual props and food stuffs, and get reading. In my case, this consisted of tomato soup, raspberry jello and some nasty tasting tincture. You can do better, folks.
2. I’ve been waiting for A Seed is Sleepy ever since An Egg is Quiet hit the shelves. Things of utter beauty, these books. Our dear Dianna Aston is one of the great noticers I was talking about recently, and she’s clearly found a sister in Sylvia Long. The thing I love about these books is that you can use them in so many ways — as a poetic little lullaby; as some wholly palatable science; for pure, pictorial pleasure, or as a matching game from front cover to back. Yea! Spring is here…
3. Drum roll, please. Next Friday, March 30, Robin Preiss Glasser, the deeply talented illustrator of A Sock is a Pocket for Your Toes, will be at BookPeople, our big-and-beautiful independent bookseller downtown! She’s visiting with author Jane O’Connor in celebration of their newest Fancy Nancy title. There are sure to be some boas and tiaras in the crowd.
I might wear a tutu myself, and here’s why. Although we’ve struck up a really lovely long-distance friendship over the years, we’ve never met in person! This is like a blind date, only we’ve already married and had a baby together. Tee hee. Giddy, giddy, giddy. See you Austinites at BookPeople at 11 a.m.
So the American Psychological Association has issued a big report on the “sexualization” of younger and younger girls, thanks to R-rated dolls, clothing, games, music and whatnot. And, linking the effects to eating disorders, low self-esteem and depression in girls and women. Oi.
Anyone find this a tad bit ironic, in the days of don’t-say-scrotum and such? We are one confused group of folk when it comes to bodies, health and sexuality.
Essayist Judith Warner answered to this report with her thoughts on mothers, and our body image and sexuality. Here’s an excerpt of what she had to say:
Excerpted from Hot Tots, and Moms Hot to Trot By JUDITH WARNER NY Times March 17, 2007
…I think it’s fair, even necessary, to wonder: how can we expect our daughters to navigate the cultural rapids of becoming sexual beings when we ourselves are flying blind? How can we teach them to inhabit their bodies with grace and pleasure if we spend our own lives locked in hateful battles of control, mastery and self-improvement?
We all tend to talk a good game now on things like body image and sexual empowerment. We buy the American Girl body book, “The Care and Keeping of You,” promote a “healthy” diet and exercise, and wax rhapsodic about team sports. But do we practice what we preach?
Not when we walk around the house sucking in our stomachs in front of the mirrors. Not when we obsessively regulate the contents of our refrigerators in the name of “purity.”
… Our girls see right through all our righteousness. And they hear the hypocrisy, too, when we dish out all kinds of pabulum about a “positive body image,” then go on to trash our own thighs.
… Maybe it’s time to take a break from bashing the media and start to take a long, hard look instead at the issue of mothers’ sexuality, which is, apparently, after a long and well-documented dormancy, enjoying a kind of rebirth — thanks, it is said, to things like pole dancing classes and sports club stripteases. These new evening antics of the erstwhile book club set are supposed to be fabulous because they give sexless moms a new kind of erotic identity. But what a disaster they really are: an admission that we’ve failed utterly, as adult women, to figure out what it means to look and feel sexy with dignity. We’ve created an aesthetic void. Should we be surprised that stores like Limited Too are rushing in to fill it? (Now on sale: a T-shirt with two luscious cherries and the slogan “Double trouble.”)
In opposing the tot-trash ethos, we shouldn’t comfort ourselves with “co-watching” TV or throwing out the Barbies. Instead, we ought to learn to find comfort inside our own skins.
What do you think? Skin comfort sounds good, hunh?
We read right through to the bottom of our book piles last week. Here are some highlights:
Babymice — Elder daughter re-read Queen of the World and Our Hero… a few times. Much discussion ensued about the good old days of Dodgeball and the comeuppance Ms. Felicia Furrypaws inevitably faces.
The Sisters Grimm — We read the first in this series aloud, with much edge-of-our-seats hilarity. Sisters Daphne and Sabrina discover they’re descendents of the great Grimm brothers, and then must come to terms with the family baggage — a mysterious and uneasy alliance with the Everafters (fairy tale characters) living in rural New York. Personally, I found some of the literary allusions a bit forced, but the girls were delighted and are begging to start on book #2 right away.
The Five Lost Aunts of Harriet Bean — I really adore reading Alexander McCall Smith, from The #1 Ladies Detective Agency series to the Akimbo books for kids. He’s a master at subtle humour and wisdom, and his books are eminently readable. Harriet Bean is a departure — more high hilarity and madcap mischief of the Pippi Longstocking variety — but still fun.
Amazing Whales — Younger daughter checked this out at her school library and read it three times through during our week away. She’s still a beginning reader and was bursting with pride at reading science. The series (which includes Amazing Snakes, Gorillas, Tigers and more) is the brainchild of The Wildlife Conservation Society, a preeminent player in the conservation world and, incidentally, employer of my dear brother-in-law, fighting the good fight in the wilds of Tanzania.
A Pale View of Hills — One of the books I read to myself when kids were sleeping or otherwise occupied. It’s a quiet and trecherous little read that touches on everything from Japanese society to a woman’s role in the 1940’s to the bomb dropped on Nagasaki. Not uplifting — it’s full of heartache and tragedy — but beautiful like poetry.
Who I Was Supposed to Be: Short Stories — More adult reading. I’m a huge short-story fan and these were some goodies. There’s something a little voyeuristic about them, peeking in on the quirky underbelly of everyday folk. But they’re mostly compassionate and dang compelling. More Lorrie Moore than Alice Munro (and not quite as good as either of them), I zipped through ’em in a day.
The New Yorker — I completely caught up on my mag reading, including a really moving piece about the Miami Police Chief, Seymour Hirsch’s latest on our efforts in the Middle East, and some very, very funny cartoons. My husband, by the way, still hasn’t won the cartoon caption contest, his fruitful muse notwithstanding. Wish him luck.
Lest you pity us for our fevered week at the beach, let me assure you – it still served as a serious vacation.
Not only did we kayak, sail, snorkel and fish, but we built extravagant sand castles, took meandering beach walks, and enjoyed multiple naps. I think my heart rate dropped a few beats each day.
The sun was prickly-hot, the sand powder-fine, and did I mention the color of the water???
The thing I love about beach vacations is how they legitimize – even mandate – deep relaxation and a lazy pace. Nothing against New York or Paris, but grand city visits aren’t what I’d call restful. Museums and historic homes and the theatre are exhilarating and edifying, but negotiating public transport and crowds with a stack of guide books can take it outta you.
At the beach, you’re supposed to read a book a day, nap every afternoon and walk barefoot. (OK, so I’m still barefoot here at home, but the ole’ heart rate seems to have popped right back up to its pre-beach pitch.)
It begs the question, how to best recreate that sense of peace in the midst of real life?
My go-to get-aways? Taking a yoga class, and reading in the bathtub. The water’s not turquoise but I can’t quibble. Bubble bath seems to suffice.
Half Full — We vacationed last week in the Bahamas! Have you seen the color of that water?
Half Empty — Both girls had stowed away nasty viruses in their luggage.
Half Full — Ibuprofin exists.
Half Empty — I’d only brought about 3 doses of the kid stuff because, heck, we weren’t gonna get sick in the Bahamas!
Half Full — Both girls learned to swallow the adult version with nary a blink.
Half Empty — Kids Ibuprofin must be mixed with something soothing and highly digestible. Adult Ibuprofin must not be.
Half Full — Dear Dr. Gunabi drove the length of the Island to check on daughter #1 who was not getting well. He also showed us a walletful of photos of his beloved 6-year-old.
Half Empty — Daughter #1 didn’t recover quickly enough to come snorkling.
Half Full — Daughter #2 did.
Half Empty — We ran out of books to read.
Half Full — The family from the bungalow next door left us a stack of theirs when they left.
Half Empty — Most nights the kids crashed too early to see the stars.
Half Full — When they made it past 9:00, they declared that the sky had “chicken pox”. I love getting a city kid away from ambient light.
Half Empty — We had to head for home.
Half Full — When I told Daughter #1 that I was sorry she’d been sick, she laughed and said, “It’s not like it was the worst vacation in the world!” And began reminiscing about the kayaking and the beach walks and the impromptu talent shows we put on in our room every night.
Half Empty — We’re home now. And I’m coming down with something.
Half Full — Which probably means I’ll have a little time to catch up on my blog. Bottoms up…
(I mean, technically, shouldn’t we call it the U.S.-Iraq war since we, y’know, started it?)
But semantics aside, I’m sitting here thinking about ways to recognize opportunity in the middle of the mess, how to translate some of our frustration and desolation into something productive. As parents, teachers and children’s writers, librarians and artists, what can we bring to the table that’s both realistic and hopeful (since kids really deserve both)?
Before you pass on account of preachiness, know that Blumenthal’s annotated list includes everything from Leo Lionni’s The Alphabet Tree to Robert Cormier’s The Chocolate War and M.E. Kerr’s Slap Your Sides.
The book is divvied up by audience age but also includes a thorough subject matter index (Abuse, Bigotry, Homosexuality, Justice) making it easy to match suggestions to what kids are actually wondering or worried about.
None of this changes the fact that we’re ripping off another calendar page today and finding it harder and harder to keep up with the number of dead on either side. But in the meantime, maybe we’ll sleep a bit better at night if all our kids have peace as part of their lexicon, and tolerance on their lips.
Just a note to say that if you haven’t yet discovered The Writer’s Almanac, you oughtta.
It’s a most quirky and delightful 5-minute segment by Garrison Keillor, chronicling all things word-ly.
On our own beloved KUT, it plays every weekday morning at 10:25. See if you can find it on your public radio station — or you can listen online which, to my midwestern ears, is a comfort. More so than mere reading…
The last three days snow has fallen. No thaw this year, no day even above twenty since the end of December. Climbing the hill, my two boys slip, fall, stand again. They complain, but there’s nothing to be done…
On that note, I’ll sign off for a week. We are headed to warmer climes (yes, even warmer than Texas) to kick around in sifted sand and blue waters.
Critiquing students’ creative work is never easy on the old heart — a truth that’s exacerbated by “Distance Learning.”
This semester, one of my classes is being held entirely online. No up-close-and-personal witticisms or warm fuzzies, no sitting-in-a-circle pow-wows. Just a web site, a discussion board and a whole heap o’ emails. Many of which are requests for revisions.
I fear I’m getting a reputation as Mean Mrs. Red Pen.
I post announcements about the value of revision — and the value of imperfect drafts. I reemphasize process. I give examples of all the writers in the world and all the drafts in their desk drawers. But try as I might to create the same safe space online as I do in a classroom, it must be a bit disarming for students to have their poetry deconstructed and shot back at them with no discernible human attached.
Sometimes a student sends a revision with a wistful, “I hope this one is better.” Others admit being overwhelmed by my requests to reconsider line breaks or word choice or imagery that’s cliched. I scramble to repeat my reassurances.
So this morning, I’m in the middle of a yoga session, bent over sideways in the triangle pose, when my teacher presses her hand against my hip and rolls my shoulder open, and I think, “Maybe this is what I do for my writing students. I offer adjustments.”
And as the class moves forward, the comparison grows vivid. (I know — not very yogic to let the mind wander this way. But it was enlightening!)
Annick moves around the room, leaning and tilting and tweaking each one us, so that we can move more deeply into the poses, more fully realize the beauty of the craft at hand. And isn’t that our objective — yours, mine, and all the Mean Mrs. Red Pens out there? To help our students dig a little deeper, wring as much out of the language as they can and, at the same time, relish the process?
I bring this thought back to my desk today, with the hope that some semblance of it will transcend the barriers of screens and cables, that my intention can be executed effortlessly, that my students enjoy the push.
